It was the first weekend of August, and the day of the York County Fair Marble Mouth Competition. Her father signed the release form at the information booth, smiling as he looked down at her.
“Guess what, Alice? You’ll finally be able to put that big mouth of yours to use.”
Alice laughed, but barely moved her lips. Disdain for the long-running family joke prevented any real humor taking root in her chest. Her older brother had coined the joke long ago, a toddler’s summation of her infant howls.
“She’s got a big mouth,” Alex said, eliciting howls of laughter from her tired, overwhelmed parents.
The name stuck, greeting her on her first day of preschool and leaping across pews when she sang in the church choir. It was what made everyone view her as outspoken when she was shy, as dramatic when she was demure. It was her shadow, her cage.
And, it was what had gotten her in trouble with the dentist.
She forced all that down, though. The humid summer air was filled with flashing neons and fried batter and screams of joy. Her brother had already formed a posse of his middle school friends, their whoops and hollers as much about the fair as they were the joy of being young, unencumbered, free.
Although she felt a tinge of jealousy when her brother disappeared around the side of the Ferris Wheel, she basked in the joy of having her parents to herself. The scent of her mother’s shampoo and the hard muscle of her father’s forearm made an impenetrable barrier around her, a warm blanket in a cold world. The three of them strolled across the aisles of trampled grass together, hand in hand.
“Big Mouth Alice is a baby! Look at the baby holding hands!”
Her heart sank. Alice recognized the voice immediately as Mikayla Dawes. The tall, freckled fifth grader was standing at the front of a pack of other girls from her school, braced teeth bared in a sneering grin. Her curly red hair was brilliant in the summer sun, a spot of fire that threatened to burn everyone around it.
She felt her parents glance towards her, her mother’s hand squeezing hers in reassurance, but not hard enough to prevent scarlet blossoms from spreading across Alice’s cheeks. They might as well have been fireworks in the pale sky of her face, her head filling with a booming combination of rage and embarrassment.
She yanked her hands to her sides and stuffed them in her pockets before stamping off, jaw set hard, head thrown back to keep the tears from falling. Her parent’s presence followed her at a distance as she wound her way through stalls and rides, and she was relieved. Relieved that they kept their distance, but relieved that they followed her, too.
Soon, though, there was nowhere else to go. They’d driven twenty minutes from their tiny town of Henderson, but York, Nebraska, at 8000 souls, was still the largest city for forty minutes in any direction. The County Fair was less a sprawling carnival than a few blocks of overpriced rides and cheap prizes. She stood at the chain link fence that separated that fairgrounds from the parking lot, and let her forehead rest against the cool metal wires.
She didn’t turn as her father’s footsteps approached, heavy and slow, as if he was sidling up to a deer he was afraid to spook.
“Alice, I’m sorry–” he began, and then seemed to think twice. There was a pause, and then his hand fell on her shoulder and began to rub her back. For a moment, Alice allowed it, let herself sink into a deep comfort that drew her back to infancy. Without warning, her body jerked itself away, rebelling at his touch even as her soul craved it.
Her father pulled his hand back, didn’t speak, didn’t admonish her. They had always been good at respecting her physical space, at letting her set her own boundaries. Still, as she turned to look at him, it was hard to miss the watery hurt in his eyes.
“Hey chicken,” he said, using another of her family nicknames. “Almost time for the marble contest. You still up for it?”
Alice almost said no. The previous year’s record holder, at 37 marbles, would preside over the event; that record holder was none other than Mikayla Dawes, who was barred from competing as a former champion. Not for nothing, Dr. Hall, Henderson’s orthodontist, had a standing policy that braces were an automatic disqualifier for the marble contest.. Alice was due for braces next year; this was her only chance.
