Chapter 9: Becky Make a Statement

In the parking lot, LaToya had finally succeeded in rounding up all the boys under twelve years old. But she couldn’t leave the lot, because standing in front of the van, hands on hips was Becky Finklestein. Becky still in her sweatsuit and pigtails, but now her glasses were held together with a wad of tape around the bridge. She couldn’t look nerdier if she tried. “I want ice cweam!” She shouted.

LaToya had no patience for bad behavior. Normally this is why I liked her, but now I was worried about what might happen if I didn’t intervene. She was already engaged in a shouting match with Becky, and neither would back down easily. “Little girl if you don’t move, I’m going to drive right over you!” LaToya shouted.

“No you won’t!” Becky shouted.

“Yes I will!” Latoya shouted back.

“No you won’t because I won’t let you!” Becky said, stomping her foot.

“Just try to stop me,” LaToya growled, and the van lurched as she put it in drive.

“No!” I cried to LaToya, who winked at me as the van slowly rolled forward.

She obviously expected Becky to run away as the van drew closer. But Becky didn’t move at all. She set her feet and rolled her shoulders, and as the van drew closer, she placed her hands on the front bumper. “If you don’t move right now I am going to turn you into a fat little smear on the parking lot!” LaToya yelled.

“I’m not fat!” Becky screamed.

And then, her face set in a grimace, Becky began to raise the front end of the van off the ground. Our van held 15 passengers and weighed over three tons, and eleven-year-old Becky Finklestein was lifting it’s front wheels off the ground. With a grunt, she cleaned the van up to her shoulders. Becky’s muscles swelled beneath her sweatsuit, her enormous delts and massive legs straining the fabric so tight the outline of her muscle groups was plainly visible in the afternoon light. Then she exploded into a jerk, raising the front end of the van over her head as the wheels spun impotently in the air.

“What the fuck?” Rosita blurted out. “Are you seeing this!?”

“She’s very strong,” I said, trying not to ogle the tiny juggernaut as the seams of her sweatsuit began to split along her lats and hamstrings, exposing the freckled, muscle-packed skin beneath.

“LaToya stop the van!” Rosita yelled, as the sound of boys crying began to drift from the van.

The sound of the engine died down and the wheels stopped spinning, and for just a second it was quiet. Then Becky released the van and stepped back, letting the front tires crash to the ground. LaToya was paralyzed with fear as Becky stared at her while she walked to the sliding door on the side of the van. “Let me in,” she demanded. “I want ice cweam!”

“Don’t unlock the door,” a boys cried. “She hates us all. You saw what she did to Johnny.”

“Do what she says or she’ll kill us,” another pleaded. “She’s stronger than all of us together.”

“I’m going to give you to the count of thwee,” Becky growled.

I tried to summon the alpha woman that I had been only a few hours ago, but after Becky’s display of superhuman strength, I could barely look at her let alone talk to her. “Becky go back to the dorm this instant,” I said, my voice choked with the mixture of intimidation and lust that Becky inspired.

“One,” Becky said.

“Do what she says DeAngelo!” One of the boys pleaded. “Unlock the door!”

“Two,” Becky said.

“Becky please!” I pleaded.

“Thwee,” Becky said.

Then, after a brief moment of silence, Becky slid her tiny fingers into the seam where the door met the frame, and pulled. The sound of shrieking metal was horrible, but Becky smiled as she peeled back the van’s sliding door. Bolts popped out and fell to the ground beside Becky’s tiny sneakers as she ripped the door from the frame, and threw it to the ground. The boys inside were shaking with fear, their eyes full of tears, as Becky climbed in and found an empty seat. “We can go now,” she said.

But the van wasn’t going anywhere. Steam billowed from its hood, as it sat lopsided in the parking lot, totaled by an eleven year old girl’s temper tantrum.

“What are we going to tell the insurance people?” Rosita asked as the kids filed out of the van.

“I don’t know,” I said. “We could tell them the truth but they’d never believe us.”

Becky smirked as she passed me. “You two have your shirts on backwards,” she said.

Rosita and I nervously checked our shirts, as Tony approached. “Becky, will you be my girlfriend?” He asked, nervously fidgeting as his eyes stole glances at her chest.

“Ew, gwoss,” Becky said. “I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“Every girl needs a boyfriend,” Tony stammered.

“Not every girl,” Becky said with a giggle as she looked at Rosita and I.

A few minutes later, LaToya, Rosita and I were sitting around the table in the girls’ administrative office. I had told them about Becky’s violent triumph in the Rumble, and what she did to Johnny Jennings, but I neglected to tell them about her nightly training sessions or why I was wearing my red dress earlier in the day. “What do we do with her?” Rosita asked. “She needs to be in a maximum security prison, not a camp like this.”

“No,” I said. “She’s a troubled girl, but she’s still a girl and I can reach her if-”

“Megan,” LaToya interjected, “we’re one week into the semester and she’s sent three boys to the hospital. And today she picked up a god damned van. With people in it.”

“She didn’t pick it up,” I corrected. “She just lifted the front end off the ground-”

“Megan,” LaToya cried, “don’t split hairs with me! We are talking about a violent criminal who is stronger enough to total a car with her bare hands!”

“We are talking about a little girl who needs help!” I insisted.

“Did you see her muscles?” Rosita asked quietly, with a faraway look in her eyes. “They were exploding through her clothes. Like the Incredible Hulk, but for real. It was amazing.”

“Not now, baby,” I said, reflexively placing my hand on hers.

LaToya crossed her arms at the sight of our interlocked hands. “What the hell is this?” She demanded. “This is too much to deal with. I’m going home, and I may or may not be back tomorrow.”

As soon as LaToya left, I pulled my hand away from Rosita’s. We smiled awkwardly at one another, and she began to play footsie with me. And no sooner had the door closed behind LaToya, but Sean walked in. “What the hell happened to the van?” He asked. “I saw the boys running from the parking lot, but none of them will tell me anything. They seem scared.”

Rosita and I exchanged a glance. “I don’t know,” I said. “We think one of the boys tried to go on a joyride and hit something.”