The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival by Ken Wheaton

Author:Ken Wheaton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780758238528
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2010-11-01T07:00:00+00:00

After being so unceremoniously dumped by Rachel, I had to face her every day of the week at school. Seeing her made me want to cry and vomit and cut myself all at the same time. There was simply no escape. She and I were both in advanced placement, meaning we were in the same eight classes, sitting right next to each other.

Worse, perhaps because she felt guilty or felt she had the upper hand, she was trying to be nice. Worse still, either because she was forgetful or because she was the evil, manipulative sow I suspected her to be, she’d put her hand on my shoulder or rub her fingers through my hair while walking by, then say, “Oh. Oh my God. I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry.”

Other than an under-the-breath “fuck off” here and there, I kept it together for a week. And when the weekend came, I was relieved that she didn’t show, allowing me to get drunk with my friends and accept their condolences. That is, until Cicily Gautreaux—who’d always hated Rachel and had a bit of a crush on me—let the cat out of the bag. Rachel wasn’t hanging out on the back roads of Opelousas because she was at a frat party.

“God, she’s so stuck up. All she’s talking about is Brad and his stupid frat house. Two weeks of that. I can’t take it anymore.”

Two weeks? That meant she was seeing this Brad before she dumped me? And a frat house?

I had a sudden very vivid image of Rachel naked on her back in some squalid room, a blond jock type with a backward-facing ball cap, pulling up his pants as he walked out of the room, high-fiving one of his buddies and saying, “Your turn, bro!” In this vision, Rachel smiled and said, “You know, I can do more than one at a time, yall.”

I was so angry I shook. But I did nothing. I went home that Saturday night and stared at the ceiling. Every time I shut my eyes, visions of my ex-girlfriend fellating half a football team pranced across my head.

Sunday was the same.

Monday, when I went to school I wanted to punch Rachel right in the nose. But there are rules about such things. Then she dropped her pen. It fell right under my desk, but I sat there staring straight ahead.

“Steve,” Rachel said finally, in a tone indicating that I was being a jerk. “Can you get my pen, please?”

“Why don’t you call Brad and ask him to get your fucking pen, you whore?”

Dr. Crane stopped writing on the board and looked over her shoulder. Rachel burst into tears and ran out of the room.

“Yeah, go ahead and cry. I should be the one crying!” I shouted.

In religion class, I raised my hand.

“Yes, Steven?” Mr. Hitchens asked.

“I have a question about the story of Rachel, Leah, and Jacob.”

“Steven, I can’t see for the life of me what that has to do with Saul on the road to Damascus, but okay.

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