Date: Fri, 14 Oct 2005 12:38:26 -0700 (PDT) From: Robin Eagleson Subject: The Luckiest Summer, Part One Note: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The Luckiest Summer Robin Eagleson robineagleson@yahoo.com Part One I hadn't cried when I found out my parents were separating. I heard somewhere it was normal to cry if you're a child and your parents go through a divorce, which Mom had conceded would likely be soon to follow. But in the couple of days that had gone by since I'd been told my dad had hastily thrown his belongings together and left, crying had never entered my mind. The first thing I felt, in fact, could only be described as numbness. Then I was concerned for my summer vacation that had just started up earlier this week. All I wanted was two and a half months of worry free relaxation away from school before I started eighth grade; now all that was in serious jeopardy, and there was no guarantee I'd be going back to the same school when September rolled back around. I might have been the slightest bit resentful, but I hadn't cried. A summer afternoon in Leon Valley, Texas. It was the middle of June, and although it wasn't as hot as it would get later, or even as hot as it had been the last few days, it was plenty hot all the same. I was lying moodily on the sofa, my bare legs stretched out in front of me, feet dangling off the edge, resting my chin on top of my hand from the sideways position I was in, pretending to pay attention to the TV. The VCR clock told me it was only 11:30, but it felt like I'd already been here for a whole day rather than the two hours it had been in reality. My stomach growled, but I didn't want to get up and find something to eat. I only wanted to lie there on the couch and pretend to watch the TV, glad that I was alone so I didn't have to hide in my room. It was only day three of the separation era, so I figured I'd come around to getting over it on my own schedule. My stomach growled again with more intensity and I wondered when the last time I ate was. Mom had brought home Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner last night, but I didn't even finish one of the all white meat breasts she had ordered specifically for me. I knew she was worried about me, and I didn't much care. If she was that worried about me she could have worked something better than this out with Dad. My older sister Jesse was handling the situation just as poorly. I hadn't even seen her since the day we found out. She was spending all her time away from the house, probably with her older boyfriend Mom didn't approve of, and coming home at two or three in the morning. I only knew how late she was coming home because Mom was waiting up for her both nights, and the results were loud screaming matches that woke me up. Mom had dark circles under her eyes last night when she'd brought home dinner from staying up so late waiting for Jesse. The dark circles coupled with the bloodshot eyes from all the crying were more than I could take. I hadn't been able to eat anything after seeing how sad she was. She wouldn't let me leave the table until I lied and said my stomach hurt and if I ate anything I'd throw it up. It wasn't far from the truth. So it had probably been close to a whole day since I'd eaten. The three of us had gone out to Burger King the night of the separation, but that only resulted in my mom and sister crying while I sat blankly and nibbled away at my chicken sandwich. There wasn't a whole lot of variety of food in the house; I knew that without even having to get up. I would be eating something frozen for sure. I was thirteen years old; cooking wasn't my specialty. Just when I'd finally convinced myself that a dozen or so pizza rolls would probably taste good despite my overall lack of interest in eating, I heard a sharp set of taps at the front door. My heart raced momentarily. I thought for a second maybe it was Dad, stopping by when he knew Mom wouldn't be home so he could see me. I hadn't even talked to him once since the day before he left. Mom said he would probably call us soon, and not to worry, but I couldn't help but wonder why we hadn't heard from him already. Was he planning on just abandoning us altogether? I scampered to the kitchen and peered out the bay windows that looked out onto the driveway, but saw no car. My heart dropped. Surely Dad would have come in his car. Disappointed, I trudged to the front door and pulled it open, sure that whoever it was, I wouldn't want to talk to them. It was an older teenage boy, around sixteen or seventeen from the looks of him. "Hey," he said warmly to me when the door was all the way open. "I'm Brad. I live next door to you now," he introduced himself, pointing in the direction of his house just in case I was slow on the uptake. "You do?" I asked stupidly. I hadn't seen any realtor signs in the house next door. He grinned in a friendly manner. "It's kind of a long story. My dad and brother have been there for a while, but I'm staying with them for the summer." I stared at him, unsure of how to respond. "Yeah, anyway," he went on. "My brother just hit a baseball into your backyard. We don't so much have another one, and it's too early in the day to quit playing." He smiled at me then, his perfectly aligned teeth gleaming at me in the doorway. I stood there and stared at him blankly, absent-mindedly tousling my hair. I got that habit from Dad. "Do you mind if I go back there and get the ball?" he asked me gently, snapping me out of my strange reverie. "Oh, okay," I finally stuttered, not sure why I was acting like such a dork. I stepped back into the entryway so he could come in, and he did, bounding gracefully up the steps and into the hallway. Now that we were on equal ground, he towered over me, standing somewhere in the 6'2" range from my estimation. He was definitely taller than Dad, anyway. "It's back this way," I mumbled, somehow intimidated by his presence despite how easygoing he was. His hair, cut short and simple, was a glowing bright blond, which stood out immensely next to his already deeply tanned skin. His sleeveless white shirt revealed an extremely athletic build and a well toned set of muscular arms. I blushed and looked away, tousling my hair again and leading him to the sliding glass door in the living room that lead out to the deck. Gunther, our yellow lab, barked heartily and jumped on the deck with a thud, running straight at us with unbridled enthusiasm. "Gunther, no!" I yelled, but to no avail. He