Wicked Hungry

T
he air blows in cold and clean, but New England wet, through my open window. I pull up the screen and stick my head out. Up above me the moon is huge and bright. It gets bigger every night, and now, with it just a few days from full, I want nothing more than to jump out the window and run. Run down the empty streets.

But I can’t. Can’t jump out the window, obviously, but can’t run, either.

From down the street comes the even sound of feet gliding smoothly through the night.

Enrique. It’s got to be Enrique. These days he does nothing but train. We used to be best friends. Back when I was a middle school cross-country star and he had just arrived from Tampico, Tamaulipas. Maybe we still are best friends, but we’re moving apart fast. Well he’s moving fast, and I’m just standing still. Or limping along.

Enrique’s going to make the team. Varsity, maybe, as a high school freshman.

Good for him.

Me, I’ve got enough problems getting down the stairs.

I strap on my brace, grit my teeth. What’s up tonight? Is it the humidity? The moon? Or just that this is when I used to run?

Some questions just lead you down dead-end streets.

I’m distracted by paws padding across the wood floor.

Max. Maximilian. Josh’s kitten.

“Get out, Max!” I tell him.

Max just purrs and rubs against my leg. Why do cats always want to be friendly just when you want to be left alone? I look down and meet his eyes.

My stomach rumbles. High above me the moon pulls, waxing full. It grows incredibly slowly, but it’s still too much for me. My eyes narrow; my nostrils flare; my hands bunch into fists.

Max freezes, arches his back, and bolts into the corner.

“Max?” I ask him, shaking my head to clear it. “What’s the matter?”

He crouches in the corner, hissing.

“Josh, come in here and get Max!”

“Coming!” my brother calls. “Max? Max!”

Josh runs in to find Max still in the corner, staring at me, his back arched. He scoops him up. “What did you do to him?”

“Excuse me?” I say. “He just looked at me and started hissing.”

Josh shakes his head and heads out the door. “Mom!” he calls. “Stanley did something to Max!”

The house phone is ringing, but it’s never for me. I make it down the stairs, and I’m at the screen door when my mother calls me.

“Stanley!”

“Mom?”

“It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“Some girl from school, I think. I told her you were resting, but she insisted on talking to you herself.”

I come into the kitchen. My mother’s eyes are big and bright, her face is flushed, and her long fingers grip the phone tight.

“It’s late, Stanley. Tell her you can talk to her later.”

“Cut it out, Mom. You make it seem like I’m some kind of invalid.”

She shakes her head, shrugs.

I have to pry the phone out of her fingers. “Hello?”

“Stanley?”

What a relief. It’s not some unknown “girl from school,” it’s just
Karen
. She used to be one of my best friends. But that was before she started going out with Zach. Now she texts me every time she’s got a problem, but we hardly ever see each other. I guess now I’m her text-a-friend.

“Karen? Why didn’t you text me on my cell?”

“My phone got messed up and I lost all my contacts. And your cell number. I found your house number online. Is your mother mad?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “What’s wrong? Is it Zach again?”

Zach can be kind of intense. Let’s just say as far as being a vegetarian, or an environmentalist, he makes my parents and me look like posers. When we were ten, Karen, Zach and I used to hang together. We’d sit on our skateboards in front of the food coop, sipping carrot juice fresh from the juice bar, watching the hippies walk in and out of the store.

Good times.

But that was before Zach and Karen hooked up.

Before I messed up my knee.

“I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. Can I come over?”

“Come over? To my house?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Actually, I was going out for a walk.”

My mother shakes her head, reaching out a hand to touch my shoulder. “The moon,” she says once, quietly. “Stanley, it’s cold outside, and it’s a
full moon.”

I hold my hand over the phone. “It’s not full yet, Mom—it’s just waxing gibbous. Like almost a week from full.”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” I say into the phone, turning away.

“Is it too late?” Karen asks. “Anyway, hey, I’m on your front porch.”

“You’re on...?”

Lit up by our porch light, her red hair spills out from under a dark black hoodie. Karen is taller than me by several inches, maybe five foot nine? Her hair is a hot red, but her full lips are dark purple, and she’s covered in cold colors: black hoodie, dark blue shirt, dark black sweatpants and sneakers.

“You going to invite me in?” she asks, flashing straight white teeth.

“You want to come in?”

“Is that an invitation? Or a question?” she asks me.

“I don’t know. An invitation, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m actually trying to get out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” says my mom, from behind me, reaching out to grab my sleeve.

“Oh, Stanley,” Karen says. “Are you grounded?”