Alice imagined Mikayla handing her the trophy, imagined the way Mikayla’s smile would sink and twist like silly putty in the sun. Alice knew it wasn’t possible, but part of her hoped that Mikayla’s beautiful freckles would melt with envy, sinking off her face and over her braces to puddle on the floor.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
When they arrived at the bandstand, the table was already set up on stage. Ten chairs sat behind ten felt pads, each one holding five rows of ten glass marbles each. Alice checked in with the judge’s table, and sat at chair number four. A banner floated across the top of the building, declaring
WORLD RECORD MARBLE MOUTH COMPETITION
Last year, Alice had believed it. At seven, it had been easy to believe that a small Nebraska county would be the officiant of a global marble mouth competition. It was like believing that Santa existed, that there was some magic left in the world. At eight, she still permitted herself to indulge in these ideas, but only because they reminded her of a time when belief could still comfort.
She climbed to the stage and found her place before her platter of marbles. Each one glinted in the sun, shining cat’s eyes and bumblebees and red devils forming a cascading glass rainbow. Or perhaps, she thought, each one was a planet sitting on the inky black felt of space, Jupiters and Neptunes waiting in omnipotent silence. Did that make her the sun?
The crowd was beginning to grow, bleachers filling, others choosing to stand on the dirt track that cut between the Alice and the stands. They were all clad in bright summer attire, red Cornhuskers shirts emblazoned with giant Ns, swirling tie-dye, floral sundresses, a Hawaiian shirt or two.
The crowd swirled, kaleidoscoping and undulating over the ground. Alice looked back at the marbles. Each one a unique burst of color, peacocking for their neighbor. Each one a challenge, an Alex, a Mikayla, a dad, a mom, demanding she prove her worth. Not planets, but people, each uniquely blazing with color.
“A few rules before we get started,” the judge began, and Alice realized the chairs around her were full. Most of them were kids from York Elementary, but there were a few from Henderson. Nick Siebert, Jon Clemens, Aiden Michaels. All boys, kids that she knew from school and church but never really talked to.
“Whoever has the most marbles in their mouth at the end of the five minute competition period will be declared the World Record Holder! If you spit out or swallow a marble, you will be disqualified. And don’t worry, parents, marbles pass easy!”
Gentle laughter flitted through the crowd, but Alice turned towards him, involuntarily swallowing in alarm. The danger of choking a marble hadn’t entered her mind until that moment. Behind the judge, her parents nodded encouragingly.
“On your marks–”
Too late to bow out now. The boys on either side of her hunched over, eyes sparkling like greyhounds.
“Get set–”
Eager hands raised into the air, hovering above arrays of glass globes.
“Go!”
All along the table, children sprang at the marbles, shoving them into their cheeks as fast as they could. Alice couldn’t understand why; it wasn’t a speed game, but one of endurance. She picked up a marble, swirling blue and white, and looked at her father.
His salt and pepper hair fluttered in the wind, and she heard him say “Put that big mouth of yours to use,” the words echoing in her mind.
The marble went into the back of her cheek, and she forgave him. One.
Next, a red and yellow cat’s eye, matching her mother’s yellow blouse, the one Alice had gotten her for Christmas. Two.
Her brother and her friends were stamping their feet on the top row of the bleachers, cheering as loud as they could for Nick and Jon. She caught her brother’s eye, and he nodded. Solid green glass that she tucked under her tongue, securing it with the strength of her brother’s hug. Three.
Next to her, a boy from York choked, and slobbery glass marbles sprayed across the table and onto the boards of the bandstand. They rolled across the wooden stage, each one leaving a snail trail of saliva. Alice checked his felt tray; he’d only managed twenty-three.
“Disqualified!” roared the judge.
She looked back toward the crowd and picked up another marble.
Her 2nd Grade teacher, the one that insisted on still using an old-fashioned chalkboard. A black marble, the color of wet slate. The click of the marble on her teeth reminded her of clacking of the chalk as it wrote out her lessons. Four.
The man who always put suckers in the bank canister when he returned her mother’s deposit slip. A bright red marble. Seven.
