I should stop calling it a mood ring.It’s probably onyx.It’s never been any other color than black, not that I care to have my mood detected by a piece of jewelry—that’s scientifically unsound.
But if it could reflect my mood, it’d be black anyway.Meeting and communicating with strangers is an unsettling chore.I recheck Dad’s note.He hasn’t even given me a name.
I huff.Unfortunately, this summer promises a distressing amount of awkward socializing.
“Let’s pretend it’s always summer for us.”Henry’s words echo through my thoughts.
Summers belonged to Henry and me.Free from teachers and classmates, we’d spend the day in the woods or on our bikes or, if it were raining, in his basement watching Maggie’s old DVDs.Henry insisted that movies were vital to my education, and it was his duty to ensure I watched all the classics.Though they were mostly absurd, they always gave us topics for discussion, and few things delighted me more than all-in-good-fun debates with Henry.
Of all the movies he showed me, the most illogical turned out to be my favorite—Little Shop of Horrors.Not only did the story grossly misrepresent Venus flytraps, my bitter namesake, but it did so insong.
“That’syour favorite?”Henry gawked.“What aboutA Fish Called Wanda?”
“Glorified prostitution.”
“Pretty Woman?”
“Same.”
“Clueless?”
“A Jane Austen retelling?As if.”
“The Breakfast Club?”
“Teenagers left unattended during detention?Please.”
“When Harry Met Sally?”
“Too much talking.”
“50 First Dates?”
“Statistically speaking, that type of head injury?—”
“Fine.What’s so great aboutLittle Shop of Horrors?”
“Seymour was stuck with a plant he hates, and in trouble for his misguided attempts to help Audrey—I relate,” I smirked.“At least I never resorted to murder.”
He looked concerned.“And youwouldn’t, right?”
“Of course, not,” I said with less conviction than he wanted.
“The fire ants were drastic enough,” he said, and we giggled, thinking about it.The day I helped Henry in the woods, he confided that a classmate named Ruby Mack pantsed him on the bus that morning.He’d been teased all day about his Batman underwear and couldn’t bear the thought of a second attack.So, he’d texted his mother that he’d be walking home.
I could relate—not to themed underwear or being pantsed, but to the teasing.A day didn’t pass without someone calling me a know-it-all, a weirdo, or a plethora of other demeaning or dismissive words.I was used to being teased; Henry wasn’t.Not at school, anyway.
The next day, I covertly released a specimen jar of fire ants down Ruby’s backside and into her backpack to suggest she unknowingly brought them from home, and everyone believed it, though it’s entirely illogical.
A wiggle turned into uncomfortable scratching until Ruby finally jumped from her seat, did a strange dance, and pulled down her shorts in a desperate attempt to stop the stinging.She did, but not before revealing her Strawberry Shortcake underwear.Hypocrite.
All’s fair in love and elementary school.
I know now that my actions were extreme and that causing physical harm is wrong.I feel bad for the fire ants lost to my prank.But my strong sense of justice prevented me from sitting idly by.Friends stand up for each other.And I desperately wanted a friend in Henry.
Now that I think about it, I hope he wasn’t my friend out of fear.As I collected the survivors, Henry overheard me whisper in Ruby’s ear that next time she messed with Henry, it’d be snakes.
People have an irrational fear of snakes.But that was enough for Ruby to change her ways.And isn’t that better for everyone?
