The F- It List Part 12

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CHAPTER.

12.

I arrived home from work around nine thirty. Cellar Subs closed at nine, and it was my job to mop the fl oor with a seventy- fi ve- year old mop that weighed 600 pounds. I don't know if the fl oor ever actu- ally got clean because the lighting was so bad at the restaurant, and the mop was so decrepit. Strings of meat and vegetables slid between the dreadlocks of the mop, long past the expiration of the fi ve- second rule. It was also my job to clean the bathrooms, but n.o.body actually did that. Cellar had infamously nasty bathrooms, which somehow made the place cooler. Unless you had to use them.

When I walked into my house, AJ and CJ were watching Wipe- out and laughing uncontrollably at the big b.a.l.l.s. I wished I had the ability to be as ridiculously airheady as they did. Not that they were stupid, but as seventh- grade boys they didn't yet feel the weight of the world on their shoulders. Or in my case, my pocket. The only thing I -1- had to show for Becca's list was self- pleasuring before breakfast, and 0-

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I didn't even know if she knew about that yet. We hadn't talked about due dates or expectations of numbers. The list was as vague and overwhelming as the cancer itself.

"You smell like a sandwich," AJ told me without looking away from the watery carnage on the TV screen.

"OOOH!" AJ and CJ practiced synchronized cringing at the TV.

"Here." I threw a bag containing two subs to CJ, who dexter- ously caught it without turning his head.

"Thanks, sis."

"No prob, bros."

I walked into the kitchen for a gla.s.s of water. I did smell very sandwichy. It wasn't so bad compared to my fi rst job as an ice- cream scooper. Ice cream may be delicious when you eat it, but it rots when stuck to your s.h.i.+rt. Was.h.i.+ng it never got the rank smell out either. The sandwich smell did come out of my clothes, but sometimes it took for- ever to excrete from my nose.

I pulled the blue Brita pitcher out of the fridge and poured myself a tall gla.s.s of water. I placed the pitcher back, and my eyes focused on a jar that I never paid much attention to: jalapeno peppers, which my brothers ate for sport. They never appealed to me. Food and pain together seemed like a weird combo.

"AJ. CJ. Come here," I called into the other room. I pulled out the f.u.c.k- It List from my pocket, and as I remembered, #7, an early one, read: Eat a hot pepper. Great. Couldn't I just have s.e.x with a member of the chess team or something?

"We're watching Wipeout!" they chimed in unison.

"Pause your big b.a.l.l.s and get in here!" I demanded.

The clumsy shuffl ing of my twin brothers arrived in the kitchen.

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"What?" CJ held his sandwich in the brown paper bag like some drunk on the street. He took a sandwich swig and chewed lazily.

"What's it like to eat a hot pepper?"

"What do you mean? You just stick it in your mouth and bite it,"

AJ explained helpfully.

"That's what she said," CJ chuckled.

"Are you guys really this corroded?" I glared.

"No, sorry. You did bring us sandwiches," AJ conceded.

"I wanted to try an experiment." There was no way I'd tell my brothers about the f.u.c.k- It List. "But I'm a little scared."

"You can watch The Texas Chainsaw Ma.s.sacre, but you can't eat a pepper?" CJ asked. He couldn't stand horror fi lms, especially after Dad died. It was kind of sad and sweet at the same time. One of the traits that made him slightly human. Plus, it was fun watching him run away from the TV when I had a movie on in the family room.

"Those movies aren't real. Well, actually, The Texas Chainsaw Ma.s.sacre was based on a true story," I explained.

"Don't tell me that!" CJ covered his ears, one with a hand and the other with the sandwich in a bag.

"Dudes, help me here. I have to eat one, and I just want to pre- pare myself."

AJ walked over to the jar I pulled from the fridge. "This one's for p.u.s.s.ies. You have to try ghost chiles instead. They'll burn your but- thole for days."

"I don't eat with my b.u.t.thole." I eyed them.

