“Roger, is that you?” Gail, the head cheerleader at my school and the girl who sat next to me in Sociology said. “What are you doing here?”
I spun toward the sound of her voice and found myself staring at the buxom, green-eyed blonde. Only she wasn’t in her cheerleading outfit now. No, she was dressed in a navy blue sweatshirt and blue jeans and was walking patiently beside an older man using a walker and wearing a bathrobe and pajamas.
Even though each movement the man made seemed to cause him pain, I saw Gail visibly refrain from helping him.
“Is that one of your friends?” the man asked in a gravelly voice that told me he had probably smoked way too many cigars. He frowned. “I told you I didn’t need any help getting to my chemotherapy.”
Gail gave me an apologetic look that told me she wished she hadn’t said a damned thing to me.
“I just came to see about volunteering actually,” I said, shrugging. “I didn’t know you or your beautiful granddaughter were here.” I gave a small smile.
“You volunteer here?” Gail asked, raising a shapely eyebrow at me. “I didn’t know that.” She looked at her feet. “Admittedly, I’ve not been here before. My mom usually takes Pop-Pop to his chemotherapy appointments, but she had to work, and I had free time between classes.”
“I haven’t started.” I smiled at them as I approached them. “It just seemed like a nice thing to do.”
“Wow.” Gail nodded at me, her emerald eyes raking over me like she was seeing me for the first time. “That’s amazing. How do you have the time?”
“Why don’t you get the door for an old man?” Pop-Pop said with a snort as his eyes flicked from his granddaughter to me and back again.
“Sure,” I said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Only, maybe I could help out Gail and her grandfather?
Moving quickly, I grabbed the door and pulled it open. Then I braced the door open with my foot while the old man made his way inside.
“Thanks for your help,” Gail said, giving me a smile before following her grandfather inside.
I stood there for a moment, somewhat unsure of what to do.
“Fuck it,” I muttered and stepped inside. I’d expected it to be loud inside or to smell like sick people, but it was neither. In fact, there was only one other person in the waiting room. A well-dressed black man sat in the far corner and was way too busy playing with his phone to look at us.
I stood there, looking around the nearly empty waiting room, noting the cheap modern art on the walls, the white linoleum floors, and the fluorescent lights overhead.
As Gail and her grandfather went to the desk to check in, I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Should I just write stuff down now? Should I go see the patients? How would I even know if it worked?
As I thought, I made my way forward and sat down in one of the cheap grey chairs. Pulling out my pad and pen, I stared at it for a moment before trying for the direct approach.
Pop-Pop no longer has cancer.
Only, the moment I wrote the words, they vanished much like they had when I’d tried to teach myself how to fly with the pen. Worse, my next few variations of the sentence also evaporated.
“Fuck,” I muttered as Gail sat down next to me, which was when I realized her grandfather had gone through the patient door.
“Everything okay?” she asked, looking me over.
“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “I just wish there was a cure for cancer.” I shrugged before I realized how stupid I probably sounded.
Gail’s face dropped a bit as she looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her fingers. “Yeah, me too.” She sighed. “It’s weird. My grandfather was always such a tough guy, you know? I mean, he used to raise horses and ride bulls. Once, when I was little, we went to visit him on his far, and he was trying to teach me to ride. The horse bucked me off, and my grandpa punched it in the head, knocking it out in a single blow.” She looked up, giving me a tiny smile before turning to stare at the door. “He was always so strong, and now? Now, I just hope his treatment works.”
“I hope it does too…” Only as I said the words, I wondered if that might be the problem. Perhaps I couldn’t cure cancer because there was no cure for cancer, but at the same time chemotherapy was an effective treatment right?
Make Pop-Pop’s chemotherapy effective at eliminating the cancer.
This time the words stuck, and as I stared at them, my mouth nearly fell open. I couldn’t say how I knew it would work, but I just did.
“I dunno, Gail. From the sound of things, it seems like he’s pretty tough. I bet he beats the cancer.” I nodded to her, and she gave me another smile.
“I hope you’re right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s just grandpa, mom, and me, and if he goes… I’m just worried about my mom.” She looked away. “I don’t know if she’s gonna get over it.”
“Hopefully, she won’t have to get over it,” I said right before I wrote down another line.
Make Gail feel better.
As the words crystalized into truth, I smiled at her. “I’m sure everything is going to be okay, so feel better.” I stared at her, trying to will understanding into her. Part of me wanted to tell her what I’d done, just so she wouldn’t worry, but I needn’t have bothered because as I watched her, a shadow seemed to lift from her, and she smiled back.
“You know, Roger. I think you’re right.” She nodded. “Power of positive thinking, right.” She opened her mouth like she was going to say more before frowning. “Say, you were going to talk about volunteering, right? Don’t let me keep you.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.” I shrugged. “I can do that after, unless you want me to go away because you hate my company.”
“Actually,” she looked up at the ceiling. “I’d kind of like it if you stayed and kept me company. It’s always so horrible sitting here waiting.” She bit her lip. “Does that make me a bad person? You know because I’d much rather you stay here and talk to me than go help those people?”
