Enchilada Ed

16

"I haven't even been liking anybody else's Instagrams," Ed said. "I checked out of the game a while ago."

"A good way to level up is to ask one of her friends."

"Are you crazy?"

"Why not?" Mike shrugged. "Your mutual friends say she thinks it's no big deal, so she shouldn't care if Dad is forcing you to go with somebody else, right?"

Ed considered Mike's logic.

"Who would I even ask? Emily and Katie have boyfriends, and aside from them and Audra, that's pretty much our friend group-"

"What about the witchy one?"

"Gina? Che wouldn't go to prom," Ed took another sip of his lemonade, "and one of her policies is to never do anything Che wouldn't do."

"Bribe her with a Stevie Nicks album," Mike suggested. "I got this one on vinyl-"

"Stevie Nicks?" Ed scrunched up his face. "Like, from Fleetwood Mac?"

"Her solo stuff," Mike walked over to a cardboard box of vinyl records resting on the living room floor. "For all you know, she and Gina might be part of the same coven."

"Gina's not a witch," Ed watched Mike rifle through his vinyls and pick one up. "She's a conspiracy theorist."

"Fine," Mike dropped the vinyl back into the box, "buy her the latest Alex Jones 'documentary.'"

"I'm definitely not going to do that," Ed frowned. As if Gina needed any more encouragement. What have I been reduced to, bribing a lunatic with the work of another, more-famous lunatic, just to avoid wearing a chili-pepper suit?

"Well, you could always pay off the six hundy," Mike paused for theatrical effect, "at El Gringo's."

Ed swallowed dry.

***

Saturday detention, in practice, was not like The Breakfast Club.

Ed sat in the fifth row of the humanities center's densely-populated amphitheater, struggling to focus on his Calculus homework, and trying very hard not to make eye contact with the intimidating, greasy-haired kid in a trench-coat staring up at him from the third row. Forty minutes in, Ed gave up on his derivatives and pressed his head onto his desk. Just as he started to see visions of chili peppers and enchiladas, he was shaken awake by a cool, small hand.

"Dude, if they catch you sleeping, they'll give you another one," Five fingernails dug into Ed's neck.

"Are you trying to draw blood," Ed yanked up his head and wiped at his wounds. "Gina?"

"Yo," Gina gave a two finger salute and slunk into the seat next to him.

"How long have you been here?" Ed searched the amphitheater for her Jack Skellington book bag or her oversized purple fuzzy jacket, or any other clues to her arrival.

"Since the beginning," Gina tilted her chin so that her already deep-set eyes seemed to sink further into her face.

"Don't be a creep."

"What are you even doing here?" Gina asked. "Aren't you supposed to be like, eating your vegetables and flossing your teeth, and saying please and thank you like the normie you are?"

"A hall monitor caught me skipping class on Monday."

"Oh, after the incident," Gina nodded. "Understandable."

"What are you in for?" Ed lifted an eyebrow. "You kill somebody's cat or something?"

Gina hissed.