Mikayla Dawes, staring daggers at her from the judges table, one hand resting protectively on the trophy. Sickly green, with a stripe of yellow, somehow more eager than the others to jump to the back of her throat and choke her. Fifteen.
“Half time, and…disqualified!” the judge called as a single marble split from Nick Siebert’s lips and landed on the table.
Alice picked up the pace, still leaving herself time to rearrange the marbles in her mouth, waiting to add another until space had been made. Her cheeks were stretching outward, the skin beginning to ache. She raised her hand, running her fingers over the bubbling texture around her chin.
Dr. Nichols, the pediatrician who made balloon animals at each appointment. A white marble. Twenty.
The choir director of their church. Purple and pink. Twenty-three.
The old man who was always at the library, and always wore corduroy. A brown marble. Thirty.
The crowd had gotten louder, people becoming more invested as the field of competitors winnowed down to five, then four, then three. Alice didn’t know one of them, but she recognized the other. A girl from Henderson Elementary like her, one year younger, eyes shining behind a spattering of freckles and a crowd of curly red hair. Brooklyn Dawes.
They were down to the last minute, and twelve marbles remained on Alice’s sea of felt. She was ahead of Mikayla’s record, her jaws and cheeks screaming through the background of her every thought. The realization came all the same, though, blowing through her fiery muscles and tired jawbones.
She was the World Record Holder.
The boy at the end of the table seemed to be stuck at thirty, but two seats down from her, Brooklyn was eyeing her 38th marble. Alice reached out to her felt pad, and picked up her thirty-ninth marble, a teal sphere encased in clear glass.
“Yeah, go Alice! You can do it!”
The voice cut through the crowd, and time slowed, her blood filling with the bite of cold metal. She turned in horror towards the man standing at the edge of the stage. Her dentist, Dr. Hall.
In an instant, she knew what the teal marble would taste like. Amidst the other calm, glass spheres, it would be the harsh taste of a rubber glove, probing, pushing. Her chest tightened, the distance between them shrinking, and she could feel Dr. Hall’s hands moving across her body again, his voice whispering in her ear.
“I hear you have a big mouth.”
Alice wanted to vomit. Next to her, Brooklyn had just placed her thirty-eighth marble, and the crowd was roaring, the ground shaking as the boy at the end of the table shook his head and spit his marbles on at a time back onto the felt. Just her and Brooklyn, and the teal marble in her hand.
Brooklyn glanced at her as the final seconds counted down, her eyes pleading, a single white marble in her hand. Over Brooklyn’s shoulder, Mikayla’s mouth had changed from a sneer to a thin line, anxious and strained. Alice caught Mikayla’s eye, and nodded.
Just before the buzzer, Brooklyn popped the white marble between her teeth, and pandemonium broke loose. Alice set the teal marble back on the black pad, waiting for the judge to certify the results.
At last, relieved, she let the marbles fall from her mouth, careful to keep them on the table, a wet little pile that represented her greatest accomplishment in life. Mikayla and her sister stood together as the trophy was handed off, cameras snapping a photo for the York News-Times.
As Alice left her table, she nodded at the two girls with their matching freckles. Brooklyn ran to hug her, while Mikayla stayed back, not friendly, but not sneering either. Disentangling herself from the younger girl, Alice took a wide route to avoid Dr. Hall on the way to her parents.
“Oh man, you were so close, honey! Couldn’t quite get that last one, huh?” her dad asked, ruffling her hair.
She shook her head. On the table behind her, the judge was gathering the marbles into a large tub of soapy water. At Alice’s chair, the judge stopped for a moment, then looked under the table before shrugging and moving to the next chair. A few marbles went missing every year, so it wasn’t that surprising there were only forty-nine.
Alice fingered the teal marble, wedging it deeper into her pocket. She turned to her parents. Her cheeks still ached, but she knew she wasn’t going to cry.
“I need to tell you something.”
They leaned close, and took her hands.
