I'd been suspended from school for leaving vegetables as jokes. My parents told their friends and everyone thought, Where is the harm in an eggplant. There was no harm really. I spent these days watching game shows. My sister came home reporting someone had been leaving vegetables. My cell phone was jumping off the table. Buzz buzz. My cell phone had an uneven vibrate, giving it a personality I got a kick out of. Someone had outdone me and made a vegetable platter in the hallway near the vice principle's office. This platter was plateless, was on the ground and would prove a mess to dismantle. The tomatoes were sliced and surrounded the platter, how tomatoes often do. Lettuce was used as a backdrop. Broccoli stood up. I didn't arrange like this. I would make a barrier of eggplants and wait behind a pole and laugh at everyone laughing.
The platter had gotten much attention. The school was planning an assembly about starvation, dreaming up a fund-raiser that would be mandatory and redeeming. My sister was in awe of this platter. My cell phone twitched and leapt. DUUDE UR CRAZY. People thought I'd done magic, but I knew me. This was the work of someone more nuanced. I could tell a girl had done it, and I felt competitive. I began to plan a platter of my own. Huge potato faces, powedered sugar hills. Carrot railroad tracks. At the dinner table the vegetables just laid there. An asparagas sagged on my fork. What are these things, I thought. Why does a cucumber taste nothing but clean?