didn't listen to anyone when he was excited, and he happily jumped up and bumped into Brad with all his weight. Somehow Brad kept his footing, laughing and then dropping to his knees to ruffle Gunther's fur. "Sorry," I offered apologetically. "I forgot to warn you we had a big dog." "It's okay," Brad said as he continued to play with him. He had Gunther's head gripped on both sides and was scratching his ears. "I have a dog back home. I couldn't convince my dad to let me bring him down here for the summer." Just the very mention of his dad made me want to cry because it made me think of mine. I climbed down the stairs of the deck and started hunting for his baseball. There were footsteps behind me and then Brad was right there. "He didn't hit it that far over the fence," he offered, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking over in the direction where the two yards were separated by the eight foot fence. "Do you think your dog got it?" he asked. "If he saw it he would have picked it up," I conceded, knowing Gunther's love for anything that would fit in his mouth and could be retrieved. "Did you hear a splash?" I asked, wondering if it had gone in the pool. "No, we heard it hit the ground," he said, heading over to look near the fence. "Nice pool, though," he smiled. While he continued to search near the fence, I headed over to Gunther's doghouse and reached inside of it, instantly closing my fist around a slightly slobbery baseball. Mystery solved. "Here it is," I called, feeling almost proud of myself for thinking to check the doghouse so quickly. I hoped he would be impressed. "Awesome!" he said, seeming to be. He jogged over to me and took it from me. "Hey, thanks for the help, man. What's your name?" "Zach," I told him, watching him as he pulled his shirt up to wipe the ball clean. He looked down back at me and extended his hand. "Good to meet you by the way," he said, taking my hand and crushing it in his powerful grip. "I've only been here a few days. Why don't you come over and play some baseball with me and my brother?" Confused and nervous, I reached back to tousle my hair again. "You mean like, today?" I asked, squinting my eyes in the sun because I had to look up so high to make eye contact with him. He laughed and shrugged. "Sure," he answered. "Why not now? Do you have other plans?" "No," I said meekly, making a conscious effort not to touch my hair this time. "Then come on," he said. "You can meet my brother." He loped across the yard and up the steps of the deck. I scampered to catch up to him, admittedly excited at the unexpected social opportunity. "How old is your brother?" I asked, knowing there was no way his brother could be as interesting to me as he was. "Like ten or something," he said. "I don't know; I didn't keep track of his birthdays. He's close to your age, I guess." My face burned. "I'm thirteen," I said, almost abruptly stopping my motion over the insult of being told I was the same age as a ten-year-old. He looked back and read the embarrassment on my face. "I didn't mean it like that," he said apologetically, standing aside to let me open the back door. "I just mean, you know, you guys are both kids. Sorry, I'm retarded. You're just closer to his age than you are to mine." Feeling at least slightly redeemed, I brushed off his comment and pulled open the sliding glass door once again, leading us to the front and out the door, out into the driveway and over to his house. I was there for six hours. For six gleeful hours, I was able to escape my horrid reality and spend all my time enjoying Brad and Tyler, the Lawrence brothers; Brad had come down from the northeastern part of the state near Dallas to spend the summer with his dad. Just as Brad had observed earlier, I was right in between the two of them in terms of age, and the fit was near perfect. Tyler, whom I'd seen around the neighborhood in fleeting glimpses before, took to me immediately, but unfortunately for him, I was much more taken with Brad, who seemed to have only a mild interest in me after our initial greeting. All the same, when six hit, I didn't want to go home even though I knew Mom would be home from work and worried about me. So I excused myself from the Lawrence living room. We'd played outside for several hours, but spent the last few cooling off the in the living room watching TV and guzzling soda. Both boys were remarkably outgoing, and the conversation was non-stop, which after making a social adjustment, was fine by me. Tyler hadn't wanted me to go, and when I told him I had to go check in with my mom, he'd made me promise to come back later in the evening. Sweat soaked, I walked in the front door of my house and was immediately filled with dread and shame. I had returned to my own personal residence, which currently was synonymous with hell. Not surprisingly, Mom was sitting on the living room sofa, clearly waiting for me. She had taken up smoking over the past few days. Previously, I hadn't seen her smoke in over five years. "Hi honey," she said, her eyes looking less puffy and less baggy today, but her overall expression no better. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back, so I haven't started dinner yet." She put out her cigarette and patted the empty spot on the sofa next to her, indicating I should sit down. "I already ate," I lied, whatever hunger I'd built up over at Brad's instantly vanishing upon setting foot inside my house and breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke. "I see," she said, searching my face closely as if suspicious. "And who was it that was kind enough to feed you?" she asked. "The neighbors next door," I answered. "I met two boys that live over there this afternoon and I was there for a while. They're nice," I finished lamely, wincing as my stomach growled loudly. Mom looked at me doubtfully, but chose not to say anything about the sound. "That's good," she said, trying to sound upbeat but failing. "Are you sure you don't want me to make you anything? You're so skinny I can barely see you." Over the course of my life, Mom had used that line on me a million times. I've always been outrageously thin, admittedly. "No thank you," I mumbled, almost wanting to say yes, but afraid of having to sit down for another meal with Mom. It was obvious she was in a great deal of pain, and her fakeness wasn't fooling me. I was surely never going to accept the situation if I kept letting her mood upset me. Even so, I had a hundred questions I