Wicked Hungry Read Free

King.”
    She laughs, and I just glare at her.
    “Sorry,” she says, “But that is kind of normal, isn’t it? I mean, how many other fast food places have anything you can even eat?”
    “No. I mean, I have this nightmare... about eating something I can’t eat. About eating a Whopper.”
    She snorts through her nose. “Stanley?” she says. “What are you afraid of? My coupon? I mean, what terribele things will happen if you eat a Whopper? You going to turn into some kind of meat-eating monster?”
    “Laugh all you want, but some nights I wake up in a cold sweat.”
    She snorts.
    “Thanks,” I say.
    “You said, ‘Laugh all you want.’”
    “Yeah, but I was hoping you wouldn’t laugh.”
    “Sorry,” she says. “Anyhow, I’m one to talk.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I have these dreams—kind of like nightmares, too. No, it’s too weird,” she says, biting her lip. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    “Try me,” I say. “I mean, I already told you about my Whopper night sweats. It’s your turn.”
    “Fine,” she says. “In my dreams, I touch people.”
    “You touch people? What’s the matter with that?”
    “It’s that when I touch them, bad things happen.”
    “So what are you saying? Now you’re afraid to touch people? Because of a dream?”
    “Not just one dream, Stanley. It’s like every night, and it’s not just the dreams. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I am trying. Does this have something to do with breaking up with Zach?”
    She shakes her head, violently. “No,” she says. “This has been going on all summer.”
    “But you touched him over the summer, right?”
    “What are you, twelve?” she asks. “Yeah, I touched him.”
    “Sorry,” I say.
    “You think this is silly, don’t you? That I’m playing around? I swear I’m not, Stanley. Though I don’t know why anyone would believe me.”
    “I just don’t understand—what’s the problem? If you want to touch other people, why can’t you just—”
    “What? Reach out and touch someone?”
    “Yeah,” I say, soft again. “I mean, we just pinky promised, after all.”
    “You’re different. At least I hope you are.”
    “But you and Zach—”
    “We had this big fight. I got real angry, and he called me a bunch of names: ‘polluter,’ ‘carnivore,’ ‘unclean,’ and I got so angry. I called him some names myself, then, like ‘fascist,’ ‘extremist,’ and good old ‘asshole,’ and he pushed me. I kind of grabbed his arm, twisted it. It was like, if I hadn’t held back, I could have broken it? Though I didn’t, did I? But now he seems to think I’m some kind of psycho.”
    “I’m not afraid of you.”
    “Maybe you should be.”
    “What do you mean?” I ask. “Zach was an asshole, you had a fight, and now you’re dangerous ?”
    “It’s not just the fight. It’s what I can do.”
    “What you can do?”
    “You really want me to tell you?”
    “You don’t have to talk about it,” I say. “It’s all right with me if you don’t want to touch people.”
    We walk some more. The air is cold, my knee aches with every step, and now Karen is mad at me. I would do anything to see her smile right now.
    “You need a hug?” I blurt out.
    Immediately, I can’t believe I’ve said it. What’s the matter with me? She almost breaks Zach’s arm, she’s afraid to touch people, and now I offer her a hug? On the other hand, she did offer me a friendship bracelet, and don’t friends give each other hugs?
    She bites her lip. “I don’t know.”
    We stand on the sidewalk for a moment, neither one of us moving.
    “So you don’t want a hug, then?” I ask her. “No strings attached.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Well, what, then?”
    “I’m still kind of mad. But you’re really not afraid of me?”
    I shake my head.
    “I don’t want to hurt you.”
    “Don’t be silly, Karen. A hug never hurt anyone.”
    “But I hurt people,” she says. “I don’t