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If he was being honest, Malcolm was a little confused at Curtis' proposition. He stared awkwardly for a moment, then gave a hesitant smile in response to Curtis' impatient “well?”
“I'm just not so sure it's a good idea,” he muttered, shifting his weight. He’d never been very good at voicing his opinion, and the alien action of being contradictory felt strange.
“What? What are you not sure about?”
Malcolm shifted again. “Well, it's just—I heard it's really, really spicy. Nobody has ever beaten it before, and if it were me, I wouldn't put myself through that.”
Curtis scoffed. “Good thing I'm not you then.” He grinned. “I'm going to be the first. That's the point. Gotta leave a legacy somehow, and this seems the way to go.”
Malcolm didn't know what to say to this. He never really did know what to say to Curtis, though.
At his silence, Curtis turned back to the TV, brown hair still dark from pool water. They had gone swimming earlier in some attempt to alleviate the sweltering July heat, and now sat drying off in Malcolm's room. In the middle of their Call of Duty match, seemingly out of the blue, Curtis had stated they should head to the local Mexican restaurant the following evening.
Malcolm liked the idea at first; the restaurant, started and operated by a bona fide first-generation man of Mexican descent, was known for its traditional fare and fresh ingredients. It was the next sentence out of Curtis’ mouth that brought up any hesitation—he wanted to try the restaurant's Atomic Burrito Challenge.
Malcolm had heard of the challenge. Heck, everyone in Wesley knew about it. The place had started it in an attempt to capitalize on the popularity of such things (specifically inspired by the show Man vs. Food, the restaurant owner claimed) but had wanted to go for quality rather than quantity—spicy quality, to be exact. While Malcolm had never tried the burrito himself, he certainly knew of the horror stories. When eating it, people wept and sweat, and no one could even finish the beast.
Malcolm clutched his controller tighter. “If this is what you want, then I'll go with you. Just... don't make me try it.”
Curtis gave a smug grin. “Don't worry, you can be a scaredy-cat all you want. Wouldn't want to share the victory with someone else, anyway.”
He frowned. “So why do you want me there?”
“Moral support.”
He blinked, and Curtis burst into laughter.
“Just kidding, it's because it would be kind of sad to go to a restaurant by myself.”
“Oh.”
At his dejected state, Curtis gave him a comforting pat on the back. “Hey, I do want you there, alright? Don't act so fucking sad all of a sudden. I'm just playing with you.”
“Sorry.”
“Plus”—Curtis' smug grin from earlier returned—“you'll get to be present for the first person to beat the Atomic Burrito.”
“If you say so,” he sighed.
At dinner that night, Malcolm informed his parents of his intended plans at the Torres Cabana for the following evening.
“If you're going there, I might have you pick up a torta for me to-go,” Dad said while spearing a chunk of lasagna with his fork.
“Well, it's fine by me too,” Mom chimed in. “I was planning on having leftovers tomorrow, so you won’t be missing much.”
“Thanks.” Malcolm absentmindedly pushed some meat around with his fork. “Guess I'll be watching Curtis try the Atomic Burrito after all.”
Mom furrowed her brow. “Is that... the one with the somewhat offensive description?”
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, it's that one.”
“Christ, I heard that thing was death. And Curtis wants to try it?” Dad shook his head in disbelief. “Always knew that kid was a little odd; didn't know he was suicidal.”
Mom shot him a glare. “Travis! Don't say things like that.”
“What? I'm just saying—”
“Mom, what's for dessert?” Malcolm interrupted.
She shot Dad one last dirty look before replying.
“Man, I am sucking today.”
Malcolm shrugged and responded with a noncommittal encouragement, but internally he clapped his hands in glee. He'd basically been unbeatable during every match!
Stretching lazily, Curtis checked his phone. “So when do you want to head out? I don't want to leave too late and have the place be super crowded.”
“But wouldn't that mean more people to witness your victory?”
