Saturday's Storyteller: "The fire alarm was screaming like..."

by Belinda Roddie

The fire alarm was screaming like a banshee, and its howl was enough to make Helen squirm in her desk before standing up with the rest of her class. Most likely the clumsy assistant principal had burned a batch of popcorn again in the microwave, and the entire school would have to wait for at least twenty minutes before everything was deemed all clear. Then the fire alarm, being sensitive, would go off again, and the delay of twenty minutes would turn to forty, and at that point, well, forget education and learning, everyone may as well lose interest in all things scholastic now.

As the rest of the freshmen from English Honors filed out of the classroom, Helen could not help noticing the lanky frame of her cousin, Jessie, skipping toward the bushes with squeaking, sliding converses. Jessie was a junior, and fairly rebellious in her own right, knowing when to take advantage of frustrating situations. Knowing already that the school was in no danger of fire or arson, Helen still exasperatedly waited for the bell to ring and for school to, ironically enough, finish.

"Well," scowled her way too enthusiastic classmate, Ricky. "So much for doing the in-class discussion on The Great Gatsby."

Helen could live without that mess. Grabbing her blue backpack from her chair, she slung the bag over one shoulder and casually sauntered toward the bushes, where she had seen her cousin disappear. When she pushed through the foliage and navigated through the large hole in the chain-link fence, she found that Jessie was sure enough there, popping open a can of beer that she must have hidden in one gopher hole or another and reclining against a dying oak tree.

"If anyone catches you with that, we're both dead."

Jessie snickered and put a finger to her lips. Her closely cut hair almost gave her sideburns as she beckoned toward Helen. "Don't worry about it. I caught the principal toking once back here. She won't send anyone after me."

"What if the pot's for a medical reason?"

"I still haven't been caught, have I?"

Helen gave up the point and sat down next to her cousin, who noisily slurped at the lip of the can and sighed over the most likely lukewarm ale. She zipped open her backpack and pulled out her science book.

"What're you doing?"

"Chemistry lab," Helen replied. "It's bullshit, but it's due tomorrow."

"You got the measurements?"

"You care?"

"You're learning," laughed Jessie. "One day, you'll be as sardonic and snarky as I am."

"We'll see about that."

Helen got to work on her lab as Jessie finished her beer. Jessie then crumpled up the can into a metal wad, tossed it into the nearest clump of weeds, and stretched her legs.

"I'll be driving out to Klondike Bob's again tonight," she reported to Helen. "Don't let anyone know."

Helen wrinkled her nose. Ever since Jessie had gotten her license, keeping her secrets under wraps was difficult. Her uncle and aunt, Helen's parents, were very strict about Jessie's normal "don't-give-a-fuck" streak, and if Jessie was going to live with them, she was going to follow their rules. Not like Jessie paid attention or ever cared to - she had snuck into enough local ball games with vodka bottles, passed off a fake ID in enough pubs, and imbibed enough rum and cokes to discard that goodie-two-shoe essence.

And it wasn't as if Helen tried to be a good kid, anyway. She just never had the energy to carry it out. Following the rules was, in a word, easy.

"Gonna walk home now, Jess," she announced as she put away her things and stood up, her backpack suddenly feeling very heavy. "Should I expect to see you there?"

"Not unless you stay up past two."

Helen shrugged and walked off, leaving her cousin behind with her short hair, jean jacket, and stale beer breath. She'd expect Jessie back at school tomorrow, even if she would spend the first hour sleeping in the library. Not even defiance could keep the sixteen-year-old away from the high school for long.

***

At one AM the following morning, Helen was woken up by a loud, insistent knock at the door. She knew her father would get it, though he'd be angry, so she didn't move from bed. It wasn't until the voices got louder and louder that she untangled herself from the quilt and hobbled downstairs.

Two police officers were on the porch, attempting to calm down her hyperactive father and pale mother. When Helen walked over, everything got quieter.

"What happened?"

One police officer's face was stoic. "Are you Jessie Beck's sister?"

"No. Cousin."

He didn't seem to care either way. "Your cousin was found outside the fire station, missy. Looked to be in pretty bad shape. Nasty gash on her head, but a spray can in her hand."

"We have reason to believe she was tagging," said the second officer. "As for who attacked her, well, that's hard to say."

Helen couldn't help it. "Was it a middle-aged woman with a bong in her jacket pocket?"

The two officers stared. They didn't get it. Neither did her parents, who were less than amused.

"Your niece," said the first officer to Helen's mother, "is at the hospital, but we'll have to take care of the vandalism charge. In the meantime, I'd recommend ensuring that your house is safe from any possible perpetrators."

Helen didn't stay to hear the rest, instead shying back up the stairs and slipping into her bed. It was eerie that anyone would attack Jessie. She knew that Jessie loved to be "artistic" with a spray can on public property, especially after a few underage drinks, but there was never some strange tagger's rivalry. Despite her cousin's attitude and rambunctious nature, Jessie was never known to piss someone off. So who had given enough of a shit to crack her one on the head?

This week's prompt was provided by Kyle Oathout.