Blackheads

by Ashley Bradley

  Francine looked sorrowful, "Really?"

  "No, you dumb bitch!" An laughed, "I'm from Florida??"

  Francine twisted her face up, as if that meant anything. "So?? Did your shantytown village from whatever hell hole in Florida get blown up while your parents were signing your birth certificate?? Like. Anyway, when's your birthday? If you're some disgusting astro sign I don't even wanna bother with you."

  "February 24..." An said like she was waiting for a bomb to go off, like that one in the shantytown Floridian village she's from.

  Francine pretended to think hard, trying to remember what the fuck astro sign that was. "What's that? Taurus?"

  An shrugged, "I don't know, I don't follow that shit. You're the one making decisions based off someone's fucking birthdate."

  "You're punted in the world on the exact date and time you are for a reason!" Francine yelled over a "beat" that was just a recording of a garbageman yelling for someone to press stop on the button for that clamp thing, his dick was getting crushed.

  "It's Pisces," An settled as she read off her phone. "Says I'm water something."

  "What's water, is that good?"

  An rolled her eyes, "Bitch, you the one--"

  "Okay, okay!"

  "When's your b-day, I'm gonna look it up. Do you know your sign?"

  Francine had no fucking idea. "Of course I do. But yeah you look it up. June 6."

  "Says Gemini. Is that good?"

  Francine had no fucking idea. "I don't know you tell me!" she smirked.

  An cringed. "Mmmm...says here Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen are Gemini. Sounds good to me! I'll join your shitty club, but only because you have the same astrological sign as famous white twins, my Asian Idols, and also because you want to rob a CVS. To be honest, you had me at rob a CVS."

  Francine reached over and snatched the phone out of An's hand, "Then bitch why the fuck you make me go through all that rigmarole?!"

  "Give me my phone back??" An said, slowly reaching over to retrieve her phone.

  "Oh, shit my bad," Francine laughed with a bunch of gummy spit forming in the corners of her mouth. "I thought that was mine."

  An looked concerned, "You're a strange bird, Francine."

  The memory of An saying this will be the thing that will distract Francine during a crucial moment when she is performing open heart surgeon on a patient, thirty years from now. It will ruin her. But the patient was a bad guy anyway, they used to kick cats and shit when they were a kid, and they were responsible for gentrificating Chernobyl. Like they were just an all-around douchecanoe, so who really cares??

  11: 33 am Gym Class, Francine found her next victim/robbery squad member. KaTiffany LaLakes, the most non-popular popular girl. KaTiffany was in the eighth grade. Her first two years, she had been pretty popular at Walter White Middle School. She had the best slicked-back ponytail and jean skirts. She was a Fashion Girl, and everyone envied all of her shitty, cheap ass threadbare outfits anyone could buy at the mall if they have five dollars and a death wish. For two years, people complimented KaTiffany daily on her vibrant ensembles that looked like the Crayola Factory had an ejaculative orgasm all over her face and body. However, everything changed her eighth grade year when she turned up with a baby on her hip.

  Who has a baby in the eighth grade? No one even knew KaTiffany had been pregnant. Everyone was pretty disgusted. Though basically everyone even the band freaks were huge whores, they did not abide there being any physical results and shit from said whoring. Things like herpes sores, getting paralyzed from the waist down and having to use a wheelchair, and pregnancy, were among some things that were heavily frowned upon for you to accumulate as a result of being a huge slut ass bitch. Thus, KaTiffany was kicked out of The Popular 8th Graders Club, and made to join the volleyball team, which was the only set at school that would accept her, and that was because those thick lesbian bitches really loved cooing at cuddly babies, and for no other reason but.

  Francine usually spent her 11: 33 am gym class walking around in sweatpants she put on over her school pants, which was the minimum required of her to get her daily check mark in the participation book. But today, she was going to switch shit up and walk over to the volleyball net and insert herself into a game, so she could get in with KaTiffany LaLakes, whom Francine valued because she was 1. an older woman 2. a mother 3. formerly famuz, and 4. named KaTiffany LaLakes. Overall, Francine felt KaTiffany would be a good look for her robbery squad. She would add that extra oomph their current geek squad needed. That razzmatazz. Also Francine just really wanted to pet her baby.

