"I'm okay," she said. You've still got orders coming in. Don't get behind on my account."

"I won't get behind. I'm fast." He grabbed a ticket. "I don't really know what I'm doing, here. What goes in a ... ensalada de pepino?" he asked.

Sara spread her feet a little wider apart, leaning on the counter for balance. "What? Oh. That's ... that's cuc.u.mbers with tomato ..." She swallowed and tried to clear her head. "And then you put oil and vinegar." She gestured at the bottles.

"You okay?" he asked. He looked like a concert pianist as his hands deftly a.s.sembled the dish.

"Yeah. Just way, way tired." She tried to smile. "It's the season. I don't really come to life until the sun's been down a while, you know. And lately I can't sleep until the sun comes up." She rubbed her eyes. "I had a few cups of coffee tonight but it didn't do anything."

"Remind me to give you a few Quaaludes tonight. They take care of the jitters and let you sleep."

"You've got Quaaludes?" she said, lowering her voice. "Why didn't you tell me? I hate you."

"Well, you'll come around. We'll be at my place in a few hours."

"I know. Thinking about it perks me up a little. And now that I brought over my microwave and a few dishes, we can even eat there. Like human beings."

"Or drink gin. Humans drink gin."

"Mmmm. That'd get me moving. Do we still have tonic and limes?"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed another ticket. She took one, too. "Don't know," he said. "I never use 'em." The sungla.s.ses looked especially dark as he turned to look at her. "You gonna make it three more hours 'til closing time?"

She nodded. It was all she could muster the strength to do.

"Uh, Sara?"

Julie, a pretty blonde waitress, stood across from the workstation. Sara lifted the plate and gestured for Julie to place her ticket beneath the others but Julie shook her head.

"Your mother is here. She told me to ask you to come see her."

"Oh, s.h.i.t." Sara shook her head, fighting for consciousness. "Thanks, Julie. I'm sorry she made you come in and tell me. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t."

Julie raised her fluffy blonde eyebrows, shaking her head. "Your mom is ... pretty intense. She moved into my section because she complained about some vent blowing on her in Jeremy's. I've already had to get her a new set of silverware and a different water gla.s.s."

Sara nodded. "Yep. That's Mummy. If it helps to know, she's nicer to you than she is to me." Julie went back out to the dining area.

"Okay," Alexander said, reading another ticket. "Pimentos de atun. Pimentos and tuna. I just put tuna on pimento slices?"

Sara gestured to the stainless steel tubs where the ingredients were. "I've got to go out there. This is to punish me for canceling our lunch date last week. I've gotta go see my mother so she can chastise me in front of the whole restaurant."

Alexander didn't look up. "So f.u.c.k it. Don't go."

"I can't. She'd never just leave. She'd send Julie back here again and again ... then she'd make a big scene. Getting me fired like that would be even more fun for her." Her eyes squinted closed. She spread her fingers across her furrowed forehead. "She was raging on the phone when I cancelled, making me explain every minute of my schedule ... and I slipped and told her I work here. I'm such a f.u.c.kng idiot." She grabbed his shoulder. "You gotta help me." She lowered her voice. "You've got c.o.ke, right? I need some. I can't face the crowd. Can you give me some? Just a little?"

He nodded and slipped something into her hand. A little brown bottle, about the size of her pinky finger. He leaned in close, speaking quietly. "There's a spoon inside." He gestured to the storeroom.

She ducked in and unscrewed the lid. Stuffed down in the powder was a tiny plastic spoon- Sara recognized it as the bottom third of a McDonald's coffee stirrer. She filled it, lifted it to a nostril, and sniffed. Then she did it again to the other side.

She gave Alexander his bottle back and made another dish while she waited for the powder to kick in.

"Sara? You've really got to come out now," Julie said, appearing before her again. "I know you're busy, but I just can't handle much more of your mother." Sara nodded and followed her.

Julie pointed to the table as they emerged from the kitchen. Her mother saw her almost at once and began waving like a football referee. Across the little table from her was a man with brown curly hair and a moustache.

"Sara!" her mother proudly announced as she approached, "this is Paul. Paul, this is my daughter, Sara."

The numbness in Sara's face was spreading through her body now, muting the usual writhing discomfort she felt around her mother.

Paul nodded at Sara and turned his attention back to his imported beer.

"Sara's a very busy girl, Paul," her mother said. "She goes to McCaffrey College- you know what a good school that is, and the tuition is just astronomical, of course. But now she's gotten herself a job. Isn't that sweet? She's such a ... such a hard little worker."

Paul nodded again. Sara looked down at her uniform and the stains that stood out against the gleaming white shirt and pants. Preppy people from nearby tables turned to look at her.

