“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Clara said. “And you have plenty of fries there. Eat those first and then see how you feel.”
They were sitting at a local neighborhood burger joint, their table overflowing with more food than they’d seen all week. For the first time in ages, Clara did not look at the prices of any of the food items when she ordered. She knew she had the cash to pay. The bills were balled in her fist. She didn’t even feel irresponsible about it. She wanted to tell the electric and gas companies to go fuck themselves as she ordered burgers and two fries, milkshakes and large sodas, even brownies for dessert.
“Can I get ice cream?” Beatrice asked after taking a large swallow of her strawberry milkshake.
Clara laughed. “You’ve got a milkshake, Bea!”
Beatrice looked at her confused. “It’s not ice cream.”
Clara smiled and took another bite of her burger. She was vaguely aware of the group of girls who walked in. She could hear them talking—that loud obnoxious talk that wants to be heard—and tried to ignore them. But then she glimpsed one of the girls, and her chest tightened with a mild panic.
“How much more do you think you can handle?” Clara asked her sister lightly. She wanted to leave but didn’t want Beatrice to think anything was wrong.
“Lots more, Clara,” Beatrice said. “Please let’s not leave yet.”
Clara nodded and glanced at the group of girls. They had seen her and were whispering to one another.
“Well, what about if we just take all of this stuff with us?” Clara suggested.
“I don’t want to go home,” Beatrice whined. “It’s too cold.”
“But we can put on a fire. That would be fun, don’t you think? Like camping,” Clara offered, fighting the building panic.
“No,” Beatrice argued. “I want to stay here.”
“Bea,” Clara begged then went mute.
“Are you dating Evan?” the girl asked, standing with her hands on her hips.
Clara looked up at her. She recognized the girl from P.E. Her name was Rebecca, and Clara thought it was too sweet a name to be given to this girl.
“Well?” Rebecca prodded.
“No,” Clara answered. She wasn’t sure but thought it was safer to say “no.”
“Then why is he talking to you at school and sitting with you in class?” Rebecca asked. “Why does he hold your hand?” She made it sound like Evan held her hand on a regular basis. The truth was that he only did it once.
“It’s really none of your business,” Clara replied. Her cheeks turned bright red.
Rebecca’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, it’s so my business because do you see that girl over there?”
She moved aside and pointed to a girl with long jet black hair who was flanked by two other girls. It was Amy, and she looked like a china doll—an angry china doll. She glared at Clara.
“Yes,” Clara said.
“Well, she’s my best friend. And she dated Evan last year. And she’s, like, totally trying to get him back. And you’re in the way,” Rebecca said. She leaned on the table and shoved her face in Clara’s. “So get out of the fucking way.”
Beatrice jumped up from the table. “Don’t talk to my sister like that!” she screamed.
“Pipe down, you little brat,” Rebecca replied. “I mean, honestly Clara. Look at you. Do you think Evan actually likes you? He’s probably just playing around with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if a huge, embarrassing prank was coming your way. I’m just trying to help you out.”
“If he’s so mean, then why does your friend want him back?” Clara asked boldly.
“Well look how fucking smart you are,” Rebecca said. She paused, then smirked. “Amy likes the bad boys.”
“Sounds like low self-esteem to me,” Clara shot back, instantly regretting her words.
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “Look bitch, you better step aside,” she spat. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, talking to a guy who wouldn’t date you in a million years. It won’t change a thing. You’re still poor. You got that? Poor. White. Trash.” She said it softly, enunciating each word with sharp disgust—three perfect tacks that slid out of her mouth and punctured Clara’s heart.
Beatrice glanced at her sister and saw the brimming tears. Rebecca saw them, too, and curled her lips into an evil grin. And then she screamed as she felt the milkshake splash all over her shirt. Beatrice froze in disbelief at what she had just done. The empty cup was still clutched in her hand as someone walked towards them swiftly. It looked like the store manager.
“What is going on over here?” the manager asked angrily. He looked at Rebecca and then to Beatrice. The tell-tale cup dripped the same pink liquid that soaked Rebecca’s shirt.
“This is an International Concepts top, you little shit!” she wailed.
“Watch the language in my store,” the manager said, and then turning to Beatrice and Clara he added, “Get out.”
“Gladly,” Beatrice replied. She took Clara’s hand and led her out of the restaurant. Clara was speechless as she got behind the wheel. She sat frozen in her seat.
“The keys, Clara,” Beatrice demanded. Clara handed them over to her automatically.
Beatrice leaned over and started the ignition. It gave an exhausted rumble before the engine turned over. Clara sat immobile.
“Now drive,” Beatrice ordered.
Clara came to and put the car in reverse. She backed away from the restaurant slowly watching the silent fight ensue between Rebecca and the manager. Who would compensate Rebecca for her ruined International Concepts shirt? Clara certainly couldn’t afford to. She instantly thought of the repercussions at school. She could only imagine the horrible things Rebecca would say or do.