“It’s just...” It’s just I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound crazy.

“He’s not grounded, Karen,” my mother says, letting me go, and smiling maniacally at my friend. “But it’s a full moon.”

“Mom, I told you, it’s just waxing gibbous,” I say.

“Don’t get technical with me, Stanley.”

“A full moon?” Karen asks. “Waxing gibbous?”

“Waxing gibbous means the moon is still growing bigger,” I say.

“You know Stanley has
problems
with the full moon,” my mom says.

“No, Mom, she doesn’t know,” I say, feeling my face go red. “And you’re exaggerating. When was the last time I had a problem?”

“Hold on—what kind of ‘problems’ are we talking about?” Karen asks.

“Karen, really, it’s nothing.”

My mother shakes her head. “No. You know that’s not true, Stanley. There’s a pattern, ever since you were little. We don’t know what—”

“Mom,” I cut her off. “It’s not the full moon. Yet. For six days. That’s almost a week. Can I just take a little walk?”

“I’ll fix you guys something here in the kitchen,” she says. “Just stay here, Stanley.”

Karen looks away. There’s an awkward silence. I want to get out that door and run, run away from all this. But I wouldn’t get half a block before they’d catch me. Probably on the ground, moaning in agony.

“Look,” I say, finally. “I’ll be careful. I’ve got my brace. You know I’m supposed to exercise the leg. And I’m not going out alone, either.”

My mom doesn’t look too convinced.

“You know I was the trainer for the track team at Walters, right?” Karen says. “I’ll keep an eye on him, Mrs. Hoff.”

“Is she going to catch you if you fall over?” my mom asks.

“Jesus, Mom, that was
one time.”

“No,” she says. “It wasn’t just ‘one time.’ And I have a really bad feeling—”

“You know,” Karen says, “I throw the shot put. I’m pretty strong, Mrs. Hoff. And I’ve got a cell phone.”

“Yeah, Mom. We’ll be fine. Not a full moon. I’m not alone. Not a problem.”

She shakes her head. “Just promise you’ll be back before it gets colder. I don’t want your knee to lock up.”

“I promise.”

“I’ll make sure he makes it back in one piece,” Karen says.

“You do that,” my mother says. But then she pauses and stares at Karen, squinting.

“
Mom,”
I groan. “Not now, Mom.”

“What,” Karen asks. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say. “She’s just looking at your aura.”

“My aura?”

“Yes,” my mother asks, still squinting at Karen. “It’s worth looking at, let me tell you.”

“Can we go now,” I ask. “Please?”

My mom quits it, finally. “Just be careful,” she says. “Both of you.” She’s calmer now, and I want her to smile. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me, until I look away.

We walk outside and quietly to the corner.

“Wow,” Karen says. “That was kind of awkwardly intense.”

“Yeah,” I say. “She gets in her moods. Everything is magic, or the phases of the moon, or something. Sometimes I need to get out of there.”

We walk along slowly, down the street. Unfortunately, my mother was right: the cold air takes a special interest in my knee, and the full moon above me? Let’s just say I wish there was a little more cloud cover.

“You hungry?” Karen asks me, finally.

I nod. “Starving.” But I stick my hand in my pocket. “Shit,” I say. “I don’t have a dime. I’ll just go back in, and ask—”

“Are you serious?” she says. “Your mom will never let you out again.”

“But I’m hungry,” I say.

“Where do you want to go? Burger King? I have a coupon for buy one Whopper, get one free.”

“You know I don’t eat meat,” I say.

“God, I’m so sick of extremism,” she says. “And no, I didn’t know. I figured Zach was the last of the Lansfeld vegans.”

“Is that why you came by? Zach?”

“He won’t let it rest,” she says. “About how ‘polluted’ my body is. He even blames the pain in my shoulder on my meat eating. For him, it all adds up, and everybody’s got to be like him.”

“Well Zach is Zach. But I still don’t want to eat meat.”

“Fine, whatever,” she says. “I’ll buy you a veggie burger
.
With a side order of wussy vegan fries. Just don’t give me any shit about my Whopper, okay?”

“I just don’t understand how you can eat that stuff.”

She glowers at me, her eyes big, green and deadly.

“You’re really pretty when you’re angry,” I say. “And by the way? I was kidding
.”

“Sorry,” she says finally. “But that wasn’t funny, you know? I mean, Zach is like a broken record.”

We walk with a purpose now, heading towards Burger King. It’s maybe a five-minute walk for a normal person, but it may well take me fifteen.

I imagine I can smell the meat charring on the grill.