wanted to ask her, like where was Jesse, and why hadn't Dad called yet. I was too scared to ask them right now, and she didn't appear to be interested in volunteering the information. What was even scarier is that she probably didn't know, either. "Okay, bud," she said, stealing the word Dad called me for some reason and using it as her own material for the first time in memory. "I've got a terrible headache and I'm going to go lie down for a little while if you're not hungry." She looked at me one more time to give me a last chance to say so, but I said nothing because the only thing I wanted to say is that maybe she wouldn't have a headache if she hadn't started smoking again. She patted me on the knee and stood up. "Is it okay if I go back to Brad's?" I asked meekly, hoping she wouldn't take offense to my brief appearance. One of her children was practically missing, and the other couldn't stand to spend a second in the house. Thankfully, she just shrugged. "Sure," she said. "There's no use for you to mope around here doing nothing. Just be back by ten or I'll have to come get you." As she left the room, I found myself wondering if she'd even remember where I had gone by that time with everything else on her mind. I waited for her to shut her door, and then quickly skipped outside, cutting through the grass and knocking on their front door. I had only left about ten minutes ago, but that brief trip to my house had thrown my sense of time off. Although no one actually came to the door, I could hear Brad's voice calling for me to come in, so I did so, feeling a little strange about letting myself into someone's house I had just met a few hours earlier. "Where's Tyler?" I asked, settling into the chair adjacent from the couch Brad was settled into, a bag of sunflower seeds in his lap, the remote in his hand. "Dad made him take a shower," he said, keeping his eyes focused on the TV. He had flipped around and then stopped on a baseball game. "You saw how dirty he was," he added, and I smiled remembering how he'd taken our mock baseball game seriously enough to repeatedly slide across the grass trying to mimic the real baseball players on the bases. "Do you like to watch baseball?" he asked, finally glancing over at me for the first time since I'd stepped in the house. I shook my head and grinned when he gave me an exaggerated look of disappointment. "Do you like sunflower seeds?" he countered, extending the package of them towards me. "I've never had them before," I admitted. "I don't know why anyone would like seeds, though." I started to giggle when his look of disappointment grew even more pronounced. "They're delicious!" he insisted, thrusting the bag over to me and looking at me expectantly. I didn't want to say no to him, so I hesitantly plucked a single seed from the bag and put it in my mouth, daintily sucking on it for a few seconds, my mouth suddenly flooded with an overwhelming salty sensation. When the flavor was gone, I bit into the seed out of ignorance and tried to swallow it. "Well?" he asked, raising an eye brow. "They're not bad," I said half-heartedly. "But I don't like the shell." Brad gave me an astounded look. "You don't eat the shell," he said, appearing horrified and dumb-founded. "Did you swallow it?" Slightly embarrassed, I nodded and grinned. Shaking his head and laughing slightly, he held out his hand and I returned the seeds to him. "I didn't think you'd need a training course, but here's how it works. You take out a sunflower seed. Actually you usually go with several, but we'll start out on the beginner level and work our way up from there. So you take one," he repeated, picking out one from the bag and holding it up for me to see. I nodded, enjoying his sense of humor. "You put the seed in your mouth," he elaborated, slowly following up the instruction with the action. "This is where you proceed to liberate the salt from the seed," he went on, taking a few seconds to enjoy the liberation. "Sadly, the lifespan of the salty flavor on a seed is not very long, so you have to really treasure it while it lasts. Pay special attention to this next part, because it really pertains to you, and it's crucial." Tyler appeared from behind, dressed in a new t-shirt and pair of shorts, his dark curly hair still wet from the shower, leaned over his brother, and grabbed a handful of seeds, hastily stuffing them in his mouth. "That was fast," he said, looking at me. "I thought you said it might be a while before you came back." He came around to the front of the couch and plopped down it at the opposite end Brad was on, eyeing both of us and then talking again before I could answer him. "What are you guys doing?" he asked his brother. "Zach's never had a sunflower seed," Brad explained, always patient with his little brother even when he tended to get especially long-winded and annoying. "He thought you were supposed to swallow the shell afterwards." He grinned over at me, and Tyler laughed at my expense. "That's not that big of a deal," he said. "I eat the shell sometimes, too." "Yes, but you're mentally unbalanced," Brad responded calmly. "It ruins your digestion and it's gross. Zach's going to learn how to eat sunflower seeds like sane people." I was slightly embarrassed, but knew it was all in fun. "So anyway," Brad continued. "The key part of the process if to break open the shell and eat what's inside of it; not to swallow the entire thing," he said, while Tyler smirked and spit out a few empty shells into an ashtray on the coffee table that was already filled with them. "So you're going to align the shell with your teeth, crack it open using your jaw muscle, move the seed away from the shell, and then you're free to eat it. There's a trash can right beside you for the shell," he finished. "Unless you thought it tasted good." My lesson complete, I caught the bag as it was once again tossed at me and again took a reach inside, coming up with a handful. Despite Tyler's urge to put them all in at once, I selected one and stuck it in, turning it around in my mouth until it was flavorless, and then shifting it over to the side where I settled it in between the molars and gently broke it open. The seed came out just as promised, and although I accidentally bit into the shell along with it, at least I had made progress. "See? They're awesome, aren't they?" Brad said as I returned the bag to him. "Now if I can get you to start rooting for the Astros, we'll be best friends." It was an incredibly unlikely shot