It's Just a Jump to the Left by Libba Bray Page B

their new car when
     she left to “find herself” on an ashram last year, leaving Agnes and her sister Diana in the lurch with a dad who was no more
     than a shadow in their house.
    “Your dad’s here,” Leta warned, and Agnes moved away from Roger.
    “So, you wanna go see a movie tomorrow or something?” Roger asked Agnes.
    “Sure. Okay.”
    Mr. Tatum drove up and honked the horn. He sat in the driver’s seat staring straight ahead. Agnes jotted her phone number
     on the back of an old napkin and offered it to Roger with a smile that gave Leta an uneasy feeling in her stomach, like the
     climb on a roller coaster when you’ve glimpsed the first steep drop but there’s nothing to do but hold on till the end.
    DAMMIT, JANET
    Two weeks later, on a Saturday, Leta spent the night at Agnes’s house. Aggie’s grandmother had suffered a fall, and her dad
     was in Kansas arguing with the siblings about what should be done. This left Agnes’s older sister, Diana, on duty, but she’d
     gone off with her friends. In exchange for the girls’ silence, she’d promised them one monumental favor, no questions asked,
     to be collected at a future date.
    Leta and Agnes enjoyed having the house to themselves. They pretended they were stewardesses sharing an apartment in New York
     City, where they entertained rock stars and heads of state. Leta said her name was Astrid Van Der Waal, and she was also a
     Swedish princess. Agnes called herself Agatha Frank-N-Furter until Leta objected, so she changed it to just Agatha, like Cher,
     and said she was a spy. When they tired of that game, they cooked Tuna Helper in a small black pan, adding in canned corn
     because it was a vegetable. They scooped it all up with Doritos and washed it down with lemonade concocted from water and
     neon-pink powder in a jar. They’d lost count on the spoonfuls and the lemonade was puckery tart. It left a coating on Leta’s
     tongue that made everything taste slightly off.
    “You know what you say to corn?” Leta said, giggling.
    “No, what?”
    “See you later!” Leta laughed so hard some of her Tuna Helper fell out of her mouth. When Agnes didn’t laugh, Leta explained,
     “See you later? Because corn comes out in your poop?”
    Agnes rolled her eyes. “You probably shouldn’t say that around guys. They’ll think you’re gross.”
    Leta felt confused. They always laughed at poop jokes. Always.
    “Guess what?” Agnes said. “Roger invited me to a party.”
    Leta took a bite of Tuna Helper. It still tasted like lemonade powder. “When is it?”
    “Friday night.” Agnes did not look at Leta when she said this.
    “But that’s
Rocky Horror
night.”
    “Yeah, sorry. I’m not gonna be able to go this weekend.”
    “But we always go to
Rocky Horror
on Fridays. And Jennifer’s still dressing as Columbia. I need you as my wingman. You have to come.”
    Agnes glared. “Oh, Leta, grow up.”
    They spent the rest of the night not speaking. As she lay in her sleeping bag, her mind going over and over the conversation
     like a rosary, Leta noticed that Agnes’s horse models weren’t on her shelves anymore. Instead there was a dried-out rose in
     a vase and a new poster of some motocross champ she’d never heard of. When Leta’s mom came for her on Sunday morning, Leta
     packed her stuff and ran out to the car without even saying good-bye.
    THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
    “Who in here has heard of the band Steely Dan?”
    Leta’s student teacher, Miss Shelton, looked out hopefully at the class. She had on her flared jeans, feather earrings, and
     kimono top. Her long blond hair hung down straight as a sheet of ice, and her magnificent boobs were pushed into a canyon
     of cleavage that had every boy in class sitting at attention.
    Tracy Thomas raised her hand. “Will this be on the test, Miss Shelton?”
    “No, Tracy,” she said with a wink.
    Miss Shelton had tried to get everyone to call her Amy on the first day, but their teacher, Mrs.