Mean Streaks Read online

  Mean Streaks

  Three Short Mysteries

  Kimberly G. Giarratano

  Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly G. Giarratano

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art design by Kimberly G. Giarratano

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  The Quickest Path

  Welcome to Paradise

  Peach Party Dress

  About the Author

  Also by Kimberly G. Giarratano

  The Quickest Path

  Maxine Goldfarb stood over the body, gripping her cell phone with tight fingers, poised to snap a photo or call the police—she hadn’t decided which yet. She examined Brent Hammer’s arm—his throwing arm—jutted out to the side, a hypodermic needle lodged in a vein and a strip of rubber still knotted around his bicep.

  With dense April fog sitting heavy on top of the woods, Maxine could have walked right past Brent’s corpse had he not been lying in the deer path.

  It was a shortcut from her cul-de-sac to the high school that only losers who didn’t own cars would be forced to traverse on gloomy, cold mornings. Which made finding Brent’s body there all the more scandalous. That, and the heroin, of course.

  Maxine wouldn’t dare touch Brent, but from her vantage point peering down on him, she could see his lips, typically curled in a sneer, were now cast in purple. That might’ve indicated that he’d been dead for hours, since last night even, if the superficial knowledge she gleaned from CSI and Bosch was reliable.

  She considered scuttling around him so she wouldn’t miss her Western Civ exam, but the news she abandoned Brent would probably reach homeroom before she did. Everyone knew Maxine walked the deer path to school. And then they would whisper and gossip about how the quiet outcast stepped right over the dead body of the all-American quarterback just so she wouldn’t have to make up a test during lunch. The last thing Maxine needed was the local police pounding on the Goldfarbs’ front door and waking her mother after a grueling twelve-hour shift.

  They might wonder how she could be so callous. So insensitive. Or maybe, they wouldn’t wonder. It wasn’t like the kids at school didn’t know how Brent Hammer treated her. They just didn’t care.

  Maxine really didn’t want to call the police, but what choice did she have? For a moment, she felt a twinge of pity for Chief Hammer, a man who at press conferences often grumbled about the moral turpitude of drug addicts, only to arrive at the scene and discover his son, Brent, was one of them.

  She dialed 911 and the dispatcher warned her not to touch anything. Maxine waited in the middle of the path, her boots seeping into the earth. A piece of fuzzy cloth, pale like a baby chick and almost invisible in the gray haze, sat on the mossy edge of a hollow tree stump. Although Maxine swore to the dispatcher she would not contaminate the scene, she wasn’t very good at keeping her word. She plucked the small square of fabric from the stump and stuffed it inside her jacket pocket.

  Then she held up her cell phone and snapped a photo of Brent’s lifeless form. It wasn’t like she had plans to post the image to Instagram or anything, but there was something comforting in having evidence of Brent looking as pathetic as he had constantly made her feel.

  Last Monday, before she’d found Brent’s body, she’d been standing at her locker swapping out a calculus textbook for a physics one. Like usual. And like usual, she heard snickering behind her. After all, Brent Hammer’s locker was opposite hers. She’d suffered through nearly four years of homeroom with him; she could handle two more months.

  Bodies sidled past her as the senior hallway swelled with students, some hustling to homeroom, others buzzing about the prom tickets finally going on sale later that afternoon. Dates were being negotiated. Dresses put on hold. Money set aside. Some boyfriends concocted elaborate prom proposals, even tapping buddies to video record the whole charade for YouTube in the hopes it would go viral.

  Prom reminded Maxine of picking dodgeball teams. The most athletic kids, or in this case, the most popular, got invited to Senior Prom first until only the muck of the class remained, desperate to be selected. Like Maxine.

  Maxine didn’t care for elaborate and cheesy prom proposals, but she did want to be asked. If only to be included in what all the other kids were doing.

  Just then Rachel Kahn appeared at Maxine’s locker, clutching a manual about Madagascar cockroaches to her chest, and bobbing on the heels of her sneakers.

