Bat Summer by Sarah Withrow Page A

because there are a few nicks by her ear and at the base of her neck. She must have done it to get rid of the lice.
    Oh, Lucy. I can see her neck muscles tighten. I swear, I can see her brain thinking. She lets her face fall in her hands.
    I can’t catch my breath. I remember the color of her hair. How I once thought it was spiky and stringy, and also how it burned like fire. And also, how I touched it.
    â€œLucy.” I don’t know what to say. “Lucy. It’ll grow back, Lucy.”
    She shakes her head in her hands. She can’t face me. I don’t blame her. I go over to her and slowly, slowly, put my hand on her head. I feel her relax under me. She lets out a sob that sounds like the tip of a tidal wave of tears. She buries her face in the sleeping bag and sobs like the end of the world is coming. I sit beside her and pat her back.
    I say, “Shh, shh.”
    We sit like that for a long time. I listen to the rain outside. I listen to myself say “shh.” The candle burns down a bit. I think about how stupid it is to worry about having a weenie chest or getting caught smoking. I think about how those ketchup magazines under my mattress are so fake. I think about Tom’s dog Steel and how he farts up a storm and the whole house stinks and how they love that dog anyway.And I think about how it must feel to be so lonely like Lucy and how, I guess, sometimes I feel that way.
    I almost feel like crying, too. Only, I also have the feeling that the rain is crying for me and Lucy both. I feel like the whole day is a crying day.
    The candle goes out. I have no idea what time it is. Lucy is asleep. I should let her sleep. I sit there in the dark until my eyes adjust to the light.
    I can make out the edges of Lucy’s face. Her head looks so small without hair.
She
looks so much smaller when she’s asleep. She almost looks like a normal girl, except without hair.
    Tom might not think that Lucy is pretty. Her nose is too long and pointy, and her eyes are set deep in her head so that her cheeks seem to bloom out of them. Her eyebrows are slightly knotted together, as if she were trying to balance something on top of her head. Her bald head.
    I see the marker lying on the ground by the books. I crawl over and get it. I rip a piece off the kite and write Lucy a note.
    â€œDear Lucy Bat, I will be back later with food. Please stay here.” I was going to sign it “Terence Bat,” but the marker finally gave out.
    I crawl out into the ravine and scramble up the other side of the bridge. I don’t want to go back through the park. I don’t want to have to talk to thepolice if they are still there, Rico will probably tell them I don’t know anything anyway.
    All the way home I think about what I could make to take to Lucy. I’ll have to give Elys some lame excuse for going out again. She’ll let me, though. She trusts me not to get into trouble. I think I’ll make Lucy a bunch of cheese sandwiches with those simulated cheese flats. Those things’ll last forever — however long that is.
    When I get home, Mom is sitting on the sofa with her feet up on the coffee table.
    â€œWhere have you been?” she asks. Her voice is calm but I get the feeling like something has happened.
    â€œI was at the park,” I say. She takes her feet off the coffee table and leans forward on her elbows. Something has definitely happened.
    â€œJust tell me where you were, Terence. I know you weren’t at the park.” I wonder if she went looking for me. That’s odd. I think of something else.
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    â€œAnswer the question.” I go and sit in the rocking chair.
    â€œWhere’s Elys?”
    â€œTerence!” She’s standing up now. I haven’t seen her this angry in a long time. She must have found the magazines. Or maybe Elys told her about the smoking. “I’ll ask you again. Where were you?”
    â€œI was in