With a start she realized it was all right. Let them stare. She was fabulous. And anyway, she was strong enough to take them on, whoever they might be.

"Uh, Mummy? I have to get back to the kitchen."

"Of course you do, honey," her mother replied, her face turning angry and hurt. "It looks really busy here tonight. We don't want to interfere. We know how busy you are. You had to cancel our lunch, you're so busy, with your little job and all."

"I'm building my resume, Mummy. The school said I should have work experience."

"Of course," she said, sitting up straight and pursing her lips. Mummy's eyes narrowed. She could tell there was something different about Sara. "You're so lucky to be going to college in the 80s. Women in my generation didn't think of building resumes." She raised her chin and looked down her nose. "But you're not even able to return my phone calls, so I can imagine how hectic your life is. I've just been so worried about you that I hadn't been sleeping, and Paul suggested coming in tonight to make sure you're still alive. Not that you seem to appreciate it."

Paul squeezed her hand across the table, a pillar of support for the poor woman who lost sleep because her daughter wouldn't call her.

"Oh, and here," Mummy said, pulling an envelope out of her purse. Sara took it. It was unsealed. It was empty. It was addressed to Mummy.

"Now you can mail me the key to your apartment like I asked you to."

"I haven't had one made yet," Sara said, tucking the envelope into her back pocket.

"Sara," Mummy said, bristling, "you need to start being responsible." More people turned toward them. Sara narrowed her eyes, giving Mummy a slight smile. Mummy faltered a moment, looking like a startled reptile.

That's right, Mummy. It doesn't work. You thought you'd humiliate me in front of the crowd, didn't you? And you're surprised I'm not giving in, agreeing to whatever you want just so I could escape. But I'll take you on. I'll take 'em all on.

"It ... " Mummy said. "It isn't like you have any real problems in life; you're just a spoiled suburban girl. You should easily have been able to take care of it by now. What if you lose your key and can't get into your apartment? What if I need to bring you something and you're not home? I'm trying to help you, but you can't even have a key made."

"I told you. I'm busy. I have to go back to the kitchen now."

Mummy's face was slack. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she locked her jaw and straightened her back. "Fine," she said. "You just go on back in, Sara, and don't forget to call Mummy once in a while."

Sara turned to go back to the kitchen.

"Oh, and be sure to tell your father I said h.e.l.lo."

Sara nodded and waved slightly over her shoulder as she moved away from the table and quickly made her way back to the kitchen. Alexander was back by the stove. He shrugged at her and mouthed, "Sorry!" Turning to her station, she saw Terry's beard below the pickup counter. He scowled as he reached up to place a few orders for the waitstaff. She took a position next to him and began making the next dish, a fruit salad with cider dressing.

Terry spooned a few marinated mussels into a dish and placed it for pickup. "I'm taking over your station tonight. Go tell Miguel you're a dishwasher now. Ask him to show you what to do."

Dear Student: You have been placed on Academic Probation for failure to maintain an acceptable c.u.mulative grade point average (GPA). Your Academic Probation status has been noted on your grade report and transcript...

Sara refolded the letter and stuffed it into her bookbag. She didn't need extra motivation. Summer school was her last chance.

She glanced around the Gothic library. Strangers were everywhere, their faces hidden behind books and magazines, but she knew their eyes were on her. She felt them, boring into her from all sides, relentless, awful.

Someone close by was hidden behind a Time magazine with a nuclear missile on the cover and the headline "Nuclear Poker: The Stakes Get Higher and Higher." But not a single page of that magazine had been turned since she sat down here. n.o.body would take that long to read some article. It- Maybe he fell asleep. Maybe he has the luxury of being able to sleep behind there. It doesn't matter. Get to work.

She sighed. The cla.s.s was "Concepts in Natural Sciences."

Her left arm was numb. Sometimes it got like that when she leaned on her elbow while she was reading. She straightened up and flipped through her textbook, reviewing the intimate details of the scientific method, experimental design ...

No!

She'd started to nod off. She shook her head.

This is the only chance to fix that GPA. Focus!

... General concepts in scientific experimentation ...

Her head jerked up.

She felt it. A kind of ... pull. Just like she got from Alexander. She glanced warily from side to side. Her breathing quickened.

Stronger now. Her skin tingled. Her head swam like she'd just gotten off a carnival ride. Her cells cried out with craving, with need. She stood.

She walked, moving toward the sensation. Navigating instinctively through the book-lined aisles in a kind of trance, she undid the b.u.t.tons of her white silk blouse.