“Yeah, and a longer wait time. People knowing would be cool, but I don't want to wait forty-five fucking minutes for local glory.”
“Local glory?” Malcolm laughed.
“Yeah, local glory. Everybody's hyped this thing up so much that I'm sure it'll be a bit of a big deal when I beat it.”
Malcolm gave a devious smile. “You know... I'm not so sure it's only your ambitious nature that's motivating you.”
Curtis glanced at him quizzically. “What are you getting at?”
Malcolm leaned back, fully smirking now. “I'm sure... absolutely POSITIVE that the owner being a certain cheerleader's uncle has nothing to do with your goals.”
A faint smile tugged at Curtis’ lips, and he looked away. “Let's just say, if she were to find out, I wouldn't be upset. Especially if it impressed her.” He shrugged. “It's kind of a moot point, though. She's still with your man crush, and they've always seemed pretty tight.”
“Actually, I overheard some people in 4-H saying they've been having issues.”
Curtis perked up. “Really now?”
“Well...” Malcolm fidgeted. “I don't know anything for certain. You know how gossip can be.”
“Yeah, but still—”
“Just don't get your hopes up,” he blurted.
Curtis checked his phone again, then stood up. “Come on. I'm pretty hungry, and I'm tired of getting my ass handed to me. Let's go.”
Malcolm hopped to his feet, and they walked out of the cobalt blue bedroom to head down to the main level of the house.
Off to the side of the front hallway, Mom sat in her office. She glanced up at them as they moved toward the front door. “Are you guys heading out?”
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah. We'll probably be back in a couple of hours.”
“Well, have fun. Do you need any money?”
“No, I'll be fine; thanks for the offer, though.”
“Mine's going to be free!” Curtis exclaimed. To Mom’s puzzled expression, he explained, “If I eat the whole thing, I don’t have to pay for it.”
“If?” Malcolm teased.
“When,” he shot back defiantly.
“Well, have fun,” Mom repeated and turned back to her work, effectively ending the conversation.
They took it as their cue to leave.
The restaurant was only a short distance from Malcolm's house, and they talked about Steins;Gate the entire duration of the walk. They stuck to as many shady paths as they could, doing their best to not get sweaty, and thankfully due to both the proximity and conversation, they arrived at the Torres Cabana in what felt like no time at all.
As it was still early for the dinner rush, a hostess seated them right away at a small table close to a family with three young children. Malcolm noted that Curtis, who normally would have complained at being by what he called “loud shrieking goblins,” was too excited to even register their presence.
A waitress came by and handed them menus. “Hey, guys! How's it going tonight? My name is Marissa, and I'll be taking care of you. Do we want to start off with some drinks?”
"I'll have a Coke,” Malcolm said.
Water for Curtis. Marissa headed off to get their drinks, and they perused the menus. Curtis put his down almost immediately after locating the spot for the only non-traditional food item on the menu—the Atomic Burrito.
Inspired by the restaurant owner's admiration of Eastern cuisine, the burrito featured ultra spicy kimchi rice, pork marinated in a Carolina Reaper sauce, onions, and habaneros all sealed in a Chipotle pepper wrap with ghost pepper queso. The menu description stated: “An ultra spicy fusion of Asian and Mexican flavors guaranteed to be more explosive than Hiroshima!”
This description had caused a bit of controversy. Many in the town argued about the ethics of comparing a burrito to such a tragedy, others claimed people were just too sensitive, but in the end, nothing came of it. The menu still read its boisterous, though offensive, tagline.
Malcolm was still trying to figure out what he wanted when Marissa returned. She set down their drinks, offering them an expectant look.
Curtis answered her look immediately. "I want the Atomic Burrito."
A skeptical frown flickered across her face before she shrugged. "Alright, we can make one. Are you willing to sign a waiver, and do you need it explained to you?"
"I am definitely willing, and I don't need it explained."
