Life Is Funny by E. R. Frank

get it?” China says.
    â€œI got it.”
    â€œWhy are you skipping?”
    We don’t usually cry in front of each other. I’m trying hard not to start.
    â€œWhat happened?” Ebony asks. They both look pretty worried.
    â€œMy mother’s a fucking bitch.”
    â€œYou want us to stay?”
    â€œWill you trade off?” I ask. “It’s safer that way.”
    China stays first.
    â€œDo it anyway,” she tells me. “Screw your mom.”
    â€œI should call child welfare,” I say. “They could let me live with Walker while she’s in jail.”
    â€œBad idea,” China says. “They’d probably put you in some other home, and you’d get abused or something.”
    â€œShe hates me.” I never said that out loud before.
    â€œShe does not,” China says, but I nod my head.
    â€œWhen I was little. When she was still drinking.” I stop talking because maybe it’s just too stupid to say.
    â€œWhat?” China goes.
    She used to cuddle me, and then all of a sudden she would shove me off her lap and start screaming.
    â€œWhat?” China goes again.
    â€œShe used to call me a bitch and a slut and piece of shit and a pain in the ass not worth having,” I whisper. My head hurts.
    China puts her hand on my palm. Her fingernails are baby blue with miniature clouds airbrushed on the tips. She saved three weeks of allowance for that sky.
    â€œShe talked shit to you?” China breathes.
    I nod.
    â€œBaby.” China kisses my cheek. “You should have told me before.”
    â€œSorry,” I say.
    She smacks my leg. Lightly. “Shut up.”
    *  *  *
    Ebony slides in for the next shift, holding a candy bar.
    â€œI’m not hungry,” I tell her.
    â€œCarl likes you,” she says, peeling the wrapper down, like it’s a banana.
    â€œEverybody likes me,” I moan.
    â€œPoor you, bitch,” she says.
    â€œDid China tell you everything?”
    She takes a bite of the chocolate. “Yeah. You should have told us before.”
    â€œYou guys think this shit doesn’t happen to white people.”
    â€œWhite people have no faith in their friends.”
    I notice fresh scratches on her wrist. The wrapper of the candy bar is brushing up against them. Ebony sees me looking.
    â€œIf you tell China, you won’t need your mother to kill you,” she tells me.
    â€œShow me,” I say.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œShow me how to do it.”
    Ebony finishes chewing before she answers.
    â€œIt hurts, girl,” she reminds me. “You wouldn’t like it.”
    â€œDon’t be a bitch,” I tell her.
    She makes a big show out of rolling her eyes and sucking her teeth, but when I won’t take it back, she pulls a teeny tiny cardboard box from her butt pocket. The blades are each wrapped in smaller strips of cardboard and stacked up tight next to each other. She slides one out of the pack and hands it to me.
    â€œHold it careful, so it doesn’t cut your fingers,” she says, pointing to the dull sides. “Don’t press too deep. Just press hard enough that it hurts, but not so hard you get yourself bleeding so you can’t stop. Then there’s a mess.”
    I decide to do it on my ankle, where socks will cover things up better than sleeves. My fingers shake a little on the first cut. I don’t want them to because I don’t want Ebony making fun of me. She pretends not to notice, though, and finishes up her candy bar on my second cut, which is straighter and more even. Even though it hurts, Ebony’s right about the pain. It hurts, but the hurt is good, too. I stop after I have three red threads, feeling way better.
    â€œIt makes my mouth taste like metal,” I tell Ebony.
    She scrunches up her face. “You’re crazy,” she says, and then the bell rings.
    *  *  *
    At home there’s a message on the machine,