They’ve been flashing since the summer, when it felt beachy and warm. Hazel loved the feeling of the sun heating a part of her that hadn’t touched fresh air since she was tiny. But they haven’t been able to go the last few Wednesdays because it’s already almost dark when school ends. Now that it’s Christmas vacation, they can get here early enough.
Hazel has to unstrap her snow pants so the bib flaps down and unbutton her flannel and then untuck her T-shirt in preparation. Wind slides through the gaps in the cloth and stings her skin. All this work is too much, since there’s no point in the endeavor anyway, but Melissa and Kit don’t hesitate. None of them wears a bra, though Kit’s the only one who should. Kit shakes her torso so her breasts wave, nipples puckering in the cold.
“Something crazy happened at Esther Meng’s last night,” Melissa says, rolling her eyes.
“Really?” Hazel hadn’t known Melissa and Kit were going there.
“I was sitting on this guy’s knees and he started jerking off. Kit was laughing and I was like, ‘What?’”
Hazel pictures Melissa perched on the skinny legs of some boy. She wishes she’d been there to see how a guy could reach into his pants and snap the day open with sharp thrill. She was probably in bed at the time, staring at Ratty. “Who was the guy?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa says. “Some guy Rob. From the other high school.”
“He’s got this beautiful mushroom cut,” says Kit. “The color of literal gold.”
“Minuteman Tech?” Hazel asks. “Or the private school?”
“Minuteman Tech.”
Hazel has more questions, but Kit screams, “Three, two, one, flash!”
Hazel strains to watch Melissa’s body out of the corner of her eye. Although she and Hazel are equally flat, Melissa’s shoulders sit back, her chest stuck out, and her skin is exactly one soft color.
As stupid as this is, Hazel’s never considered how someone they know could see them flashing. Though she can’t read license plates from this angle, the highway feels full of people journeying from Rhode Island to New Hampshire, skipping Massachusetts altogether. She never thought before that there might be a driver from Lexington or even their neighborhood, the Ridge. The idea ices through her, and she steps back from Melissa and Kit. When Melissa says, “Flash!” Hazel only lifts her shirt above her belly. Horns ring, and tires spit slush. Exhaust clogs her nostrils. The sky dims.
“Do you guys want to come over and train the rat?” Hazel asks. Melissa loves Ratty, jokes that one day she’ll have his rodent-headed baby. The three of them crowd on Hazel’s bed with the rat in the middle, calling, “Ratty, Ratty, Ratty.” Whoever Ratty goes to is named Superior Trainer and chooses the next skill. Sometimes they each give Ratty a lychee and watch him peel it with his incisors, excavating the soggy eyeball. Whoever’s lychee he opens first is Superior Trainer. Sometimes they put Ratty down Kit’s pants. Usually they place him in the sweaty crotch of her jeans, but sometimes, when Melissa is Superior Trainer, she puts Ratty straight in the underwear. Kit likes it. If she can stand the sensation for one minute, she’s Superior Trainer, and if she can’t then Melissa is. When Melissa’s over, Hazel’s house turns bright and furious.