  Maxine cocked her brow. “What’s going on?”

  Rachel’s eyes darted around the hallway. She dipped her chin and leaned conspiratorially forward. “Word is David Barletta is going to ask you to the prom.”

  Maxine slammed her locker door, the resounding clang startling her even though she should’ve expected it. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Around.”

  Maxine’s shoulders drooped and she exhaled her disappointment long and slow. It was not like she’d been harboring romantic fantasies of David, but he had clear skin and had gotten accepted to Rutgers. “So, it’s garbage then.”

  “No.” Rachel quickly added, “I heard from David himself. He asked me if you had a date yet, but I promised him I wouldn’t tell you.” Her breath hitched. “Oh my God, he’s coming this way.”

  Butterflies of excitement fluttered in Maxine’s stomach. Flustered, she tried smoothing down her dirty blonde hair. She prayed her breath still held the mint of the morning’s toothpaste.

  But then Brent Hammer’s broad shoulder cut a ravine between Maxine and Rachel as he leaned against the bank of metal lockers. Just like that, the butterflies had been doused in poisonous gas.

  “Hey, Maxipad.” Brent’s sly grin worked its way across his face.

  Rachel recoiled, now holding her book like a shield. She retreated and bumped into the lanky frame of David Barletta who was looking upon the scene with understandable confusion.

  “Jesus Christ, Brent, what do you want?” Maxine hissed. She attempted to go around him but he pressed a heavy hand against her shoulder, nearly pinning her in place.

  Maxine scanned the hallway for help. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen, but no one came to her rescue.

  Brent began scratching at a decal for an unknown band someone had slapped to the locker door. “I just wanted to invite my favorite girl to Senior Prom.”

  “Huh?” Maxine’s forehead scrunched into a ridge, a gesture she often made when she was baffled about physics homework or the appeal of her mother’s new boyfriend.

  Brent succeeded in ripping half the sticker off the locker before he suddenly dropped to bended knee. The hallway grew so quiet Maxine could hear her own heart beating.

  “Maxine Eleanor Goldfarb, would you do me the honor of being my date to the prom?”

  She said nothing. She craned her neck slightly so she could glance down the hall to where Brent’s girlfriend, Serena Dunn, all blonde-haired and golden-tanned even in the drab Pocono spring, chatted with her fellow cheerleaders. Felicity Favreau elbowed Serena who watched the performance with a pinched expression, but made no effort to intervene. Ugh. Why couldn’t stupid Serena keep her boyfriend in line?

  Maxine swallowed her humiliation and motioned for Brent to stand up. “Very funny. Now, go away.”

  Brent feigned hurt. Then he clutched Maxine’s hand and brought it to his chest. “Please, darling, accept my invitation.” He made his voice sound haughty, like he was performing a weird British monologue for an audition. He finished the play by kissing her palm.
Maxine tasted bile.

  She tried to wrestle back her hand, but she was no match for Brent’s football strength. She gritted her teeth. “Get up. Please.”

  “Not until you agree to be my prom date.”

  Maxine inhaled and closed her eyes. Go along. Get this over with. Then he’ll leave. “Fine. I’ll be your prom date.”

  She should’ve prepared herself for what was to come next, but she hadn’t.

  Brent leaped to his feet, only to then bend over at his waist, his body shaking with laughter. He opened his arms wide, like Russell Crowe in Gladiator crying out to the crowd, ‘Are you not entertained?’

  “I would never take you to the prom,” he boomed. Then Brent dropped his voice to a whisper. “And now, no one else will either.”

  Maxine had to hand it to her classmates. They weren’t laughing with him, but no one was rushing to her defense either. And when the bell rang and the students dispersed, Maxine noticed that David Barletta had disappeared down the hallway. He’d never even spoken to her.