I would ever take to baseball, but as quickly as I found myself enjoying Brad's company, I figured if anyone could convert me, it was him. "Baseball sucks," Tyler interrupted, snatching the sunflower seeds away from his brother and taking another large handful of them. "Blasphemy!" Brad shouted in mock anger, hurling a seed in Tyler's direction. "It's America's pastime you traitor." I watched the boys in their pretend conflict. They were remarkably different appearance wise. Tyler was skinny and pale with a squeaky voice and a head full of dark, curly brown hair, a tiny button nose sprinkled with freckles, and bright green eyes. Brad had a much more athletic build with a just slightly more prominent (but still very upturned) nose, straight platinum blond hair, and unique hazel-colored eyes. Both were fairly tall for their age, however; Tyler had just turned eleven a few months ago and he was only a few inches shorter than me. He was young for his grade, so he was actually going to be in sixth grade, and he'd be attending the same school as me starting in the fall, assuming our family didn't have to move out of the school district due to the parental situation. "It used to be America's pastime!" Tyler argued back. "Now football is king. Ask anyone." "I can tell you live with Dad half the time," Brad said. "Spoken like a true Texan. It's all about NASCAR and the Dallas Cowboys here. I'm ashamed of my roots, I really am." "Can't we go back outside?" Tyler whined. "Dad already told you after you showered not to go back outside," Brad reminded Tyler, suddenly radiating authority. "So even if we did go outside you can't come with us." "I won't get dirty this time!" Tyler protested. "Take it up with Dad," Brad cut him off. "But it doesn't matter. I'm watching the game for a while. Why don't you go show Zach your room or something? Me and the baseball game need to be alone with the seeds," he grinned, lounging back against the couch and folding his hands behind his head. "Fine," he agreed quickly, thrusting the seeds back into Brad's lap and motioning towards me. "Come on," Tyler squeaked to me in his high, raspy voice, jumping up from his sitting position and motioning for me to follow him down the hallway, his bare feet scampering quickly across the carpet. "What games do you like to play?" he asked me in an excitable, perky manner. "I have an awesome computer with everything on it. I usually play Counter-Strike. Have you heard of it?" Being relatively uneducated about computer games of any kind, I shook my head. "Do you have a gaming system?" he asked, sounding concerned I might not. "Just an Xbox," I said. "Cool," he answered. "So you've probably played Halo then, right?" "Just about every day," I answered truthfully. "Counter-Strike is kind of like that," he went on, "only you play on a team against another team. But I have an Xbox, too," he added, flipping on a sizeable TV sitting at a strange angle on the floor shoved in the corner, "so we can play something on it. What do you play besides Halo? I don't have that." He stared at me intently waiting for my response, but then interrupted me before I could formulate an answer. "You could go back to your house and bring your games over," he suggested. "That's alright," I said quickly, not liking the idea of returning to my house anytime soon even for a second. "Show me what you have." He wrenched open a drawer of his desk and scooped out a handful of games, dropping them hastily on the floor, falling to his bottom and spreading them out for me, as if arranging a deck of cards. "Grand Theft Auto, NCAA Football '05, Ford Racing 3, Doom 3, NBA Street, Madden '05, Motocross Mania," he recited as his eyes ran across them. His voice trailed off as he looked back up to me to gauge my reaction. He had easily a dozen more games in addition to the ones he'd already read off to me. Either Tyler's family spent all of their money on Xbox games and lived an otherwise impoverished life, or he was one spoiled little shit. "You kind of like racing games, huh?" I asked, noting a trend in that area. "That's the best kind of game there is," he answered, his eyes full of passion. No wonder he was so pale; with all of these games to play, he probably never saw the sun unless his brother was visiting. "Do you not like them?" I shrugged. "Not really," I admitted. Reluctantly he took his hand off Midnight Club 3, sensing I wouldn't be interested. "So what do you like, then?" he asked, getting to his feet and putting his hands on his hips in frustration. We were nearly eye to eye when he stood up. "I'm always up for a game of Madden," I suggested pleasantly, sensing he was something of a Type A personality. "You said you liked football, right?" "As long as you let me play as the Cowboys," he grinned, ripping open the box and putting it in the system. "How can you own all these games and not have Halo?" I asked him, dumbfounded. "I lost it," he said, sounding saddened. "Will you bring your copy over sometime? I haven't played it in so long. Are you pretty good?" "I've beat the game," I shrugged modestly, not wanting to brag. Tyler scoffed at my remark. "Who hasn't? Anyone can beat the game. It's how well you play against real players that counts. I bet I could destroy you." I smiled at him and held back a snide remark I wanted to make. He was spoiled, annoying, and arrogant to boot. I just didn't like younger kids very much, I guess. I would have to annihilate him in Madden or suffer numerous taunts. No such luck. We played three games, and I got blown out in all three of them. I held my own very respectably for the first half of the first two games, but got shut down entirely in the second half each time. In the third game I was too frustrated to put up a fight at all and ended up losing 55-6. My aerial assault with the Vikings was stopped cold for the most part. I finally yielded and begged out of the competition, hoping to return to the living room with Brad for a little while before I went back home for the night. Spending a few hours alone with Tyler was far from ideal, and I was starting to feel disappointed I'd even come back in the first place. Unfortunately Tyler was quick to follow me when I left the room, and he bounced out the door in front of me and stole the seat on the couch next to Brad that I had been planning to take. "Did you make a good host of yourself, Ty?" Brad asked his brother as he threw back the last remaining gulp of bottled water. "If being a good host involves