I like Getting Slapped

It was a Tuesday like any other horrible Tuesday when Lucy Belle, the neighbor from across the street, walked over to my house, poked her head in my bedroom window, called me out to her with a "shhh, shh" and slapped me on the face. She proceeded to, then, run away as fast as possible.

Me and Henry Watkins, that's my best friend, were dumbfounded by this event. It had happened every week, ever since that stupid Valentine's day when all the girls in school had received letters from potential boyfriends, except Lucy and Freida Austere. Freida was a pretty girl but her dark eye-lashes and mean-girl attitude kept boys away from her and we were pretty sure that's what she wanted. Lucy, well, that was another story.

"She did it again?" Asked Henry through the walky-talky. Obviously, the sound of my shame carried through the speakers. Also, he lived next door, so he probably heard it. Lucy had a good arm on her. Her parents got her involved in baseball and she was a pitcher for the local team, The Jerkies.

"I'm marking this down as her second attempt to take my head off."

"Yea," said Henry, chewing on a piece of gum from the sound of it, "Umm, itsamm enderhanded plot to killmya."

"Are you chewing gum? Did you say underhanded plot? What's that mean?"

"You know like a trick."

"The slap is a trick or the running away is a trick?"

"They could both be tricks," observed Henry, the genius.

"You coming over, so we could play marbles? The ground is soggy enough for it."

"Under the tree?"

"Yea."

This was a very tempting thing for Henry because he loved apples and we had an orchard with a swing in our backyard. Mom explained to me that we didn't call apple trees apple trees, so I had to look it up in the dictionary.

"Your mom going to make those godly sandwiches with that savory, I-got-an-aching-for-it lemonade again?"
"Actually," I said, not having giving it as much thought as Henry, "Yes. Yes, she is."

"Um, no thanks."

"Huh?"

"I got a new video game."
"You got a game! You're not playing marbles 'cause you got a game?"

"Yea."

"Mom says that's how the people in the big cities get fat."

"We're in a city."

"Our population is under twenty thousand. Mom says that doesn't count as a city. "

"Why not?"

"I asked her that. She said that it's because cities have more than one bank."

"More than one bank? Wow. Are big-city people getting paid twice a week or something? Why would you need more than one bank?"

"I don't know. Why does Lucy slap me every Tuesday? Why do you need to play your game instead of playing marbles?"

"It's actually interesting. You should come over. My mom's making, um, burnt pizza."

"You mean regular pizza."

"Ya, but she'll burn it for ya pretty good. Its more of an option."

"What if I cook it myself?"

"She won't let you do that."

"Burnt pizza it is, then."

We spent countless hours in front of Henry's television trying to figure out how a simple plumbing technician could rescue a princess. "This game is addicting," I told Henry. I could finally see him. He already had a gut going but he wasn't too chubby. His mom mad him wear a hat but she didn't care how he wore it, so he looked like a member of NWA with his black hat on backwards. He also wore dirt-stained blue-jean shorts and a plain white shirt. We were sitting in a place obviously thunder struck by a tornado of clothing. Everywhere I looked there was a shirt or a sock or a pair of pants. I tended not to ask him but it was getting worse by the day. "What's with the clothes, man?"

"Eh," said Henry, "It's from the stress."

"It looks like there's no more stress to relieve, what stress?"

"From you and Lucy fighting; it's causing me to act in ways I don't understand."

"That sounds like something a parent would say."

"Yea. I heard something similar last night on the news."

I thought about this. He kept looking at my over-sized Packer's jersey. "That's a big P."

"I remember you said that yesterday, too."

"We were peeing at the time."

"I think we should never again bring up the circumstances of why a sentence gets repeated."

"It's funnier, though," said Henry. "So, what are we doing about Lucy?"

"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "I've given the problem a lot of thought."

"She's pretty."

"Shut-up, Henry."

"She's got that pink lipstick she steals form her sister."

"You mean with the glitter?"

"Ya."

"I think that's from a lollipop or something. She added the glitter during art sessions."

"But you noticed."