She wrote down the order and then looked back up. "I’ll make sure to tell Señor Torres about your decision." She turned to Malcolm. "Do you know what you want?"
He smiled. "I'll probably have some tacos con pollo."
"Do you want cilantro?"
"Yeah, that's fine."
Marissa nodded and collected their menus, then headed off to the kitchen. Once she was out of sight, Curtis leaned back and grinned. "And it's done. I can't wait."
Malcolm used the moment to look around the restaurant. Toward the far end, two opposing walls both had large stencil letters at the top. The one on the left read, "WALL OF SHAME" and had numerous pictures of rather tired, sweaty people underneath, while the one on the right had no pictures and read, "WALL OF FAME." If Curtis really did beat the burrito, then his picture would be alone; he would be the sole champion.
"What if it's not the heat level that does you in?” Malcolm asked. “What if you get too full and can't finish it? You don't really eat that much."
Curtis glared at him. "Better than eating too much all the time like you.”
Lowering his head, Malcolm awkwardly traced a water droplet on the table with his finger.
"And besides," Curtis continued, "I didn't eat anything today in preparation for this. So I'm fucking starving."
At the expletive, the table with young children looked at him disapprovingly, but he didn't seem to notice.
There was a loud shout of laughter from the kitchen and the doors swung open. Out came a man grinning ear to ear, closely followed by Marissa. He strode straight over to their table and clapped his hands together, arms covered up to his elbows by tattoos. "So I heard one of you ordered the Atomic Burrito."
"That's me," Curtis said. He straightened his posture at the words.
"Ah, our warrior." Señor Torres beamed at him. "What's your name?"
"Curtis Henderson."
"Curtis. Nice to meet you." He turned to their waitress. "Marissa here has a waiver. We'll have you look it over, and if everything seems satisfactory, your challenge can begin."
Marissa was not as enthused as her employer. "Sign down here,” she commanded, sounding almost bored, and made an ‘X’ by the part marked "Signature."
Curtis took it from her, looked it over quickly, then scribbled out an almost illegible mark on the line. When Marissa picked it up, Señor Torres looked about ready to explode from excitement.
"Alright, mi amigo," he laughed, giving Curtis a hearty slap on the back. "I'm counting on you. Don't let me down. My Wall of Fame has been bare for too long."
Curtis nodded, and as soon as the restaurant staff returned to the kitchen, he started talking again about Steins;Gate. Malcolm didn’t participate much, still sulking over the earlier comment on his eating habits, but as Curtis became more and more animated, he couldn’t help but get immersed, eventually offering his own opinions as well.
Curtis was in the middle of a diatribe over character arcs when he stopped. His eyes were fixated on the kitchen doors. Malcolm turned to look as well, watching Marissa march out of the kitchen with two plates. One had his chicken tacos, while the other contained an oblong object smothered with sauce—the Atomic Burrito.
Marissa set the two plates in front of them. "I'll check up on you guys in a bit." She faced Curtis with a smile of malicious glee. "And I'll also see how you're handling the challenge. Enjoy!"
Curtis wasn't listening, instead appraising his opponent. Malcolm thanked her for them both and dug into his food. Per usual, the tacos were absolutely awesome, savory with the perfect level of heat. He was about to ask how Curtis' burrito tasted when he finally noticed the boy’s expression.
Curtis had taken his first bite, and his eyes practically bulged out of his head. Tears pooled in the corners and slowly trickled, unnoticed, down his cheeks as his normally pale complexion took on a reddish hue. Malcolm could swear he also tremored, and honestly, he couldn't blame him. Even just the smell of the burrito made his nostrils sting; he didn't want to imagine what the thing must taste like.
"Having fun there?" he asked.
Curtis let out a weak gasp and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Wow... that is really... um... really... ow.”
Malcolm thought about what to say but instead gave an internal shrug and continued to enjoy his food. Señor Torres and Marissa came out of the kitchen a few moments later to cheer Curtis on, and even the nearby tables seemed intrigued by his progress, offering words of encouragement. Malcolm finished his tacos and, without anything else to do, focused on his friend struggling with a bad decision measuring over a million on the Scoville scale.