slaughtering the guest repeatedly in Madden," I grumbled, only partially joking. "Don't feel bad," Brad said to me, loading his mouth up with another handful of sunflower seeds. "I've yet to beat him in any game. It's hard to beat someone who has no life and spends all his time inside," he teased, reaching over and poking Tyler gently in the ribs. I giggled, finding that Brad's thoughts echoed my own exactly. "Isn't this stupid game over?" Tyler asked, squirming away from Brad's reach. "Let's put it on something good." "Beg your pardon, but there's a good three innings left, buddy," Brad said with a mouthful of seeds. "The Astros can't score, and if I don't show them my loyalty by sitting right here and watching them to the conclusion, there's no way they'll come up with a rally." "How can you watch these losers?" Tyler sneered. "They're horrible. You don't think they're going to go anywhere this season do you?" "Actually, I do," Brad said. "Everyone said they were out of it last year around this time, too. And then wham, 36-10 to finish the season and one game away from the World Series. Fucking Cardinals," he muttered, causing Tyler to clamp his hand over his mouth and stifle laughter. "I'm remembering that for blackmail," he warned Brad. "You wouldn't," Brad said, shaking a fist at his little brother in a pretend threat. "Or I'll tell about the phone calls you and your friend Jason made to that girl in your class." Tyler stopped laughing abruptly and shut his mouth. Apparently these were some pretty serious phone calls. "Tyler, bedtime!" an adult voice called from the back of the house. I had still yet to even catch a glimpse of their father, but I was pretty sure that'd be him. "It's summer!" Tyler called back in a mild protest. There was a brief period of complete silence, and at first I thought maybe this was truly news to his father, and that he hadn't realized it was, in fact summer. "I'm aware of the season, thank you," came the voice's eventual reply, much closer this time. My head turned quickly to the left, in the direction of the hallway. A very tall, very thin figure was outlined in the darkened hallway. Now I could see where the boys got their height from. The man noticed I was staring rather obviously at him and gave me a quick wave. "You're the boy next door," he stated simply in a matter-of-fact tone that I wasn't sure could be considered friendly or unfriendly. Our family had been here for going on five years now, and I had never recalled seeing the head resident of this house, so I didn't figure him to be an especially outgoing sort. "This is Zach, Dad," Brad cut in, sensing that I was less than gifted at dealing with adults. "He helped us out earlier today when we lost the ball in his backyard." "That was nice of him," the man responded, speaking not to me, but to Brad, as though I wasn't in the room. "It's nice to meet you, Zach," he added afterwards. "Tyler," he repeated sternly. "Your bed time is nine during the week, no matter what time of the year it is." "Mom lets me stay up later during the summer," Tyler pouted, not willing to give up yet. There was another period of brief silence from the hallway, and then the figure in the hallway stepped fully into the living room and was illuminated. He was clearly a middle-aged man, his dark hair thinned considerably on the top, his gaunt face slightly wrinkled, almost worn. He was very much an intimidating presence nonetheless, giving off a sense of authority and power. "Let's not do this tonight in front of your company," he warned in a composed tone that showed signs of growing much more forceful if it had to. "Fine," Tyler finally relented, bolting out of his seat and disappearing into the hallway. "I'll be in your room in a few minutes," he shouted as his son turned into one of the rooms at the end of the hall. "Keep the noise down, boys," he said after bidding us a good night. When the room had quieted down again, Brad leaned over and shut off the lamp that stood beside the couch, making the glow of the TV the only light in the room. He sat silently on the couch and watched the game, appearing lost in thought for a few minutes before finally turning to me during a commercial break. "They do that just about every night," he explained to me. "Dad says if he stays up late all summer his schedule will be messed up when school starts again so he always makes him go to bed." "What about you?" I asked him. "Don't you have a bed time?" "Fuck, no," he answered with a grin. "I'm a proven responsible adult; I can make my own rules." I studied his face closely, deciding he didn't really look that much like an adult. "How old are you?" I asked him skeptically. "Eighteen last week," he boasted. "Only one more year until I graduate high school." "So are your parents divorced or something?" I blurted out without meaning to. I had been wanting to ask him from the start, but until now I hadn't had a chance to be alone with him. I was desperately seeking someone who could identify with what I was going through. "They've been divorced ever since Tyler was born," he nodded. "My dad moved here, and my mom kept the house." "How come you never stayed here before?" I asked, curious about his story. "It's complicated," Brad answered thoughtfully. "Hold on, I'll tell you after the game's over. It shouldn't be long the way they're hitting. Come over here so you don't have to talk so loud," he said, patting the couch beside him. Trying to suppress a strange little smile that wanted to creep onto my face, I jumped off my seat and settled in next to him. Without even looking over at me, he handed me the now almost empty bag of sunflower seeds. I reached in and grabbed one, fully determined to master the art of eating sunflower seeds; an art that I'd only just learned the process of today. And so we sat, side by side on the couch as Brad's beloved team battled vainly to overcome the opposition who had them shut out. I couldn't help but begin to root for the `Stros (as Brad called them) after a few minutes. I learned about Lance Berkman, and how normally he was the team's best player but had just come back from an injury and was still struggling. I learned about Morgan Ensberg, the third baseman who was having a career year so far, and Roger Clemens, a stocky middle-aged pitcher with stubble on his cheeks that was still awesome but never got any run support. By the time the Astros had used up their last out, I can't say I was truly disappointed, but I wished they had won for