"You think we should tell her, then?"
"Well," said Henry, "First, she would hate us."

"Right."
"Then, she would probably involve me in her assassination attempts. No thanks."

"Well, we did see Alice Krisburn steal her cards and erase Lucy's name and put her name, instead."

"We saw it. It doesn't mean we should tell her we saw it."

"But I think we should," I said, rubbing on my cheek.

"It's not that bad, is it? Is she slapping you every day?"

"No," I said, "But, she used to be our friend and we played that game with the colored dots."

"You mean Twister?"

"I mean, when she invited her older sister, it was better and who doesn't like a good game of--?"

"I'm more a man of the future."

"Who's scared of Lucy."

"Or for my life. Either way, I'm not going to tell her."

"Well," I said, "I am. I'm tired of getting slapped."

"What kind of a backstabbing friend are you!"
"But Henry, she's our frien--?"

"Get out of my house!"
"Henry!"

"Get out of my house!"

Henry's mom yelled back at him. "Is Chris leaving, honey?"

"See you tomorrow?" I asked him, quietly, dropping the remote control for the game.

Henry nodded.

At around two o'clock Lucy got back from a daily match of tennis she had to attend during the summer. Her parents made her go. It was yet another reason to stop the slapping. I was resting on her front lawn cross-legged like an indian holding a white sign that read, "Stop the Injustice!" At first all I saw was a pair of legs and white socks. She had long legs for her age. Then a racket almost took the front of my sign off, if it wasn't that i moved it out of her way.

Her parents greeted me, "Chris, good to see you." Then, passed me by. Lucy stopped where I was. I got up quickly.

She looked at me seriously.

I looked at her back.

"What are you looking at?" She asked.

"A crazy person," I said.

"Why are you here, in my house, holding up a stupid sign?"

"You got twenty cards for valentine's day!"

"Twenty? What?"

"Alice Krisburn switched them."

"Oh," said Lucy, blushing slightly, "Wait. I knew that."

This upset me. "You kne--? SO why are you slapping me!"
"Because you wrote on my card:

If I could have the prettiest girl in the class

it would be you

Because of the limited choices."

"I didn't write that!" I snapped. "And I don't appreciated being blamed--?"

"You didn't? Oh right," Lucy interrupted, "You wrote the romantic one."

"Yes!" I found myself yelling. "Er, no. Wait, what was the question?

"I'm not going to be your girlfriend, Chris Anderson, no matter how many times you ask me!"

"Nobody--?"

"And I don't appreciate you stalking me!"

"I'm not stalking you! I don't even know what stalking means!"

Then, she stepped on my foot.

"That's for making me care about you!"
"Ow, ow. But I didnt--?"

Then she slapped me.

"Oh, you liked that one?"

I rubbed my cheek.

"I swear I don't understand why this is happening!"

Then, she kissed me.

And ran away.

Later....

On the walky-talky in my room, Henry said, "You awake?"

"Ya."
"Sorry about earlier, man."

"It's okay. Lucy attack you?"

"No," said Henry, "But I put on some of my dad's cologne in case she decided to."

"How come you're so ready for these things? I didn't even know she liked me."

"You probably knew, just didn't realize it. I mean, I wish I had a pretty girl with that much passion for sports slap me."

"Ya," I said, "I wonder if she's going to keep doing that."

"Keep? You didn't talk to her?

"How was I supposed to know that slapping translated to her liking me."

"Because she knew that by liking her you would never know that you liked her and therefore she could get away with liking you by not liking you. Its common sense."

"So she liked me not-liked-me because I like-liked her without knowing I liked her?"

"Precisely."

"Wait, who likes who?"

"I like you, man, you got good taste."

"But I don't like boys. I can't deal with more liking at the moment."

"I love your mom's sandwiches."

"I like..."

I could see her through my window. She was smiling and rubbing on her hand.

"What happened after she slapped you?"

"I like getting slap, Henry."

"That's dangerous, Chris. By saying that you're crossing to adult-land where you admit that you like-like a girl because she like-liked you first."

I put the walky under a pillow and waited for the slap because I knew exactly what came after it.