blood suckers
From the short story collection "What's Left Over: Stories Inspired By Discarded Things"
I tried not to laugh as they walked over, three twelve-year-old boys sporting cheap plastic fangs too small for their mouths. Craig stood in front, wearing a distorted version of his usual scowl while making gross sucking noises to collect the drool that was trying to escape via his bumped out upper lip.
“Wha?” he asked, as if I’d said something. I had learned long ago that there was nothing I could say to keep from being harassed by him—at school, on the playground, on the street in front of our houses. Didn’t matter. He inched closer so we were eye-to-eye, his face just inches from mine.
“You th-cared, Anabel?” he asked menacingly. His juicy breath smelled like Doritos.
I knew he was referring to the teeth; which no, they were not scary. Weird? Yes. I couldn’t say that though. Otherwise he and his goons would stink bomb my parents car or steal the bike I was borrowing from Stephanie’s mom and hide it in Craig’s garage so I’d think it was stolen.
“I’m going to Steph’s,” I said, maneuvering around him on the sidewalk where he had blocked me, hoping to get away. But, instead of doing whatever it was they were originally doing, the three of them started to follow me.
“You be’er naw cro-th the Blood Thuckers!” Freddy lisped loudly, in an obnoxious impression of a tough guy voice. The three of them found this hilarious for some reason. I could hear them high-fiving behind me.
Bryan circled around in front, walking backward and leaning in my face. Before speaking, he took out the fangs and tossed them on someone’s lawn. “This is our sidewalk, Manabel. You need to pay to use it.”
“Don’t call me, Manabel. It’s not your sidewalk,” I replied curtly, picking up my pace. Stephanie’s house was just at the end of the block.
When I turned up the path to Stephanie’s, Craig climbed up the short, brick staircase beside me. I rang the bell.
“You nee to pay da -oll,” he said, getting up in my face and fogging me again with his stomach churning breath. I could barely understand him with those teeth. What was the “toll”? This whole thing was so stupid.
No one was coming to the door. I glanced behind Craig and noticed The Bradley’s car wasn’t in the driveway. I should have called first.
“PAY DA -OLL!” he wailed, his voice echoing off the nearby houses.
Anger rose in my blood. This was so dumb.
“I’m not paying you anything!” I said and—sticking to my usual MO when someone wouldn’t leave me alone—I shoved him, forgetting we were on a stoop with no railing.
In the blink of an eye Craig’s body plummeted three feet down onto the grass, knocking the wind out of him. The dollar store plastic fangs flew out of his mouth and skidded onto the sidewalk. He wailed first, then began crying. My heart ramped up, veins flooding with adrenaline. All I could think about was his mother, what she might do to me when she found out I’d pushed him.
I leapt down the steps, bolting past his two stunned co-conspirators, and picking up Craig’s slimy plastic fangs on my way.
When I got home I went right upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom, pilfered plastic fangs still in my hand. Sitting down on the closed toilet seat, I tried to catch my breath. Despite being scared, I remembered how good it felt to shove Craig and a smile bloomed on my lips.
I stood and scrubbed the teeth with soap and water, then looked in the mirror.
Just as I thought. The fangs fit me much better.