At first, it was a little funny watching Curtis cry and sweat, but as time went on, Malcolm’s amusement changed to admiration. Curtis seemed determined to finish, chewing quickly and dabbing at his eyes every time tears leaked out. He continually gulped water, finishing glass after glass, with Marissa keeping pitchers on hand for refills. The whole process looked awful, and worry actually started to creep in at Curtis refusing to end something so dreadful.
Señor Torres, however, seemed to have the opposite reaction. He appeared as invested as if were a sports match, and if one were going by Curtis' reactions, it certainly seemed to be as exhausting as one.
Despite all of the earlier boasting, the burrito proved to be quite an ordeal. Curtis had been eating for several minutes at that point, and yet there still remained more. Having turned a rather interesting shade of reddish-purple, he struggled to take another bite. It looked horrifically painful.
"Come on, man! You got this! You're doing great!" Señor Torres cheered.
Curtis took yet another labored bite at the encouragement. But finally, even with all his supporters and enablers egging him on, he dropped the last third of the burrito on the plate and pushed it away, laying his head down on the table in defeat. Malcolm, Señor Torres, and the nearby tables—both old and new—let out groans of disappointment.
Señor Torres shook his head. "What a bummer. Still, little man, I'm proud of you! You did good!"
Marissa just stood off to the side wearing a devilish smile.
Malcolm gave Curtis a gentle pat on the back. "It's okay. You tried your best." He grinned. "It just turned out that you Mexican't."
Curtis groaned in response, and Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh.
Now that the battle was over, the other restaurant patrons lost interest in Curtis and tended to their own affairs, an amiable hum of chatter settling over the establishment. Señor Torres headed off to the kitchen with Marissa in tow, and the latter returned with a complimentary glass of milk, which Curtis greedily chugged.
Once finished, he put his head back down on the table and let out intermittent moans of pain. Marissa now waited on other tables, but every so often she would smirk at Curtis; he was obviously not the first she had seen attempt the burrito.
After enough water and milk, he finally regained the ability to speak. "I feel like I made out with a beehive," he muttered.
Part of Malcolm wanted to ask how he would know what that felt like, but out of pity, he decided to stay quiet.
Curtis looked forlornly at the chunk of burrito that remained. "God, even my fucking hands hurt from the sauce. That thing is evil."
Malcolm once more had to refrain himself from saying, "I told you so."
A minute later, Señor Torres came out of the kitchen with a Polaroid camera. He smiled upon seeing Curtis. "Looks like you've recovered a bit. Are you ready to get your picture taken?"
Curtis' face fell. "Do I have to?"
"It was in your waiver," Señor Torres replied, pulling out the piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and pointed to the relevant section.
Curtis deflated, mumbling out his consent, and Señor Torres snapped a picture of the red-faced, dejected boy slouched in his chair. He waved the photo until the image appeared and then set it on the Wall of Shame, returning to their table afterward.
"There you go!" He shook his head. "Bummer. You were doing so well, too."
"Did I eat the most of anyone you've seen?" Curtis asked. He had perked up at the words regarding his progress.
Señor Torres shook his head again. "No," he said, but at Curtis' crestfallen expression, he hastily added, "but you're definitely in the top ten percent! No doubt about it!" He started walking toward the kitchen but seemed to remember something. "Oh, and Marissa is bringing the checks out now."
True to his word, Marissa arrived a moment later, checks in hand. She set them on the table, and Malcolm pulled out some cash. Curtis made no move and instead just stared at his receipt with a mixture of horror and dismay.
"Let me guess." Malcolm sighed. "You didn't bring any money."
Curtis gave him a sheepish look. "I thought it would jinx me."
Malcolm sighed again and took out extra cash. Whatever. The experience had been a rough one for the guy; he didn't mind covering.
