Whenever You Call by Anna King Page B

meant, obviously, that I became ever more geeky. My usual method, dating from the eighth grade, was to pretend I hadn’t heard the hissing voice asking for help. That’s what I tried with Jelly. I gazed off into nothingness, trying to appear as if I was in a spacey trance.
    I knew she wasn’t buying it. She gave off these disgusted vibes that seemed to say, “You act as if you care about those beneath you, but when push comes to shove, you don’t really.”
    Suddenly I coughed and cleared my throat. The throat action sounded remarkably like lillet.
    Her pen moved.
    I told myself you couldn’t get any realer than this. I was now a cheater. I actually felt sick to my stomach.
    After the tests were graded and it appeared that Jelly had squeaked by, I found myself thrilled. It was so wrong. She hadn’t learned a darn thing and if anyone ever asked for that drink in a real bar, she was going to have a problem, even though I really doubted anyone in their right mind would want one in the first place. Half the drink recipes we memorized were rarely ordered.
    I joined the rest of the class down in the pizza parlor for lunch. Clearly, a bond from Jelly now looped around me and I was so buoyed up by this that I figured I might be able to connect with all of them, except, truthfully, I didn’t hold out much hope for Cathy. And why did I care, anyway?
    The familiar silence grabbed the group as we waited for the pizzas, but this time I figured out it was because they were hungry and didn’t have the energy to talk. People are ruled by their stomachs. Without food, they fold into deaf, dumb and blind organisms. But what really complicated human behavior was that people were hungry all the time . Not their stomachs, not really, although that’s what they thought was hungry. It was more like their mouths were hungry. Their mouths constantly hung open, like little baby birds begging for their mother’s regurgitated crap. I had no idea what this meant, but I knew it was true. Until our little group started filling their gigantic mouths with pizza, they would be catatonic.
    Sure enough, the pizza came, they ate, and they started to talk. With mouths full of food. Charming.
    Ike said, “All we gotta do is get a hold of that certificate and we can copy it.”
    I thought, Oh shit.
    “Only one person is going to get a certificate, at the rate we’re going.” Jelly poked me with her elbow and grinned.
    The others stared at me, chewing methodically.
    The road to hell is such an easy slide. I’d always heard that, but since I’d never taken the first step on that slippery slope, I’d also never actually experienced it.
    I rolled my eyes at Jelly, buying time.
    Joan suddenly perked up, having finally understood. “You mean we could take her certificate and have it copied, like making fake money or something?”
    My moral dilemma deepened. It seemed entirely plausible that Joan was of a sub-par intelligence. In which case, her employer was bound to be disappointed in her performance. She probably should have stuck with changing diapers in a daycare center and, even there, the learning curve might have been steep.
    “Uh, I think any place you apply for a bar tending job is going to call Al for a recommendation,” I said.
    “Not for me,” Ike said. “I got the job at my uncle’s if I show him the certificate.”
    I found it interesting that Ike’s uncle was so determined about that certificate. He was probably trying to get out of family pressure to hire Ike.
    Jelly took a huge bite of pizza and began to chomp vigorously. Also, to talk. “Naw, I don’t think so. It’s not like Al can say anything much about us except we did the course and passed.”
    Cathy nodded.
    Ike nodded.
    Joan nodded.
    I shrugged and crammed half a piece of pizza into my mouth, which made me choke. I leapt to my feet and rushed to the bathroom where I spit the half-chewed pizza into a towel provided for drying your hands. If I’d had my cell phone with