Wicked Hungry (3 page)

“Don’t listen to him, Stanley,” Karen says. “He’s just getting started.”

“Maybe what?” I ask him, gritting my teeth, tasting my own blood.

He moves closer to me, and his voice drops down to a whisper. “I’m not making this up. This shit works. Not only could it help you with the moon: it could heal your knee. You could run again. How does that sound, Stanley?”

I push him away, back up. “Don’t even go there, Zach. My knee’s as healed as it will ever be. It’s not getting any better.”

He shakes his head. “That’s chemical healing you’re talking about. This is different. It’s natural. It’s almost...” His voice drops so low I can’t hear it.

“Almost what?” I snap. “Stop talking in riddles.”

“Magic,” he whispers again.

I shake my head. “How do I know it’s not drugs? It’s not addictive?”

He stares at me like I’ve gone crazy. “Hello, Stanley? You think I would put chemicals in my body?”

“Lots of drugs are natural,” says Karen. “Like marijuana, or opium. Alcohol. Tobacco.”

“Shut up, Karen,” Zach says. “Let me talk.”

“That’s all this is, isn’t it, Zach?” I say. “Just a lot of talk.”

Zach shakes his head. “Those toxins in you? They’re controlling you.”

“Nothing is controlling me.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come you keep gritting your teeth, making fists and staring up at the moon?”

“What’s your point?”

“You can feel it, can’t you? It’s pulling at you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stanley, does your mother know that you’re craving Burger King?”

Could he have heard us? Or is he just guessing?

“Enough, Zach,” Karen says. “Leave him alone.”

“You of all people should be telling him how good it is, Karen.” He turns back to me. “Stanley, all I’m saying is, just try. We do have a free trial.”

“I’ll think about,” I say.

“It doesn’t work,” Karen says.

“It works. It just takes time to see the results. But in the meantime, Karen, if you try to convince anyone else not to try them, I’ll tell your parents about your little nighttime excursions. How’s that sound?”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

Zach shakes his head. “Just protecting my interests. Stanley, you sure you don’t want some supplements?”

“Anything to shut you up,” I say.

But Karen shakes her head. “Don’t take them.”

“Stanley, we’ll talk again when the carnivore is not around.”

He starts to walk away, then turns back. “You know, the whole city, the whole forest needs cleansing.
We
need cleansing. But what am I saying? You’re wearing leather shoes. You’re on the way to Burger King. I thought you were like me, but you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I don’t know about Stanley, but I understand one thing,” Karen says. “You’re a fricking psycho. What I don’t understand is why I ever went out with you.”

Zach snorts. “You’re one to talk. Just keep taking the supplements. And don’t touch me again. Ever.” He walks off, breaks into a jog. Then he’s gone. I used to be able to run like that. He makes it look so effortless. Just blending into the night.

I turn back to Karen. “What was all that about?” I ask. “Should we just go home?”

She shakes her head. “You need to eat, Stanley. And I need to calm down.”

We order, and I hobble over to the bathroom. Zach was right about one thing. About one big, bright, and shiny thing. The moon. I can feel its pull even now, in the restaurant.

Back at our seats, Karen doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. We sit there waiting for our food.

I try to meet her eyes, but she looks away.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“Forget it,” she says, looking over at the registers.

“Is it Zach? Those vitamins? They sound too good to be true. Or I bet they cost a fortune.”

“You don’t even want to know how much they cost,” she says. “Really, the less you know, the better.”

“But what if they work?”

“They don’t work,” she says.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Can’t you drop it?”

Something troubles me in the way she doesn’t meet my eyes. “Zach said they would help me stay calm. Be focused. Help me deal with my fear of touching. But they don’t work.”

“How do you know?”

She shakes her head. “They won’t help you. Even if they did, you wouldn’t like what they do to you. Once you start...”

“Once you start?” I ask.

“Let’s just say they have side effects, okay?” she says. She turns away. “Look, our food is almost ready.”

Later I wish I’d asked her more, but she is obviously in no mood to talk about it. “Can I call you?” I ask her instead, looking at the table.

“This isn’t about the kiss, is it?”