Curtis squeaked out a “thank you,” and Marissa picked up the money.
"You want a to-go box for that,” she asked. Her smile radiated pure evil.
"God, fuck no," Curtis snorted, and she let out a short laugh before leaving.
As they headed out, Señor Torres showed up once more. "Thanks for coming, guys! I'm sorry you weren't able to beat the challenge. But you know, better luck next time!"
"There won't be a next time," Curtis muttered under his breath.
Beckoning Señor Torres to lean in, Malcolm murmured, "Um... can you please not mention to your niece that Curtis lost?"
At first, the man furrowed his brow, but a look of understanding dawned on him quickly. "Ah... I see." He winked. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed." He grinned at Curtis and let out a hearty chuckle. "I did some pretty stupid things for girls at your age, too. Luckily, I'm still here to tell the tale."
Curtis just drooped in misery. "Man, I really wanted to win," he mumbled as they walked out the door.
Malcolm shrugged. "Guess you'll just have to leave your legacy some other way."
"Oy, muchachos!"
Turning around at the shout, they stopped walking as Señor Torres leaned out of the doorway.
"Just remember, Curtis," he said, his face a caricature of concern, "it hurts just as much coming out as it did going in."
Curtis stood stock-still, and Malcolm didn't know whether to laugh or console him. He had never before witnessed the sight of someone losing their will to live, but he certainly knew what it looked like after that.
"I didn't see him for two days afterward. I got a little worried after the first day and texted him to ask how he was doing, and he just sent back a bunch of crying emojis."
"Holy shit," Ethan said. He looked slightly dumbfounded while Chelsea lay next to him on the couch, giggling viciously.
A Game of Thrones board game sat on the low table in front of them, but it lay ignored at the moment while the group listened to Malcolm's story. He had convinced everyone to try the game after their movie outing, and now they sat around in Bianca’s living room with a couple bags of pretzels to supplement the previous popcorn and pop.
Bianca blinked slowly. "Why did he think I would care about whether or not he finished the burrito?"
"You're saying you wouldn't have been impressed at all?" Adam asked, trying to adjust his prosthetic leg to a more comfortable position.
"Um... I mean, I guess I would have—”
"There ya go." Ethan slapped his thigh. "Curtis was right."
Finally managing to control her giggling, Chelsea said, "Who knew that Curtis was so in tune with the female heart?" She sat up and grinned. "Girls don't want guys who treat them right, girls want guys who can eat really freaking hot burritos!"
"So, you gonna want me to take notes?" Ethan teased.
"Of course. In fact, if you really want to impress me, just slap some lava in a tortilla and chow down."
Malcolm laughed along with everyone else and glanced down at the neglected board game. It had been worth a try, but Game of Thrones wasn’t known for its brevity or ease of understanding. Ethan had been frustrated at the Starks’ inactivity, while the others were having trouble following the rules. Eventually, someone had brought up the Torres' restaurant, which led to the mention of the eating challenge, which made Malcolm recall the memory. The game had been subsequently left by the wayside.
Bianca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Mainly I'm confused as to why anyone would put themselves through that. That Carolina Reaper sauce is no joke; I’d want to die if I had to eat a bunch of it."
Malcolm laughed. "Well, from what I remember, Curtis seemed to feel the same way. Pretty sure he wanted to die the entire time he was eating the thing.” He scrunched up his face in an imitation of pain, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Looks like he got his wish granted eventually," Adam murmured, staring down at the floor.
The others nodded solemnly while Malcolm froze.
Bianca noticed his reaction and hopped to her feet. "Well guys, it's getting kind of late. And Ethan, didn't you say you needed to get some stuff from the store for your mom?"
"Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me."
Chelsea stood up and stretched. "It is pretty late." She turned to Adam. "Hey, I'm taking Ethan to the store and your place is along the way. If you want, I can drop you off at home so you don't have to take the bus."