  "Here, sis, hold my baby while I punt this bitch into the sun," KaTiffany said as she tossed her small child into Francine's arms so she could run over and hit that volleyball over the net, rather lukewarmly. It didn't reach the sun, it barely grazed the net. It was the saddest thing you ever did see. Her volley teammates all sucked their teeth and some of them were like "cum on, you old ho!". It was clear they only tolerated her so they could touch her baby, whom Francine found out was named Pibbly, because it was tattooed on his chubby arm.

  Walking over from her misfortunate barely attempt to Icarus that ball into the stratosphere, KaTiffany shrugged in like a bashful, embarrassed way, "Gettin' better."

  Francine felt really, really bad for her, "Uh...at least it went over the net."

  KaTiffany smiled, trying to hold back tears, "Yeah," she barely croaked, "At least that."

  Francine looked away, it was too hard to watch. There was no way she was asking this pathetic ho to be in her squad. But maybe KaTiffany had some recs? "Hmm, so anyway, I was wondering if you knew anyone with like really terrible skin? I'm doing a project in smart people science class about acne and the like and need some test dummies - do you know any?"

  Without even thinking about it, KaTiffany offered up "My sister, L'Iago. Her skin looks like fucking pizza bagel bites. Shit's disgusting, no wonder she aint got a boyfriend."

  "What's the big deal about having a boyfriend?" Francine shrugged, "I mean, no offense, but what has a boyfriend ever gotten you?" she said offensively, pointing at KaTiffany's kid like it was a half-chewed meatball sub that had a broken tooth in it.

  "Excuse me," KaTiffany said, bracing from that major blow, "but no boyfriend gave me this," she was like, flinging her hand at Pibbly's face, "I smashed my cousin Donnie so he'd hack into Forest Whitaker's e-mail and tell me what size underwear he wears."

  "...Why would you say any of that?"

  "Size 9, by the way," KaTiffany winked.

  "I don't know what that means, but it sounds wrong and concerning. However, and thusly, it sounds appropriate for Forest Whitaker."

  KaTiffany was nodding with glee.

  "Wait, you had sexual relations with your cousin?"

  KaTiffany nodded, "Dad's side, twice removed."

  Francine looked confused. "You know your dad?"

  So Francine decided to hit up KaTiffany's zitty little sister, L'Iago. Francine had gone to elementary with L'Iago, and was glad the way their class tracks were set up, that she was separated from her when they entered middle school. There were two different "Honors groups": the non-disturbed one with the highly-functioning [insert whatever neurological disorder here]s, and the group L'Iago was in, where the only highly-functioning thing any of them shared were their libidos, and dinosaur scream voices.

  Yes, L'Iago was one of those dinosaur kids. In elementary school she was famous for 1. eating margarine sandwiches, and 2. screeching like a pterodactyl or moaning like a stegosaurus (depended on the day) down the school halls, and getting detention for it nearly every day. It was unheard of at the mostly quiet elementary school they went to for anyone to get detention. Even the "bad" kids, who mostly were just class clown, over-talkative types, didn't get detention. But the dinosaur kids did. No one wanted to hear that shit, especially not middle-aged elementary school teachers going through a rough divorce and dealing with a recent GERD diagnosis. They weren't having it. The dinosaur kids sta
yed in lock up. Middle school was smart to just separate them from the population entirely. All their classes were held in one squared off wing of the school, where they tested leprosy spores for a new vaccine because, of course, leprosy is back.

  Francine was annoyed she was going to have to go down Leprosy Hall to sniff out L'Iago's likely blood-filled underwear probably not from her period but just from too much dinosaur screeching, so she could ask her to be in her newly-formed robbery squad. It got to a point, while Francine was walking to Leprosy Hall with a can of mace spray tightly clutched in her hand, that she couldn't even remember what she was doing, and why she was doing it for. Robbery squad? What was this Set It Off? One of those other robbery movies? And hadn't she made up that bad skin club thing anyway just to get friends? Did she really want friends this bad? Was it really that deep? No one she had yet recruited for Robbery Squad was even cool or good or white so what was she honestly, truly doing??