Brad's sake. He turned off the TV in disgust and stood up. "I'm getting another water," he announced, heading towards the kitchen. "Do you want one?" I shook my head, and he disappeared around the corner. When he reappeared he motioned towards the back deck, sliding open the back door and leading the way. It was a warm, muggy night. The moon was nearly full, and it illuminated a dark sky full of stars. Brad settled into a lawn chair and gestured towards the matching one right beside it. I eased into it and looked up into the sky, halfway concerned that it was now after ten and I still wasn't home, and halfway indifferent due to the present company I was in. "Okay, so my story," Brad began, taking a long swig of his water as if to prepare his throat for usage. "Tyler's my half brother. His mom only lives about fifteen minutes away from here, so he pretty much splits it up evenly between here and there. If you thought he seemed pretty spoiled, you're right," he said, glancing over at me, his piercing and very honest eyes telling me he was aware I'd observed that about Tyler. "But he really is a good kid; he can't help that both his parents buy him every little thing he wants. Now, my mom lives near Dallas, like I told you earlier. I usually stay there permanently, but we decided I should try and spend some more time here with Dad. Privately, I think it's just a ploy. I think she wants me to butter him up so he'll pay for my college or something. But anyway, I'm here for the summer." "So your dad's been divorced two times?" I asked without missing a beat. "At least," Brad grinned, taking another gulp of water. "When my parents divorced, he moved down here with Tyler's mom. That was sort of the problem; she was pregnant with Tyler and Dad was still married to my mom. So he married her right after the divorce was finalized. Then they were together down here for about five years before that marriage fell apart, too." "He hadn't gotten some other woman pregnant again, had he?" I asked, unable to contain myself. Brad's dad hadn't struck me as the wild type when I'd seen him, so I was having trouble picturing him sleeping with every woman he met. Brad laughed at my bold question. "Not this time," he said. "From what my mom tells me, they just got bored with each other. He went through a few girlfriends, but hasn't been with anyone for years now. Satisfied?" he asked after a brief pause. I shrugged, my main action for the day. Brad picked up on it. "You're an awfully passive kid, aren't you?" he questioned me, seeming amused. "I guess," I said quietly. "So I told you my story," he prompted. "What's yours? You live in the house next door with your parents, I guess?" I winced, wondering if I should tell him the recent developments or if the subject was still too sore for me. "Yeah," I mumbled, deciding I still felt too raw about it. "That's fine, don't elaborate or anything," he teased me with a grin. "I guess you don't like to talk as much as I do." He took another drink of water and looked around his backyard, trying to give the silence a try. "What do you do for fun, then?" he asked, apparently not liking it. "Besides lying on your couch and staring blankly, that is." I shot him a look, wondering what he'd seen that gave him the idea that's how I passed my time. "I saw you when I passed through your yard to ring your doorbell this morning," he explained. "You looked completely miserable." When I caught his eye again, I was ashamed to realize I had started crying ever so slightly. Not so much because of anything he said, but because I'd put it off as long as I could, and now it was ready to come out. I hated that it had to happen in the presence of someone I had just met, and was getting along so well with. I turned away from him, hoping he hadn't seen the wetness in my eyes. "Actually, you still look kind of miserable now," he observed in an incredibly neutral tone. Again I was taken aback by how direct he was. "You know, I'm good at listening, too," he suggested. "Probably better at talking, but I seriously can listen pretty well if the need arises. So if you want to open your soul up to a complete, random stranger, feel free," he smiled. I might have downplayed his observation if my tears hadn't started coming down to the point where I couldn't even pretend they weren't. Because it was obvious I was crying, I felt that it was of no use not to take him up on his offer. "My parents just separated," I sniffed, having to look away again after taking a brief glance at Brad. "That explains why you're so nosy about my situation, then," he mused softly, unconcerned with his choice of words. "Sorry to hear that, man," he added. "Do you know if they're getting divorced?" "My mom said probably," I answered. "It was three days ago and my dad still hasn't talked to me. He hasn't even called. My sister's never home; she's been gone the whole time since the night it happened, my mom cries all the time and chain smokes, and I haven't eaten in two days," I finished, making an attempt at wiping some of the tears off my cheeks. "Wow," he answered quietly. "That fucking sucks," he observed, and his truthfulness was reassuring after putting up with Mom's falseness the last few days. "I know it's pretty rough," he said, "your situation and all, I mean. But you really should eat something if it's been two days." "I ate sunflower seeds," I smiled through my tears. "Real food, I mean," he said with a slight chuckle, returning my smile. "I ate like four hours ago and I'm already starving again. So I can't imagine how badly your body needs food after two days. Plus, you're like thirteen. That's a horrible time to deprive your system of nutrients. I doubt you've got a lot of fat stored up to be used as reserve energy either," he said, checking out my slight frame with skepticism. "What you need is a pizza. I love pizza," he added, taking over the conversation again. "I love it so much that I've only been here two weeks and I already got a job at a pizza place. Plus I've ordered from Domino's like, every night." "I like pizza," I said, still sniffling although I wasn't crying anymore. "Fucking right you like pizza," he said. "I don't want to meet the sick son of a bitch that doesn't. What do you eat on it?" "Cheese, I guess," I shrugged. "Just like Tyler," Brad responded, clearly disgruntled. "At least branch out and eat pepperoni, for God's sake. And if you're really smart, you'll always throw on at least a couple different vegetables, too. Green