“No,” I say, blushing. “What do you mean?”

“Just don’t get any ideas, Stanley. It was a sweet hug. A truly epic kiss. But I’m too messed up right now to—”

“To talk on the phone?”

But she’s turned away. Some old lady brings us our tray, sets it down.

“Stanley, you’re like the only friend I’ve got right now, the only person I can trust. But I don’t want you telling anyone about what I told you.”

“I won’t,” I say. “I won’t even tell anyone how nice you smell.”

“Joke all you want. But I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

“I promise I won’t tell,” I say.

“Good,” she says. “At least that’s something. And thanks for letting me ‘use’ you.”

She winks at me.

“You’re welcome,” I say, feeling my face grow hot. “Anytime, I guess.”

I unwrap my veggie burger and bite in. There’s nothing like a BK veggie burger. Is it the way they microwave it? Or the fact that it’s sold in a place that makes real hamburgers? I don’t know. But it’s always been satisfying. Comfort food. What I need right now, I think.

Because I keep glancing at Karen. Well, at Karen, yeah, but also at the two Whoppers she got for the price of one.

“Two whole Whoppers,” I say. “You must be wicked hungry.”

She just smiles at me and takes another little bite.

I try to look away. Is it the way she’s eating, or is it her food?

I look around at the people around me. There’s not a lot of kids. Just one I recognize from track and cross-country. Henry? Or Harry? God, I can’t even remember his name. He catches my gaze for a moment, nods before I can turn away. I think I’m safe; I don’t think he’ll come over and talk to me. He’s with his parents, after all. Not a lot of us walk to Burger King, and no one my age can drive.

All around I can smell real meat, and I’m still hungry. My veggie burger is in my stomach, but it’s still rumbling. If I had money, I’d go buy another one. I’m almost desperate enough to ask Karen for money. But I know she only had one ten, and she’s spent it already. Partly on me.

So I chew slowly on a French fry.

I look back at Karen, and she’s checking me out.

“What?” I say.

“You’re still hungry,” she says. “I can see it. I can almost feel it.”

“What do you mean?” I say.

“You keep looking at my burger. I think it’s time for you to face your worst nightmare. Come on, try a bite.”

I shake my head. But my stomach rumbles.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to at least try it.”

I shake my head. “It’s just wrong.” But I’m not even looking at her.

“Just one bite,” she says. “Where’s the harm?”

“You leading me into temptation?”

“That is so not right. You are not going Biblical on me, here. I mean, what, are all women temptresses or something? You going to say God made me from your rib next? Cause, uh, Earth to Stanley? We’re in Burger King, not the Garden of Eden. This is a
flame broiled beef patty
, not forbidden fruit. Come on, man up and try it.”

Joke all you want, but I can’t even look at what she’s eating. “No way,” I say. “I mean, how can
anyone
eat that?”

“Eat this?” She holds the burger out to me. “It’s easy.”

It. Smells. So. Good.

“Take a bite,” she says. “Or you’re just as bad as Zach.”

I lean forward. Bite down. Chew. Swallow. My stomach settles. My taste buds tingle. I feel warm. Hot. What is wrong with me?

Am I dreaming? Living my worst nightmare? If so, why do I feel so right?

“Was that so bad?” she asks.

“Not for me, maybe. But for the cow?”

“Oh, lighten up, Stanley. Live a little.”

“If you tell my mom...”

“I’m not telling anyone,” she says. “It looks like we both have secrets.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

“You’re repeating yourself, Stan. You want the other one? No way am I going to be able to finish two.”

“You can take one home,” I say.

Karen shakes her head. “My mom doesn’t allow fast food in the house. I’ll have to throw it out. You don’t want me to waste this food, do you?”

She holds up the second Whopper. It’s still wrapped. Warm. My hands move before I can say anything and snatch it from her open hand.

Do I need to tell you that biting into my very own Whopper is like coming home to a home I’ve never had, but where I really belong? My stomach settles, but my senses are in overdrive, and my mind is a mess.

If meat is murder, then why does it taste so good?

But that’s not all that’s running through my head. As much as I try to concentrate on the forbidden meat that’s entering my body, my mind keeps coming back to Zach and his supplements. Or, really, to the important question: Could they help my knee?

