Killing Time in Crystal City Read Free Page A

it.
    â€œOf course,” she says. “Of course you have asthma. Why wouldn’t you have asthma?”
    â€œOkay,” I say firmly, “first, it’s controlled asthma, it’s only that the concentrated bus fumes set it off a little. And second, is that some kind of asthmatic stereotyping thing you’re doing there? Because that would be very uncool.”
    Stacey’s hungry grin tells me that my passionate defense of the maligned tribe of asthma sufferers has done nothing to the old fire of prejudice other than throw another log onto it. Before she can say more, however, she’s cut off.
    â€œDerek?” says the small, nerved-up girl who nudges Stacey aside to speak right into my chin like it’s a microphone. “Are you Derek? You are, right? Sure, it is you. It’s me, Molly.” As she says her name she smiles really hard, really hard, as if you can amp up a smile like you can a scream. She also holds up her right arm, showing me her cast.
    Her intensity could just about push me backward all by itself but I help it along by inching away from her breath, which is slightly sour but with a top layer of Scope that is so strong it’s almost a mist.
    â€œSorry,” I say, “but I’m not Derek.”
    â€œWhat?” she says, sounding genuinely perplexed by my failure to be Derek. “But you look like you, pretty much. And it’s the time, and I’m here. And the cast, and everything. You have the cast, and everything.”
    Stacey takes this as her cue, and bumps Molly’s shoulder with a casted forearm roughly enough to send her sideways into the path of a big fat businessguy, who jolts her even harder without seeming to notice.
    â€œYo, rudegirl,” Stacey says as Molly pushes her glasses back up her face and fails to hide the large, watering eyes. “You are mistaken. This is Kiki Vandeweghe, he’s not your Derek.”
    I’m looking at the slight, twitchy girl whose voice sounds like she has an air bubble trapped in her throat, and who is dealing with the superior force that is Stacey by wrapping her arms around one another in what looks like a badly needed hug. And as I’m looking I think I am sorry for not being Derek. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been that, and prevented this.
    â€œHey, sorry,” Stacey says a lot more warmly now that she has made her point about manners and now that she can see the delicacy of the little lost creature before her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
    Molly shakes her head without speaking and continues her unilateral embrace. Her hair is a large gingery mass of a garden with curly parts and frizzy parts and bushy parts shaped into an almost perfect globe. She seems to have attempted some kind of parting in there between the middle and the left side but it’s mostly fought back, and the overpowered hair clip is really just floating about six inches away from the scalp. Between the shape, the color, and the midstripe it looks a lot like a Cleveland Browns helmet.
    Stacey steps up to her and gently takes the clip, which appears to be in the form of a yellow school bus, and works it back through the hair to where it belongs. Molly holds completely still, but follows Stacey intently with her wide eyes.
    Suddenly it occurs to me. Maybe I just could be Derek. The Derek or a Derek, what’s the difference? I’m betting no difference at all, as far as Molly is concerned. So yeah, why not? She could have her Derek, the universe could have some rightness, and I’m pretty sure it would even be okay with Kiki since he is currently unattached.
    â€œWhat’s this, a convention or somethin’?”
    Startled, I look to my left where the speaker is holding up a left arm almost completely covered in a cast that is bent at the elbow. Since it is twice the cast of anybody else’s here, I’m thinking he may want to be our leader.
    â€œNo, it’s not a