  Once upon a time Brent Hammer had been a short, square-shaped little boy who struggled for an entire summer to pedal his two-wheeler until Maxine was kind enough to help him. Although they both lived on the same street, their houses practically glaring at each other from across the cul-de-sac, Maxine and Brent didn’t often play together as kids. That’s because Brent’s mother, a skittish woman, kept a close eye on him, and Maxine’s mother, a nurse who swallowed overtime shifts to make the mortgage, didn’t watch Maxine at all.

  But there were a few times, before they started middle school, before Maxine sprouted boobs, that she and Brent would hang out. Sometimes, they’d ride their bicycles in a tight circle until they got dizzy. Sometimes, they’d scrounge for loose change in the couch cushions to buy a Good Humor bar from the ice cream man. And once, they walked the deer path, one behind the other, pretending they were explorers in the South American jungle. Except, Brent was deathly afraid of large beetles so Maxine had to amend their adventure to include a bug-free fantasy.

  It was hard for Maxine to reconcile the squat little neighbor boy with the hulking bully who now sat on the other side of the cafeteria, laughing with his football buddies, his mouth opened so wide Maxine could see the spaghetti on his tongue. He’d grown up to be like his father: broad-shouldered and short-tempered. Maxine wondered what Serena Dunn saw in him.

  Serena had also once been Maxine’s friend. Her mother was a desk clerk in the same ICU unit where Maxine’s mother worked, and the girls bonded over their deadbeat dads and busy moms. But then Serena’s mother remarried and moved the family to a McMansion with a swimming pool. Serena inherited a popular stepsister who transformed her into a golden, cheerleading goddess, envied by everyone. Maxine used to call Serena at her new house to invite her to sleepovers, but stopped when Serena never called back.

  Rachel lowered a tray of food to the table and plunked down. Maxine’s tuna fish sandwich lay untouched in a paper bag, her appetite stolen. She dared a peek at David who was sitting with friends a few tables away.

  Maxine waited for Rachel to open her juice carton before broaching the subject. “Do you think David will still ask me to Prom?”

  Rachel swallowed audibly and then shook her head. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and slid it across the table. The text exchange lit up the screen.

  Maxine read it.

  You can still ask her at lunch. All that drama from the morning will be old news.

  Nah. I don’t want to get on Brent’s radar.

  ????

  I asked Kaitlyn Wallace in AP English anyway. She said yes. Don’t tell Max, ok?

  Max? People rarely called her that. It sounded friendly. Sweet. Most of her classmates just called her MaxineGoldfarb. Like it was one word.

  Maxine’s ribcage constricted, even burned. It wasn’t like David Barletta was on the second, or third, tier of popularity, but he was a warm body with a group of friends. And he wanted to take Maxine to the prom. Correction: had wanted. But Maxine couldn’t utter any of that. It just made the humiliation more painful. Instead, she said, “He told you not to tell me.”

  Rachel shrugged. “If it were me, I’d want to know.” Maxine could see her rationalizing that she was being a good friend, but Maxine would’ve been better off had Rachel never opened her big mouth to begin with. Then Maxine wouldn’t have known about David wanting to invite her to the prom, and this pain in her chest wouldn’t be an issue.

  Maxine glanced over at Brent Hammer as he laughed with his buddies, gloating how he ruined the one good thing Maxine might’ve had in four years at this horrendous high school. Well, he wouldn’t be laughing for long.

  “Rachel,” she began. “Is the biology classroom unlocked?”

  Rachel furrowed her brow. “I think so. Mr. Kennedy lost his set of keys ages ago. It’s a funny story—”

  But before Rachel could finish, Maxine jumped from the lunch table and fled out the door and down the hallway toward the science wing.

  A few minutes later, she returned with her fist gently curled around her revenge. She grabbed her lunch bag with her other hand and waltzed over to the trash can near Brent’s table. She made a big production of throwing away her lunch. She stomped loudly with her boots. She coughed. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. Brent finally glanced in her direction. And then he waved her over.

  For the first time in a long time, Maxine approached Brent Hammer with a smile.

  He clapped her on the back, shook her roughly by the shoulder. “No hard feelings, Maxipad?”