Y
ou ever wake up and find coarse, dark hair all over your chest?

And not just on my chest. In all kinds of embarrassing places. Ugh.

That was a new one for me, this morning. Is the moon playing more tricks on me, or am I growing up? Or just growing hairy?

My teeth ache and feel loose in my mouth. Like I’m going to lose them and get my permanent teeth.

Except these are my permanent teeth. Should I go to the dentist? What would he say? That he can’t figure out what’s wrong with me? Or would he see right through me, and know that I’m a little lunatic, going through puberty?

My mom sees me pushing my cereal around the bowl at breakfast instead of eating it. Really, organic Weetabix is not what I’m craving this morning. But how can I begin to explain that to her?

“Stanley? Are you okay?”

I nod. “Just not hungry, I guess.”

For what’s in my bowl, that is.

“I found...some disturbing signs.”

She looks at me, but she doesn’t even look me in the eye. I see her biting her lip. Is she afraid of me? Or afraid for me?

“What, Mom?” I ask her. “What did you find?”

“Hair. A lot of it, in the shower.”

“Mom, gross,” I say, “And I mean, privacy?”

“And your toothbrush—”

“I need a new one, I know,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No, Stanley. It was all
bloody.”

“I think I’m cutting a tooth,” I say.

“At fourteen?”

“Maybe I’m a late bloomer. Or maybe wisdom teeth?”

“We need to take you to see someone,” she says. “I’ve been trying to hold this off, but I can’t ignore it any longer.”

“Mom, no dentist is going to understand this.”

“I’m not talking about a
dentist
, Stanley. Give me some credit.”

“No—not Uncle Eli?”

“He’s an option, yes, although I don’t know if I want to schlep all the way down to Brooklyn. Your uncle has some friends in Providence, though, who might be able to help.”

“Let me guess, some friends on the East Side? Who speak Yiddish and won’t drive a car on Saturday?”

“It’s about mysticism, spirituality, the Kaballah. But most of all it’s about keeping my boy safe. That’s why you need to see someone.”

“Maybe I should see a shrink?”

“Maybe we could all use a psychologist,” my mother says. “That’s definitely an option. But no, for right now I was thinking you should see someone from the coven. You may be young, but it’s time for you to be initiated. All of us in the coven draw our power from the moon. It’s the way of Wicca. Maybe if you could control the power in you, channel it—”

“Mom, there’s no
power
in me.”

“You can’t deny—”

“Mom, I’m
fine
.”

“Great. You’re
fine
. We’ll talk later. But I’ll see if I can set something up.”

“There’s no need, Mom,” I say.

I don’t want to see anyone from the coven. A bunch of scantly clothed middle-aged ladies jumping over me and slapping me with basil to purify my essence is not my idea of fun. But spending twelve hours praying non-stop with the Hasidim isn’t any better. I’ve got to figure this out on my own. My mother has enough to worry about. I don’t like how this is affecting her. How this is affecting me.

“Stanley, why are you arguing with me?”

“Because I told you I’m fine.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while. She just fingers the chain around her neck. It’s from her coven. I know that. It’s supposed to store energy. I figure she could use that energy now. Teenagers are exhausting enough, without all my special problems.

She just stands there, looking at me, fingering the pendant. “Then get mowing,” she says finally. “Our grass is way too high. It’s a forest out there. A tick paradise. All we need is someone catching Lyme disease.”

I groan, and my mom smiles a thin smile. Have I told you that in addition to her mysticism and her obsessive worrying my mom also has a sadistic side?

We have this push-mower, and sometimes I think push-mowers were put on the world by some green god to torture people, especially teens like me. Every little stick gets stuck in the blades and I have to shake the mower by the handle until it falls out.

Enrique jogs up, his hair one stiff spike. His face is covered with sweat.

“You keep it up like that,” I say. “And you’ll make varsity.”

He shrugs. “I’ll be happy just to make the team.”

I start pushing the mower again. Hit a stick. Stop, wince.

“How is the physical therapy?” asks Enrique.

“Worthless,” I say. “But pretty painful.”