Interference by Michelle Berry Page B

station for her iPod. Charlie wants a new basketball and some hockey equipment. Every other kid in the whole world wants something other than a DustBuster. I’m clean, Tom, but I’m not psychotic.”
    Becky can hear her father moving around the kitchen. Her parents’ voices move in and out as they walk. Becky feels a buzzing in her head. It’s from her tooth. It’s killing her. And her tongue. A permanent canker sore. Giving her headaches.
    â€œI’ve seen that guy downtown.” Becky hears her father clearly.
    â€œWhat? Where?”
    â€œHe was walking down the street. I was driving. I couldn’t stop.”
    â€œWhy would you stop?”
    Pause. A dish clinks. Becky can hear something being poured.
    â€œTo pay him, I guess. I figure we owe him some money.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. It was his problem that he left. We were going to pay him. He left. That was so long ago.”
    â€œI just feel like we owe him something.”
    â€œWe don’t owe him anything, Tom. Don’t be stupid.”
    â€œI’m not stupid, Maria. I’m just nice. You might want to try it sometime.”
    Becky stands, stretches her legs — her knees crack — and heads back up to her room. She isn’t imagining him. He does exist. Her dad saw him too.
    Christmas morning and Becky’s DustBuster works great. She has to charge it, but the little bit of charge that was in it directly from the packaging worked to suck up some of the dog fur on the carpet beside her bed. When she is busy with her DustBuster she forgets about her tooth. But when she has to put it back in the charger her tooth feels horrible. A pounding sensation. A boiling. It feels as if her gums are on fire. Becky is still not sleeping well. And the tooth makes it worse — every time she falls asleep she starts to grit and grind and she wakes instantly from the jagged pain. It’s a pain that shoots through her mouth, her jaw, her ear and up to her forehead. It makes her eyes water. And it bothers her that she can never remember what she is dreaming about. Not even if she concentrates as hard as she can.
    After Christmas vacation it is too cold to play in the schoolyard. Becky and her classmates go stir-crazy inside and end up in trouble most days. Lunchtime seems endless. They want to run and jump and play. Instead they are told to sit at their desks and do puzzles. The teachers refuse to stay in the classroom. Supervising during lunchtime is not in their contract. So the kids go wild and the classroom becomes worse than messy with cream cheese and butter and sandwich meat stuck under the desks and rubbed across the floor. One kid puts a piece of bologna in a heating vent and it rots and the room smells like death for weeks. Becky gets more nervous — the messiness is bothering her. She stands at the window most lunch hours and watches the schoolyard, wiping her hands on her jeans over and over.
    He is always there. Standing still. Just outside the fence. Beside the tree. Now you see him, now you don’t.
    One day Rachel and Charlie are sick. They have the flu. Becky is forced to walk home alone. She knows the guy is right behind her but she doesn’t want to turn. If she doesn’t turn she won’t see him and he won’t be there. Becky makes it home and bursts through the front door.
    â€œHey, what’s your hurry?” Becky’s mother is standing in the kitchen, apron on, washing cookie trays. “I got off work early and thought I’d make cookies. Becky? Don’t slam —”
    Slam.
    â€œâ€” the door.”
    Becky collapses and lies on the floor, lifeless.
    â€œAre you okay? What’s wrong? The floor is dirty, get up. Take your boots off, Becky.”
    Becky leaps up. Of course the floor is dirty. She brushes herself off. She steals a glance at the front door but sees nothing through the tempered glass. There is no one there — or if he is