peppers and onions are my preference. A couple of veggies, maybe some ham or beef, and that's a pizza. That's a fucking pizza." I had stopped crying altogether now. My venting, although brief, had cleared some of the anxiety out of my system, and whether it was our in-depth discussion of pizza or just getting some of my emotions out, I was suddenly starving, and I could have easily eaten a whole pizza myself if it were in front of me. Wiping the last of the tears out of my eyes, I looked over at Brad, who now seemed to be deep in thought over his dream pizza. "You talk so much," I told him with a slight giggle that caught in my throat and turned into a hiccup. He looked over at me and smiled. "I can't call you a liar," he conceded. "So when do you want to go?" he asked. "Go where?" I asked, confused. I assumed he meant go home, and I was disappointed, because now I liked him even more and I didn't ever want to leave, even though it was probably closer to eleven than ten now. "To get some pizza," he answered, as if that was the obvious answer and I should have known all along. "Oh," I answered shortly. "I don't think I can go anywhere," I stuttered. "It's late and I don't have any money anyway." "I don't remember telling you to go get your wallet," he interjected. "And I know it's late, but you haven't eaten in two days. I think you need to eat more than you need to sleep. Pizza Hut allows dine-ins until eleven, so if we hurry we'll make it." "I can't," I said again, although my protest was rather weak and he could see right through it. "My mom wanted me back by ten," I added, my voice trailing off right when I started to tell him she was going to come get me if I didn't come home soon. I knew she wouldn't come and get me, because she probably wasn't even awake. Even if she was, she would probably assume I had gotten back already. "If you get in trouble, I'll talk to your mom," he said, rising to his feet. "Now quit arguing with me. I can hear your stomach. We're eating pizza, damn it. I mean, if nothing else, I'm hungry, too. This isn't really even about you; it's about me and my hunger." I giggled and looked up at him, knowing that I would be unable to say no. He seemed to sense that I had consented once and for all, because a look of victory appeared on his face, a smug that reeked of satisfaction, of wearing down his opponent with expertly applied persuasion. He reached out his hand to help me up, and I took it and allowed him to lift my entire weight up with one hand. It was hard to believe, but I felt genuinely happy as we went out to his car. I had been pretty sure earlier in the day that it would take months before I could say that again. His car was a 1995 Honda Accord. I wasn't a big car person, but I recognized it because Mom drove the exact same car, only it wasn't ten years old. She had bought it new only a few years ago, and it was bright red instead of the faded champagne color Brad's had become over the years. The inside was truly filthy. He had fast food wrappers on the floor, 44-ounce drinks (some empty, some only half empty) in the cup holders and on the dashboard, empty pizza boxers on the passenger side, and a backseat that could have passed for the sporting goods section at Wal-Mart. You could tell Brad hadn't been using his car to transport people around, at least not in the last few weeks since he'd come up here. "Sorry about the clutter," he laughed, unlocking his door and leaning in to toss all the trash into the back with his tennis racket and baseball glove. "I haven't made a ton of friends here, so I've been using my car as my own isolated little existence." He was funny, the words he used. I definitely hadn't understood the meaning of every word he'd chosen tonight, but I was glad he didn't try to dumb down his vocabulary and treat me like a little kid. I settled into the passenger seat, which appeared to be clean now, and fumbled around for the seatbelt as he backed out of the garage and into the street. "That's the cool thing about living with one parent at a time. I get the other garage space," he grinned gleefully. "Who's that?" I asked, pointing to a picture of a girl he had stuck to the sun visor over my seat; it was already lowered, perhaps because the last person sitting here had been using it to shield their eyes and then forgot to put it back up. "Oh, shit," Brad said after he glanced over and followed my pointing finger with his eyes. He reached over quickly and snatched the picture off the visor. "Bitch," he muttered quickly before crumbling it up with his right hand and tossing it out the open window. "That's Brittany," he explained afterwards. "I didn't know she was still up there." He shook his head as his eyes darted from left to right, scanning the empty street for signs of approaching cars before turning off. "Who was she?" I asked, even more curious now because of his somewhat violent reaction. "My girlfriend until a month ago," he answered briskly, his demeanor clearly a little less laid back momentarily. "She dumped me. I wasn't the kind of guy she needed, you know? Or at least that's what she told me. I don't know why it took her eight months to realize that, but what can you do?" "Oh," I said quietly, sorry I had even noticed the picture. I had never had a girlfriend, therefore I'd never been dumped, and I didn't have anything to contribute, so I let the ensuing silence drag on, afraid if I brought up another subject it would just create more tension. "Girls are greedy, selfish human beings," he finally added after several moments of thought. "Okay, not all the time. You know what I'm talking about," he said, breaking into a grin and glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Not really," I admitted. "I don't have a girlfriend." "Smart kid," he mumbled. "Sorry, I shouldn't say that. I'm just bitter. You probably aren't as jaded as I am." This time I really didn't know what he meant, so I didn't say anything. "I mean, you'd probably like having a girlfriend, so I'm not trying to ruin it for you. It's a lot of fun until you get dumped. But you wouldn't necessarily get dumped. I did, but maybe you could beat the system and dump her first. I think I'll try that next time. Just wait until she thinks everything's going really well, and then wham!" He slammed on the brakes at a red light I didn't think he was planning on stopping for, and the tires squealed in mild protest as the car halted abruptly. It came as quite the relief when we pulled into Pizza Hut