The Day I Killed James by Catherine Ryan Hyde

girl seemed neither friendly nor hostile, and she was clearly not afraid. In fact, she seemed to absorb the attention, half negative though it was.
    Annie said, “What happened to your hair?”
    “What happened to yours?”
    “I shaved it off.”
    “Cut mine with a scissors. Mom was pissed.”
    “I can imagine. Why did you do it?”
    “Why’d you do yours?”
    “Not sure exactly. Punishing myself, I guess.” When the girl didn’t answer she added, “Your turn to talk.”
    “I just thought yours looked cool. Mine’s all uneven, though.”
    “Maybe your mom will fix it up for you.”
    The girl forced out a sound that could have passed for a snort of laughter. But her face did not change, and no mirth or amusement evolved. “You don’t know her. She said it serves me right.”
    Annie stared a minute more. Nodded. Realized she had nothing more to say. Turned to walk back to her own door. Two steps later it hit her, and she turned back.
    The girl’s stare had not moved or changed.
    “You’re the one who brought my phone back. Aren’t you?”
    “Was that bad?”
    “No. It was nice.”
    “Oh. Then I did.”
    “How did you know where it was?”
    “I was down there. In the creek. I’m down there a lot.” When Annie didn’t answer straightaway, she said, as if questioned further, “I have to go to the bathroom down there.”
    “Why? What’s wrong with your bathroom?”
    “My brother’s always in it.”
    Two kids living right next door. And she hadn’t even heard one. “Tell him to get out of there.”
    “He can’t.”
    “Is he a teenager?”
    “He’s thirteen.”
    Annie nodded, thinking that explained it. Wanting not to know more. She felt the wear of her long day. Wanted not to have this conversation.
    “Well, you can use mine if you need one.”
    “Now?”
    “Do you need one now?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Okay. Come on.”
    She opened her front door, swung it wide.
    The girl stepped in and looked around. “Saw you got the window fixed.”
    “How did you even get up that high to patch it?”
    “I had to stand on a box.”
    The two stood awkwardly for a moment, neither speaking, and the girl found her own way to the bathroom. Annie could hear the sound of water, the toilet flush. She sat down heavily and removed her shoes. Lit a cigarette.
    The girl came back out and stood with one hand on the door. “Can I have a cigarette before I go?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “They’re no good for you.”
    “They’re no good for you, either.”
    “That’s not the point, though. If I smoke, that’s called stupid. If I give you one, that’s called contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Which you are. I’m still not sure I believe you live next door. I would have heard you.”
    “I told you. I’m quiet.”
    “I’d at least have seen you.”
    “You’ve seen me. Lots of times. You just never looked. You just never noticed. Not even when I did something nice for you. I had to steal something to get you to notice me.”
    She swung the door open and slammed it hard behind her.
    Annie sat quietly, finished up the cigarette. Then changed into jeans and her most comfortable shoes. Walked down to the market and bought a frozen dinner, a six-pack of Coronas, and two more packs of cigarettes.
    Then stopped at the pharmacy on the way home and bought an electric hair trimmer. Not just for the punk, she reminded herself. She’d use it, too. It might even be a step in the right direction. Over a razor, that is.
    When she got home, the punk kid was nowhere around. She knocked on the trailer the girl claimed to live in. First nothing, no voice or footsteps.
    Then a sudden, panicky, “Who’s there?”
    “It’s just Annie. From next door. Is that you, kid?” Maybe she really did live there.
    “Oh. Just a minute.” The door swung open. The girl stood with a small, cheap-looking, but all-too-real pistol clutched in both of her hands. Her eyes followed Annie’s down to it. “I’ll put it away,”