“Well, the way I see it is I came here to help people, and if talking to you helps, I’m good.” I shifted in my seat. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
“Not the game tonight.” She frowned. “We’re gonna get murdered.”
“I didn’t even know we had a game tonight.” I rubbed the back of my head. “I don’t really follow school sports.”
“Yeah… I got that impression.” She smirked and ran a hand through her hair, brushing it behind her ear. “You should come. We do this thing every game where we invite people to shoot from half-court. No one ever makes it, but it’s hilarious to watch.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at her. Only before she could reply, the receptionist called for Gail.
“Guess it’s time for me to go back.” She touched my shoulder as she got up. “Thanks, Roger, you’ve been really sweet.” She took a couple steps away before turning to look at me. “You should come tonight. I’ll totally hook you up with awesome seats.”
15
“Whoa, where did you get an Audi A5?” my roommate, Marty, asked as I pulled up in front of the Super Mart where he was busy gathering up shopping carts.
He was clad in the standard uniform, but unlike me, managed to make it look good, which was probably because he was reasonably well-muscled, blond, and had blue eyes. Part of me had thought we’d have never been friends if we hadn’t been roommates, but then I’d found out how much he loved Super Smash Brothers Melee.
Friendships had been forged, and lost, over less.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said, sidling up to him and offering him my hand. “Come with me if you want to live.”
“You know I can’t, dude,” he said, glancing at my hand. “But points for the reference.” He sighed. “I have to close tonight.”
“No. You don’t.” I shook my head, and when he looked at me like I’d sprouted a second dick, I marched my happy ass inside and knocked on the door to Chuck’s office becau
se I remembered Amy saying he was going to be here today. Thankfully, a few quick swipes with my pen and a couple phone calls had put my plan into motion.
“Um… bro? What are you doing?” Marty asked, glancing around before following after me. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” I replied, smacking knuckles against the thin wooden door once more. I could hear movement inside, but there was still no response.
“Um… then why are you bothering Chuck?” Marty swallowed, coming close and whispering. “He’s got Melinda in there.”
“Oh.” I sighed. Melinda was this worthless cashier who always fucked shit up. Hell, we all knew the reason why she had a job was because she gave Chuck blowjobs. It was sad, really. Still, she was nice enough to me that I mostly tolerated her.
I knocked again.
“Dude!” Marty hissed, but I ignored him.
“Chuck? Get your fat ass out here. I have something to tell you,” I called, hitting the door again, and then growing impatient, I took a step back. “Fuck this.”
I kicked the door hard, right by the jam, causing it to splinter at the handle and burst in, revealing Chuck’s fat ass leaning back against his desk with Melinda on her knees in front of him. Everything was hidden by the back of her head, but I didn’t really want to see the specifics.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Roger?” Chuck hollered, scrambling to pull up his pants as Melinda popped his cock out of her mouth. She didn’t even look embarrassed as she turned to look at us, opting only for a small shrug.
To be fair, I didn’t blame her. What she did was her business and not mine. She’d always been more or less nice to me, when she wasn’t fucking up customer orders, anyway.
“I quit,” I said before jerking a thumb at Marty. “So does he.”
“Wait, what?” Marty said as Chuck turned eighteen different shades of enraged purple all at once.
“You can’t quit because you’re both fired!” Chuck huffed, and as he did, the reporters from the local news chose that moment to step into the shop.
“Over here,” I called, waving to them, and as Cynthia Burkowitz, the feminazi on channel eight that I’d summoned with my pen, approached all bulldog glare and man-hating attitude, I pointed at Chuck. “Guess who got caught in the act.”
Chuck’s face turned white as a sheet as Cynthia laid eyes on him. His pants were still not all the way up, and as he stared at the reporter, they slipped from his grip, revealing his cock to the woman while Melinda still sat there on her knees hair disheveled and lipstick smeared. The same shade of lipstick that was on the shaft of Chuck’s cock.
“Whoa,” Marty said, turning to look at me as I shot my roommate a smirk before grabbing his arm and pulling him aside.
“Thanks for the tip,” Cynthia said, nodding once to me before directing the cameraman behind her to the spectacle.
“Don’t mention it,” I said, wanting to laugh because this entire scenario was ridiculous and would never have happened without some very specific notes from my pen.
“Chuck is so fucked,” Marty said the moment we hit the door. “Sooooo fucked.”
“Yeah,” I said, approaching the Audi A5 because it was my favorite one. I mean, Val Kilmer drove it, and he was awesome.
“So… uh, how did you?” He looked at me as he seated himself in the Audi. “Because I’m not buying any of this is real.” He shook his head. “It’s like something out of a bad eighties movie.”
“Yeah, well, I have recently come into an unfathomable amount of awesome.” I grinned at him. I still wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to share the details with him because I was suddenly worried he might want to take my pen from me, but either way, I did want a partner in crime.
“I can see that,” Marty said, face souring as he stared through the windshield at the Super Mart. “I also need a job. While awesome, quitting for me like that was kind of a dick move.”