"Yeah, but they have to come out after you digest them. They're the gift that keeps on giving. Burn you in, burn you out." AJ nodded -1- in a sick way.

0- "You guys are freaks," I told them.

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"We'll eat one if you do," CJ volunteered. "For twenty bucks,"

he added.

"You'll do it because I'm your sister, and you love me and if you don't I'll put my Chuckie doll in your bed in the middle of the night."

Chuckie was an evilly- st.i.tched doll from the movie Child's Play. Not the best movie, but I found the doll at a horror con in great condition and couldn't pa.s.s it up. "Plus: sandwiches."

"Fine. But you get to apologize to my b.u.t.thole in the morning."

"I'll write a letter and everything. Let's do this."

CJ unscrewed the jar lid and a tangy smell tickled my nose. "You don't have any cuts on your fi ngers, do you?" I examined my hands and shook my head no. "Good." He carefully pinched his thumb and forefi nger around a bright green pepper and pulled it out of the jar.

He slid the jar over to me, and I did the same. Juice dripped off the pepper onto the kitchen table, and I half expected a hole to sizzle into the wood.

"On the count of three?" I asked. CJ nodded. "One. Two. Three."

I closed my eyes and bit the pepper from its stem. It didn't immedi- ately hurt, but a slow sting emanated throughout my mouth. My eyes watered, and so did my nose. My lips felt about six sizes bigger than usual. When I fi nally managed to swallow, I coughed and sneezed simultaneously.

"Water!" I choked and chugged my entire gla.s.s. That didn't help. AJ and CJ were in hysterics, leaning on each other for support.

"You didn't eat it, did you?" I guessed.

"No. But thanks for the kind off er," CJ said.

I rubbed tears from my eyes. "No problem. And Chuckie can't wait to see you."

--1 "No! I'll eat it! Watch!" He stuff ed it into his gaping mouth.

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"Too late." I poured myself a second gla.s.s of water, not waiting to see CJ's reaction before I walked up the stairs to my room.

"I ate it! Al, I ate it!" He sputtered after me.

"Chuckie can't hear you anymore," I cackled, and shut my bed- room door.

While my computer revved up, I crossed off number 7. "Only for you, Becca," I said to the paper. A hot pepper, as painful as it was, was still an easy item. If I were to accomplish any of the big- ticket numbers, like taking a bath at someone else's house, that would take some planning. Same with number 10: Hop a train like a hobo. I laughed out loud at that one, not only because the word "hobo" was hilarious, but that Becca would consider such an act worthy of a life- defi ning list. And what about the last item on the list, number 23: Have s.e.x with someone I'm in love with and is in love with me. It's not some- thing I'd ever accomplished before, so how easy could it be now that it was with a time limit? I'd only actually had s.e.x with one person, but I didn't even believe I was in love with him at the time. His name was Aleks, p.r.o.nounced the same as my name and short for Alek- sander, an exchange student from Norway who stayed with our next- door neighbors. It was last fall, after Thanksgiving but before winter break. There were fi fteen Norwegians in total imported to our school, and Aleks didn't look much diff erent from the rest of them: tall, sandy blond hair, solid, round head. They traveled in packs, laughed loudly, and spoke a language that sounded both fl uid and funny. Before I had a car, I took the bus to school. So did Aleks, along with Katie Cartwright, the neighbor he stayed with who was a grade younger and a zombie cheerleader. Katie and Aleks never sat near -1- each other on the bus, nor did I ever see them exchange words. Aleks 0-

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sat by himself near the front, until the other Norwegians boarded a few stops later. Then he lit up and became animated. I liked to watch them, imagining someday that I might become an exchange student or live in another country. It was a dream that I tried not to hang on to anymore for fear that an unrealized dream would make me realize just how stranded I was now that my dad was dead.

One afternoon, when Aleks and I got off the bus alone, Katie at a game or something, he asked in a lightly clipped accent, "Want to come over?"

I had no reason to say no, and I was curious. "Sure." I shrugged.