He nodded. "I'm down with that."
The three of them gathered up their things and then bade goodbye to Bianca and Malcolm. Various snippets of chitchat wafted into the living room from the front hallway, along with the sound of the front door opening. Once it had closed, a strange stillness settled over the house.
Malcolm stared down at his hands, lost in thought.
Bianca began gathering up the board game and glanced at him with a worried look. "Hey... are you okay?"
He jerked his head, the question ending his train of thought abruptly. He gave a shaky smile. "Yeah... I am. I just... you know...”
Her worried expression turned reassuring. "You want to talk about it?"
Malcolm glanced away. It was still so surreal to him. He sighed heavily. "I... I don't know. I just feel bad, because... I can't help it, and I don't want the others to know. They hate him, and for a good reason—Adam lost his leg, and all the people who died—"
"Malcolm."
He looked back at her. She had stopped cleaning up the game, her attention now focused solely on him. Like earlier, her reassuring smile remained on her face, but there was now a soft sadness in her brown eyes. "You still feel bad about him dying, don't you?"
A lump formed in his throat, and he nodded. "I know that sounds crazy, and I tell myself to stop dwelling on it, to get over it. But I can't help it. I still think about it all the time; about how much of it was him, and how much was the compound. It drives me nuts."
Turning away, she bit her lower lip. "Malcolm," she began slowly, taking a breath between his name and her next statement, "does it really matter?"
"Huh?"
"Look... you can't change what happened. No matter what was going on, it happened and it can't be undone."
He hung his head. "I know. I'm still worried the others would judge me if they knew I... kind of miss him sometimes."
"I don't think they would." She walked over and sat next to him on the loveseat. "You can't help your emotions. I mean, you were the only one of us who had any kind of a relationship with him before... all the stuff happening. Of course you're going to have a bit of a different reaction than everyone else."
"I talked to him.” Malcolm let out a shaky breath. “In the elevator. Like, an actual conversation. I almost thought I was going to get through to him... but then it passed and he was back to trying to kill me. But that brief moment...”
Bianca gave him a hug, and they sat in silence for a while.
Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand. "I have this recurring nightmare. Where I'm in the elevator and I have the steel rod. And I go to stab him, but when I do, it's not the monster there. It’s just… him. Screaming. Begging me to stop."
She hugged him tighter.
They sat together for another couple minutes before he got up and put away the rest of the board game. Bianca gave him a few more worried glances.
"Hey,” she finally said, “text me tonight if you can't sleep, okay?"
He shrugged. "I don't want to keep you up." Hoisting the game, he started toward the exit but stopped when she placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned back to face her.
"There's a good chance I might still be awake as well." She averted her gaze. "You're not the only one who gets nightmares."
They didn't say anything more, but nothing needed to be said. After she walked him to the door, he ambled out into the chilly March weather, and it didn't take long for him to reach his front yard. He headed up the path toward his house, glancing in the direction of the back alley. He couldn’t help but note that the space between the buildings was swallowed in shadow. Just like that night…
He stopped suddenly, transfixed. The night where everything had turned real. The night where his whole world had come crashing down. Months later, he still couldn't bring himself to set foot in the back alley, and there was a part of him that doubted he ever would. That was a wound that seemed unable to mend, and as cathartic as it had been to tell the others a story about Curtis, it had also brought back his complicated feelings toward his ex-friend.
At the time of the incident, the reaction from the rest of the world also reflected a strange dichotomy—horror and fascination. Just as with any tragedy, the whole thing was a sensationalized disaster. The media couldn’t get enough, and it left its mark permanently; the small town of Wesley was no longer an obscure place. The incident even helped the town's economy. But no matter any short-term benefits, the reality was that the names of the victims were hardly mentioned while Curtis made all the headlines.
What a mess. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He entered his house and made his way to his room. Lying on his bed, he covered his face with his hand, letting out a shuddering breath.
If only you'd been content with just eating a burrito.
End