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t need it.” Then as he opened his mouth to ask me why that was or if I was crazy, or something else, I waved my hand. “Instead, I want to celebrate. Tell me, if you could do anything, what would it be?”
“Anything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. “I dunno man. I’m a simple guy. I like beer and naked women.”
“So, strip club?” I asked, somehow not surprised. It was weird, normally I wasn’t the kind of guy who liked strip clubs, but hey, I had a magic fucking pen of doom.
“Well, I doubt they’ll be very good at this time, and I’m without a job. Those two things tend not to make strip clubs awesome.” He sighed. “Maybe we can grab a beer, and you can tell me what the fuck is going on with you?” He nodded once. “Dewey’s?”
I almost wanted to laugh. He always wanted to go to Dewey’s because that was where a bunch of the cheerleaders from school worked. Including his crush, Lisa. Part of me knew why Marty liked her. The girl had long brown hair, giant tits, and a great ass.
She also had a boyfriend who was the quarterback for the football team.
“We can go to Dewey’s,” I said as I started the Audi, causing the engine to roar before I took off in a squeal of burning rubber. “But I wanna make a stop first. I promised Gail I’d go to tonight’s basketball game.”
16
“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” Marty said as we walked toward the building where they held the basketball games. “You hate sports.”
“I don’t hate sports. I hate being bad at sports,” I replied with a shrug. “I love watching basketball.”
“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. “You like drinking and eating nachos while people watch basketball around you.” He smirked. “It’s a little weird because you don’t even like people.”
“I always feel a little weird drinking by myself and nachos is definitely a team sport,” I said as we approached the ticket booth.
I recognized the hipster manning it as one of the people I’d helped out earlier but couldn’t recall his name. He was the first one I’d helped, and as he saw me, his eyes went wide, and he nearly leapt to his feet.
“Hey, man,” he said, practically reaching through the window to grab my hand before stopping himself on account of security glass. “I owe you a lot.”
“It’s really nothing,” I said, suddenly embarrassed because Marty was giving me a weird look.
“What the fuck?” he mumbled, eyes flicking between us as confusion filled his face.
“You wanna see the game?” he asked, nodding. “I can totally get you in.”
“Actually, Gail said she might have tickets for us?” I said as his hands moved over the keypad beside him.
“Yeah, maybe. There’s a friends and family section and those seats are pretty good.” He pushed two tickets under the glass. “Those are better.”
“They are?” I asked, taking the tickets.
As I tried to figure out what about them were special, Marty snatched them from my hands.
“Dude, floor seats?” Marty leaned past me and looked at the guy. “Seriously?”
“It’s the least I could do.” The hipster ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed. “Now go before someone catches wise.”
“Come on,” Marty said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me away. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”
“Thank you,” I called, waving to the hipster, and when he waved back, I found us standing before the ticket taker. She scanned out tickets without a word and ushered us inside.
“I didn’t expect them to actually work,” Marty said, shaking his head as we stepped into the well-lit corridor filled with various beverage and food stands. The smell was intoxicating, and before I knew what was happening my mouth was watering.
“Why wouldn’t they work?” I asked, confused as I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled a couple bills off the wad the midget had given us.
“Do you know how hard these are to get? You have to wait in line for two days to enter a raffle. Then
if your number gets picked, you get to be in a separate raffle where the actual seats are divvied up by game. It’s insane.” He looked at me, his face totally serious. “I don’t even think he can sell them.”
“Oh.” I shrugged, not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, what Marty said seemed pretty insane, but on the other hand? Well, I had just paid off the guys loans. A couple tickets seemed worth it.
“Oh?” Marty practically shook me. “All you have to say is oh?”
“Yes?” I raised a pair of hundreds. “Wanna grab some drinks and stuff?”
“When did you become Mr. Moneybags?” he asked, glancing at the money. “Like, what the fuck is going on?”
“I met a midget who gave me a crazy tip.” I shrugged not wanting to go into it because if I did, I might reveal I was at the carnival, and that’d lead to a lot more problems. “Can we just go to our seats and stuff? You said they were awesome, right?”
“Yeah, sure, okay.” Marty stared at me for a long moment before heading to the beer line.
A few minutes later we were settled into our seats, and they were amazing. Like the second row on the floor just behind the home team amazing. We were so close I could see the players as they sat on the bench.
Sure, it would have been a lot cooler if I, you know, knew anything about basketball, but there was just something about being so close to the team and feeling the excitement, that I found myself getting into it in a way I hadn’t expected.
There was just a problem. We were losing. Bad.
As one of our main players, a guy named Garcia, went for a layup and was knocked flat on his ass, I had enough.
“Man, we’re getting crushed,” Marty said as the ball spun off out of bounds.
“Yeah,” I grumbled as the opposing team threw the ball back into play and dribbled it right up the court. Before I could blink, they’d passed it to this guy O’Neil who sank it for three, putting them up by twenty and we weren’t even to halftime yet.
The Pen is Mightier Page 8