  Maxine bent down, wedging herself between Brent and Serena. She whispered in his ear, almost seductively. “I’m sure you can make it up to me one day.” He didn’t notice her hand hovering near his plate of spaghetti.

  Brent laughed nervously and Maxine quickly made her way back to her own table. She dropped into the plastic chair.

  “What was that about?” Rachel asked.

  Now, it was Maxine’s turn to shrug. Rachel would find out soon enough.

  Rachel was launching into a rant about the latest superhero movie when a high-pitched squeal cut through the air. The kind of sound that a six-foot-two brawny football player would be unlikely to make. And yet he had. Brent bolted away from the table, knocking over lunch trays, his clumsiness forcing Serena to her feet. Spaghetti sauce stained her sweater.

  Ms. Mendoza, the lunch aide, hurried over, trying to gauge what was happening. Brent continued to scream.

  His teammates pointed to a Madagascar cockroach, deep burgundy and roughly the size of a garage door opener, skittering across the table. Serena was the first to burst into laughter. Brent’s teammates quickly joined in. Eventually, the entire cafeteria erupted, some mimicking the hissing sounds of the cockroach, others mocking Brent’s girlish squeal outright.

  Maxine grinned.

  Until Brent stomped his foot, the force splattering the bug’s guts in a wide radius. It was as if a bomb had detonated. It was likely what Brent wished to do to her.

  Suddenly, her revenge scheme felt ill-conceived. She dropped her smile.

  Rachel whimpered next to her. “That poor creature. He didn’t know what hit him.”

  The following morning, Maxine slogged along the deer path to school, her stomach, like the gray atmosphere, heavy with dread. She worried how Brent would exact his revenge. Would he dump the contents of her backpack in the toilet like he had in tenth grade? Or would he tape sanitary napkins to her locker door? That hadn’t even been original when he did it last year. Or would he recruit Serena’s friends to swipe her clothes during changing times for gym class? It really wasn’t a question of if Brent would retaliate, but when.

  And to think this all started because Maxine’s mother owed Mrs. Hammer ten dollars for a scouts fundraiser. Maxine had skipped across the street with a crisp bill in her knuckles and jogged up the stoop. She and Brent hadn’t played together in a long time. He wanted to throw the ball around with his friends, not ride b
ikes with her. But maybe today would be different.

  She knocked on their door, quite a few times, only to grow impatient and peek inside the window for signs of Brent. She spotted Chief Hammer first, slapping his son around, teasing him, calling him a wuss and a pansy. She heard her name. “You act more like a girl than Maxine.” She was certain that she was not being complimented. And then Brent saw Maxine’s face peering at him. Her big eyes blinking like a broken traffic light. She shoved the money underneath the doormat and took off down the stairs, sprinting home and slamming the front door so fast that it rattled on its hinges.

  Her mother had asked what was wrong, but Maxine could only shake her head. She thought that by not telling her mother about what she’d seen, she would be safe. Boy, was she wrong.

  Brent had learned from the best.

  Maxine’s mind spun even as she passed the cheerleading squad, decked out in their sleeveless red and white uniforms, who had gathered on the school’s front lawn for their yearbook photo. Noticeably absent was their captain, Serena. Felicity Favreau sucked on her lower lip and asked the photographer if they could reschedule the shoot. But he hefted up his camera and shook his head. Maxine couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation.

  She went through the double doors and down the senior hallway, glancing at everything. She was not taking chances. And when she opened her locker, she positioned the door in such a way as to use the locker mirror to spy behind her. She watched Brent shrug off his varsity jacket and shove it inside his locker. He saw her and stiffened, but did nothing. Said nothing.

  Maxine’s mother once said that when bullies are bullied, they back down. Maxine wasn’t sure if her mother was talking from experience or making stuff up, but Maxine’s strategy must have worked. For even the next day, Brent Hammer didn’t so much as cough in Maxine’s direction, let alone harass her. And Serena Dunn was nowhere to be found, so Maxine didn’t have to worry about a coordinated attack from the cheerleading clique.