The Lava in My Bones by Barry Webster

next day in the cafeteria, Jimmy walked up to me and knocked on the tabletop. When he spoke, spit flew from his lips and landed on my hamburger macaroni. His cheeks were flushed. Was this because I’d spoken to him yesterday? Was I the first girl who hadn’t run from him in terror? He said, “If you don’t mind it, we can get together after school. I wants to go to the bushes.” Jimmy’s smile wavered, disappeared, slanted sideways, collapsed, reformed.
    I answered “Yes,” like I did when the other boys asked me to the end of the field. The word gave me a feeling of what I thought was power. “Let’s meet there.”
    Jimmy’s cowlick quavered like a radar device. His lips parted, spread, lifted, and his smile was so huge I could see the line separating his teeth from his gums. “Great,” he said. “Let’s meet by the bleachers at four.”
    When he’d left, I stared after him for a long time. Somewherein the distance, I sensed winds lashing seaside cliffs. If I found and gave way to a desire for Jimmy, would my honey finally stop flowing?

    Sam, did you know that Estelle and Esther’s father owned the new steel foundry? The sisters shared clothes and did their hair the same way. Esther never married. She’d had a series of bad love affairs, but yours was the first, and she believed you’d set the pattern.
    Now Esther ran a dressmaking shop overlooking the ocean. She was always furiously whipping doorknobs with strips of fabric and stabbing pins into the eyeballs of mannequins. She only felt satisfied during storms when ships sank at sea and oil rigs collapsed. Few people bought her clothing since it was too fancy, but Estelle often wore her creations, “because I’m a lady,” she’d say, “not like you savage bitches.” On special days (her birthday, the last day of school), Estelle even wore elegant gowns with ruffles and lace, “because I’m special. Only lady-like girls deserve boyfriends.”
    In the hallway one day she said to me, “My sister told me your family are goddamned freaks, and I believe it’s true. Does your mom love looking at your underwear, too?”
    I had the urge to push her to the ground. That’d be easy; Estelle’s limbs were pencil-thin, her behind like two eggshells beneath her frilly dress. Sometimes I longed to tear off her clothes and smear wet mud over her ivory-white skin. ButEstelle had a large entourage of admirers, and my status, though higher than before, was tenuous—more than I knew.

    Cartwright was playing the visiting Dove Brook team, and we were winning. I met Jimmy in the striped shade behind the crowded football stands where everyone had gathered to cheer. I could see the clump of bushes from a distance, like three ice cream scoops beside a large oak.
    â€œWay to go, Cartwright. Way to go!” Clap, clap.
    Jimmy leaned against a wood pillar and fidgeted as if his entire body were itchy. He said, “Let’s walk by the stands.”
    The football players ran two abreast across the field. A squad of cheerleaders in yellow blouses and red skirts (I recognized Estelle among them) shook wool pom-poms and screamed, “Cart-wright is all-right! Cart-wright can fight-fight!” Clap, clap.
    Jimmy beamed as if they were cheering for him. He turned a couple of times toward the crowd. He wanted to be seen going into the bushes with a girl. Was this his way of raising his status? I wouldn’t mind. I might have used him for the same purpose. Even before my honey problem, my broad shoulders, thick biceps, and plaid shirts had scared people away. As we approached the wall of bracken, I became frightened. What were we actually going to do in there? Jimmy motioned for me to sit on the shadow-dappled earth, and I reminded myself that I was stronger than him. I worried that Mother would find out, butthen I remembered you, Sam, and your advice that I