  She wanted to be honest with herself in one small moment and admit that now that the "Let's rob CVS" seed was planted, she was excited. She'd never done a crime before. Well one time she illegally downloaded a song off the internet, but the real crime there was that it was a Taylor Swift song. She wanted to feel alive for one small moment. She wanted to fleece a tube of Burt's Bee's Tea Tree Oil Stick and feel the blood rush to her vagina and maybe finally she will understand Rihanna.

  "Hey, L'Iago?" Francine was like, as she roughly grabbed at L'Iago's arm as she jauntily skipped out of the leprosy testing lab, where the weird Honors kids were required to have their lunch. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

  "Are you FBI?" L'Iago asked, her eyes shifting around nervously like some wild animal. She truly looked unhinged and insane. Everything about her was unkempt and itchy. Her skin, much like Chamomile's, was the least of her many obvious problems. Actually, also much like An, whose name was two letters. She was Asian, but not the exploitable kind. She wasn't Chinese or Korean, she was one of the other ones. She had eyebrows that grew vertically. She wore Hawaiian shirts to school as a "joke". She didn't realize that wearing an article of clothing was not going to get her accepted on Saturday Night Live. Wait, no, that's a lie explain Andy Samberg. But still, acne was the last problem on An's very lengthy problem list, and the same went for the other members of the robbery squad, Chamomile and Francine herself, though at least they were not Unspecified Asian.

  "You think a twelve year old girl is in the FBI?" Francine pondered.

  L'Iago shrugged, and it looked like she shook a million dead bugs off her shoulder. Chills went down Francine's slightly curved spine from always hunching over her computer at home, writing Mr. Rogers fanfiction erotica. "Anything is possible," she hissed.

  Francine sighed. "Look, you have terrible skin. Would you like to join my Skin Savers club? I heard through the grapevine that you have a crush on Matty B. Matty B dated Rebecca Cornslaw and Danika Mitchlem, both of whom were blown up at that Barbizon Modeling School."

  "I had nothing to doooo with that!!" L'Iago said, only 48% convincingly, so, ultimately, not at all.

  "No one believes you, but anyway that means 1. Matty B is a free agent, but 2. that it's clear he only dates girls hot enough to get blown up at a Barbizon Modeling School. Do you think with your pizza bagel face, that you are, too?"

  L'Iago shook her head no. It made scratchy sounds. Her hair looked to be maybe a whole pack of scouring pads constructed into a wig to conceal nuclear weapons? Who was really the twelve year old girl working for the FBI, hmm?? "You're pretty savage, Francine," L'Iago deduced. "Understand now that I am going to construct a voodoo doll of your likeness and use it to give you diarrhea, but your boldness makes me want to do whatever scheme it is you're trying to get me involved in. For some reason, despite you being black, I trust you."

  "But you're black????"

  L'Iago closed her eyes and shook her head, "No. I am a dinosaur kid. You and I both know our cards are revoked."

  "Fair enough," Francine nodded. Then she paused, considering some things. "Do you think..." she pointed to her solid bowl cut, "gets me out, too?"

  L'Iago looked like she felt bad for poor Francine, "It would, maybe, if you didn't have that centaur body. You have the backside any black man would love to abuse with his sperm pole. If any black man wanted to abuse me, and they do ask my dad"--she paused to smile sadly--"It is with a real pole. Like a metal one or whatever. Like the one my dad uses."

  Francine was disturbed, "Your dad beats you with a metal pole?"

  L'Iago was confused, "No? He's a stripper. Duh?"

  Francine, holding herself back, yelled, "I'll kick your wolf-shaped ass!"

  "No, stop!" L'Iago yelled, putting her hands up to conceal her face, "My dad already does that enough in Scrabble!"