It's all right. It's a good thing to do. It would give them easier access to her flesh. The blouse dropped to the library's hardwood floor.

She wound through the maze of shelves, stopping where the feeling was strongest. They appeared, biting everywhere. Somehow she had discarded the rest of her clothing. The pleasure throbbed through every vein and artery.

Sara awoke with her face pressed into her textbook. The library had filled considerably since she'd fallen asleep. It was dark outside.

She sat bolt upright. Her Cartier watch showed it was 9:21 p.m.

s.h.i.t! s.h.i.t! s.h.i.t!

She had missed more than 5 hours of her shift at the restaurant. She quickly stuffed her books into her bag and started to stand, trying to think of an excuse- She slid back down in her chair, hastily leaning over the desk. Most of the b.u.t.tons on her blouse were undone.

"He's just f.u.c.ked up," Sara said. "Making me sign a write-up form. f.u.c.k Terry."

Sara, Alexander, Neil, and Cameron all sat around Alexander's coffee table. n.o.body responded to her statement. The little television droned: "... The Soviet Union expressed outrage over President Reagan's on-air announcement that the Soviet Union had been declared illegal and the United States was about to begin bombing. The official Ta.s.s news agency said that Reagan's joke was 'unprecedentedly hostile toward the USSR and dangerous to the cause of peace ..."

Sara turned to Cameron, who was sc.r.a.ping a razor blade against a plate in front of him.

"What're you doing?"

Cameron raised his chin so he could talk down his nose at her, lowering his eyelids. It made him look like a drag queen. "This s.h.i.tty place is too hot," he said. "The c.o.ke melted and stuck to the plate. I'm mixing in some cornstarch to keep it powdery."

It was like a covert society, with this apartment as headquarters. They sat here, hidden from the world, quietly building their power, working on their secret formulas.

My friends, my community. A community of monsters. We've got Frankenstein beat all to h.e.l.l.

Cameron bent to the task again, alternating between chopping at it with the sharp edge and smashing it with the flat edge, adding just a little more starch from time to time. Finally satisfied with the consistency of the mixture, he did another line.

"Hey," Sara said, "could you pa.s.s that over here? I've had a s.h.i.tty day."

Neil gave an incredulous laugh. "Jesus."

Sara turned on him. "What? You think I take too much?"

Neil leaned toward her with a giant, fake grin that showed his big square teeth like a horse. "Yeah. I think you take too much."

"f.u.c.k you. I hardly get any."

"No," Neil said. "f.u.c.k you, princess. You never pay for s.h.i.t."

"Fine. You f.u.c.king whiny baby. Like a couple lines now and then is gonna kill you. Be that way." She s.n.a.t.c.hed her purse from the floor and dug into it. "I cashed my paycheck at the bank today." The bank envelope was just big enough to hold the bills and coins inside, opening at the narrow end. She slid the bills partway out and then laid the envelope on the table. "It's around three hundred dollars. I figure that should help pay my way for a while."

There were some general nods and mutters of agreement.

She reached over the coffee table, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the plate and straw and doing a line. Then she switched sides and sniffed up another. Her nose and teeth went numb.

She leaned back on the couch and took another drink to help wash down the bitter taste at the back of her throat - it always made her think of those stinky magic markers. She held up her gla.s.s. "By the way, I was the one to pay for the gin, tonic water, and limes. Again. n.o.body gave me s.h.i.t to help pay for it, but I'm not gonna b.i.t.c.h and moan."

The apartment's door swung open. Everyone around the table reacted as if they were under attack: Alexander and Neil both reached under their jackets and Cameron angled his body away from the door.

They relaxed again when they recognized Alexander's roommate, Hippy Joe, coming in, but neither Alexander nor Neil moved their hands until Joe had closed and locked the door.

Joe had long strawberry-blonde hair and a matching beard, and his fringed leather jacket looked like crumpled paper. He wore tiny round sungla.s.ses way down on his nose, such that it would have been impossible for him to actually look through the lenses.

Joe acknowledged everyone in the room, flicked his cigarette ash into the sink, and then reached into his back pocket, which caused a slight disturbance in Alexander and the others. They were like birds, easily startled by trivial movements.

Joe extracted a five-dollar bill from a money clip, dropping it on the coffee table as he leaned over and did a line of c.o.ke. Then he headed into his room without a word. The door closed behind him, and things returned to the way they had been.

Sara mixed herself a new drink, making this one a double.

"Sara, I've got to get off the phone now. My parents are yelling at me in Korean, and they only do that when they're really p.i.s.sed off."

"What's their problem, anyway?" Sara asked. "We're in seventh grade now. They won't let you talk on the phone?"