Issue date: June 4, 2000

STUDENT FICTION CONTEST
Great stories by teen writers
Winner:
"Reminiscent of Orange Juice After Chocolate," by Jenny Leong
Runners-up:
"Dancing" by Margaret Maloney
"Perfect" by Corin Heymann
"Strawberry Tears" by Meghan Teresa Barr
 -- About the author
"The Runner" by Derek T. Muller
"Wog Is Me" by Mary Rebecca Wilkinson Seltzer

Strawberry Tears
By Meghan Teresa Barr

The flaming July sun bore down on the newly paved road, melting it into puddles of sticky black tar that simmered like hot chocolate on a stove. Its rays glinted off the narrow row of identical brick houses, spreading sunlight from the dewy grass to the tops of each square chimney. Katie squinted into the brightness from where she lay on her front lawn. She adjusted the thin strap of her bikini irritably and rubbed more tanning oil on her stomach. Tucking wisps of blond hair behind her ear, she wiped the sweat that had beaded on the back of her neck. "This tanning thing never works for me," she murmured, sliding her legs onto the grass. She folded up the plastic lawn chair and yawned, remembering the party she had been to till dawn the night before. It was the first time she'd ever drunk at a party, and the only thing she could clearly recall was collapsing, helpless with laughter and beer, into her friend Janey's bathtub around 3 a.m. She hoped she hadn't broken anything.

"That you, Katie?" her mother called from the kitchen. The air hung low and heavy in the dim light of the hallway, trapped between the peeling brown-papered walls. Katie sniffed the damp mustiness, remembering summers when the rooms had been filled with the fresh smell of clean drying laundry and the tinkling of wind chimes. Before he died, her father used to take the three of them out into the countryside to go strawberry picking, and they'd spend a week by the seashore. He and Katie would construct elaborate sand castles and dig tunnels in the sand, splashing in the water together, while her mother laughed at them from her lawn chair in a wide-brimmed straw hat.

"I was just outside getting some sun, Mom. Do we have anything good for lunch?" she asked, dropping her towel onto the plastic-covered kitchen table.

"You shouldn't go out this early; you'll get skin cancer," her mother said, annoyed. She took a drag on her cigarette and tapped the table with her fingernail. "By the way, where were you last night?"

"I was out with Janey. What does it matter to you? You're never here anyway."

Her mother glared at her through wisps of smoke. "Don't you ever talk to me that way! I pay the bills around here, not you," she yelled, as Katie stalked out of the room and slammed the screen door. She ground her cigarette into the ashtray and resumed painting her nails, carefully layering on coats of shiny Malibu Pink.

Club Seven was jumping that night, with disco music blasting from the speakers and throngs of teenagers elbowing each other on the dance floor. The girls wore low-cut tube tops and strappy sandals, and spent most of their time in the bathroom reapplying makeup, while their dates sauntered around like packs of hungry wolves. Katie was draped over a tall, broad-shouldered guy with bleached hair and piercing green eyes that seemed to melt into her own. She flung her bare arms into the air, letting her body float in the magic of the night. Her drunken mind danced intimately with the flashing colors, the thumping beat of the music, the splashes of alcohol that clouded her vision. He moved closer, caressing her cheek with his warm breath, and she tilted her head back away from his mouth. The exhilaration of flying, of mindless soaring without thought of loneliness or anger or abandonment, consumed her, and she fought to keep it from slipping away. She felt a strong hand encircling her wrist, and she was led out of the crowd toward the bar.

"Here you go, Katie," Janey shouted into her ear, passing her a drink in a plastic cup. "He's hot, you should go for him."

Katie's misty blue eyes smiled vaguely, and she stumbled after her friend to the parking lot. The guys were standing around a beat-up white car, smoking and laughing at each other's nasty jokes, and the green-eyed one smiled appreciatively when he saw Katie coming toward him. She linked her arm in his, and they walked down the street together amid the jeers and whistles of the other guys. He waited until they turned the corner, and then he dragged her over against the wall of a building sprayed with graffiti, kissing her forcefully with his mouth tasting of Budweiser and smoke. She leaned passively against the wall, willing to surrender herself to him because he wanted her, because he cared that she existed. The overpowering scent of his spicy cologne filled her nostrils, mingling with stale beer and her own perfume, and she suddenly felt sickened. She frantically shoved him away and, doubling over, she heaved into a drain by the curb. He backed away, startled and disgusted. When she finished, he brushed off her apologies angrily and tossed her purse onto the sidewalk.

"What's wrong with you, you stupid little whore? Don't you know what you're doing?"

"I-I'm sorry, I guess I just wasn't feeling well. ... It wasn't your fault. ..." Katie wiped her mascara-streaked face on her sleeve, trying to stop the tears as they spilled down onto her chest.

"Damn right it wasn't my fault. ... Just stay away from me, OK? Call me again when you learn how to kiss." He snickered in derision as he strode away, leaving her standing alone in the gutter.

It took her a long, stunned moment before she realized that he was gone, that she was alone again. She looked down at her clothes, splattered with tears and vomit and beer, and she crumpled up into a little ball of self-pity on the dirty sidewalk. She swayed back and forth on her knees, crying in choking, gagging sobs that shook her whole body. She stayed that way for hours, shivering in her ruined clothes and velvet sandals. She cried until the pale summer dawn broke over the edge of the rooftops and the sun spread its gentle rays over her used body. Then she stood up and, picking up her purse from the sidewalk, she started to walk home.

Her mother met her at the door, her face swollen and a cigarette dangling from her hand. Katie stopped at the bottom step of the stoop, waiting as they gazed at each other, weary and defeated. Her mother pushed open the door and flung the cigarette into the bushes. Taking Katie in her arms, she led her inside and shut the door. The aroma of strawberries drifted from the open window, and the tinkling of wind chimes filled the silence of the sunlit air.

Meghan Teresa Barr New York Daily News reader Barr, 16, is a junior at Marjory S. Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla. Her New York grandparents alerted her to the contest.
Sponsoring teacher: Sandra Newbold.
Story: "Strawberry Tears."