  "When the aliens get here imma tell them your favorite movie is E.T. so they think you're racist and probe you with sticks. The bad ones, not the good ones the rest of us will get."

  "Stop it!" L'Iago cried, stomping her feet, which caught the attention of Some Adult Person, who walked over to ask them why they were not at their lockers, and moving on the next class.

  "Mind your fucking business, bitch!" L'Iago requested, expressing exactly what Francine was thinking but she wasn't a goddamn idiot, so L'Iago got in school suspension, whereas Francine got detention for a girl named Yashley Burnburger, some random name she made up to give the woman who stupidly asked her name so she could write her a detention slip. Lol, what a dumb bitch. That's what school IDs are for! What a dumb, stupid ass bitch!

  Francine met her new squad after school at Dunkin Donuts. DD was Chamomile's idea. Said she needed to have a pre after school snack. She'd already had a soft pretzel with mustard on their way there, which she explained was her post-lunch. But she needed something else to tie her over before her afternoon snack of pizza bagel bites "which look like your face, L'Iago, incidentally", she said, smiling brightly. Chamomile was one of those grumpy types who's only nice and cheery when they're eating. But tbh, who isn't? Like whose happy not eating? Not a damn single bitch.

  "Aight, so what's the plan, Jan?" L'Iago, of course, clapped, as they sat around at Dunkin Donuts watching Chamomile eat three crullers and one of those donuts but it's like long? One of those.

  "Who dis?" Chamomile asked Francine, pointing at L'Iago with her long donut, "And where the other bitch? Thought you said plus me makes five."

  "She died," Francine said quickly, hoping the subject would be dropped.

  "Aight, coo," Chamomile accepted immediately, probably because her mom was a nurse, "But who dis?"

  "One of the other ones," Francine felt comfortable saying with an attitude. No one who eats three crullers and a long donut for a fucking pre afternoon snack was about it bout it, so she wasn't afraid Chamomile would bludgeon her, or try to wrestle her titties off or anything like she imagined most other nurses' daughters are completely capable of.

  "Aight, I aint feeling ya tone," Chamomile said, laying down her long donut and squaring up as much as one could square up sitting their frankly big ass in a tiny Dunkin Donuts chair. It's weird how a place that sells only fat people and cop food has such small chairs. Though maybe they are encouraging your big ass to leave and shame-eat your shit in the car. Get out of their establishment with your big, sad ass. Aint no free wi-fi, bih. "Whomever, I recognize you as the leader of our rob squad, so imma keep it cute and coo. But breh, know this: If I get caught stealing Clearasil concealer sticks and seventeen bags of Swedish Fish, I'm coming for that pegasus behind of yours. Is that Clearasil?"

  Francine gulped internally, very immediately afraid of anyone asking with such confidence "Is that Clearasil?". But outwardly, she portrayed equal confidence, even though she felt like throwing up every food she has ever eaten which includes a bowl of circus peanuts, and several microwaved plates of just shredded cheese, and she nodded back at Chamomile, "Clean and Clear."

  Chamomile let out a small gasp. Francine could only imagine what screams were
shrieking in her head. Francine felt, for the first time ever, like a real live amazing human being. Like she deserved to live, and that her mom was wrong. She was not an "accident" that happened during Hurricane Oprah at the car mall atop a Hyundai Sonata. She was destined to be conceived atop that Hyundai Sonata at a car mall during Hurricane Oprah. No mistake about it. It was all in G*d's plan. Francine felt like giving her maker, her master, a firm handshake. But she has clammy palms and a sixth finger on her right hand which looks like a dick wart, which He gave her, so she shouldn't feel embarrassed, if ANYTHING SHE SHOULD BE PISSED AS SHIT.

  "So what's the plan, Jan?" L'Iago asked again, panicking that no one heard her the first time and her embarrassing herself was simply punted into the void.

  Luckily, Chamomile opted to validate her by reaching over to grab L'Iago's entire neck with her hand, and squeezing really hard, while hissing through her teeth, of which she was missing at least thirteen, "Say it again."