shortly thereafter the braking incident. Brad had turned out to be as reckless of a driver as he was a talker. He clearly preferred talking over not talking, and accelerating over not accelerating, and being parked meant I was safe for now. Brad quickly jumped out of his side of the car and jogged to the front, pulling open the door and bounding inside. I struggled to keep up with him. "Please tell me you're still seating," he pleaded with the teenaged girl standing at the front of the lobby. He took an upward glance at the clock positioned on the wall in front of us, confirming that it was still a few minutes before eleven. The girl, perhaps slightly annoyed at the initial sight of us, allowed a smile at the expression on Brad's face and nodded. "Thank God," he said loudly, turning back to me with a smile. "Looks like you won't have to starve to death after all." The girl gave him a very peculiar look, but still seemed mildly amused. We got our drinks quick and had our orders placed soon afterwards. Brad made me order an entire medium for myself, while he got a large. He'd rolled his eyes when I said I just wanted cheese on it, but didn't object. He then put beef, onions, black olives, and green peppers on his. I stared across the table at him over my drink, sipping the remainder of my Pepsi through the straw. He had managed to engage himself in very friendly conversation with the girl that seated us and taken our order. I drifted in and out of their conversation, but heard bits and pieces, and it was clear he was already telling his story about being here for the summer with his dad and his half-brother. He sure liked strangers. By the time she walked away from our table to give our order to the cooks in the back, I had already drained all of my Pepsi and was sitting opposite him in the booth, arms folded neatly across each other. He turned his attention back to me and did a double take at my empty glass. "Did you not drink in the last forty-eight hours either?" he asked incredulously. "We just got those like thirty seconds ago!" I giggled, both at his astonishment and his apparently weak concept of time. He'd been talking to the girl that took our order for five minutes, but I really had been thirsty. With a quick glance toward the back, he leaned in towards me. "She's nice, and she totally wants me," he whispered. "She was nice," I agreed good-naturedly, sucking at my straw even though there was nothing left to suck through it. "Pretty hot, too, if my taste counts for anything," he added, talking over the loud noises my straw was making. "What do you think?" I shrugged and continued making obnoxious noises with my straw until he reached over and pulled my drink away. "They give refills, you know," he teased. As if on cue, the girl reappeared and took the glass from him, returning seconds later with a full one. "I imagine you probably heard him sucking on the straw from back there, huh?" he asked her with a mock disgusted look at me. I got right to work on my second Pepsi as the two of them started at it again. It seemed to me they were finding an awful lot to talk about considering they had just met, and in these circumstances. I kept my eyes glued to his face as he chatted away animatedly, knocking off half of my second Pepsi without moving them. "Is this your brother?" I heard her ask, which finally got me to focus my eyes on something else. "The thirsty kid?" she asked, as if making sure Brad understood who she thought might be his brother. "Him?" Brad asked, pointing back at me. "I wish," he grinned. "He's a lot cooler than my brother. This is Zach," he said, indicating me once again. "He lives next door to my dad; I just met him today." She was smiling at me, and since I felt like I was being introduced, I waved at her shyly. "Really?" she asked, sounding surprised. "I really thought he was your brother. You guys look like you've known each other forever. I guess you just make friends fast," she added, finally dismissing herself from our table again to go check on our order. Brad waited until she was out of sight and then looked back at me again. "Oh yeah, she definitely wants me," he whispered. "She's flirting so obviously. Don't you think?" I blushed and shrugged. But when she came back seconds later with our pizzas, I did notice that she smiled at him a little longer than was needed, and when he returned the smile it was her turn to blush. She took my second empty glass from me when she left, and I had already started in on my piping hot cheese pizza by the time she brought it back to me. "He really is starving, isn't he?" she asked Brad, looking at me in friendly amazement. "Don't his parents feed him?" she asked in a slightly lower tone that I still picked up easily. I thought that was a rude, nosy question, and I immediately began to wonder whether she was that nice after all. If I wasn't shy and my mouth wasn't full of pizza, I might have made a crack that actually I was an orphan and Brad had only just rescued me from certain death on the streets earlier tonight. By the time she had left us again and Brad picked up his first slice, I was halfway done with my pizza, and three-quarters done with my third Pepsi. It was only a second ago I had finally started to feel the effects of eating and drinking so much in such a short period of time, and I finally started slowing down. "So what do you do, anyway?" Brad asked, studying me from across the table as he gracefully devoured the first slice of his large pizza, the vegetables so plentiful they were falling off when he would lift the slice in the air to eat it. "For fun, I mean. I'm sure you don't have a job. You never told me when I asked you earlier." "I'm pretty good at staring blankly," I said with a forced deadpan, hiding my grin behind another sip of Pepsi. He gave me an appreciative chuckle for my quick retort, and I was glad to have made him laugh. "I don't know," I shrugged, because I could tell by his face he really was curious about my hobbies and such. "I like to play video games, but not as much as Tyler. I mean, I actually go outside sometimes," I added, getting another laugh out of him. "I do watch a bunch of TV in the summer, though," I admitted. "And I swim a lot," I added lamely. "You look like a swimmer," he mused, looking me over appraisingly. I resisted the urge to fidget and tousle my hair while his eyes observed me. "You're tan as hell," he added, belching quietly into his napkin. "So are you," I answered shyly. He took another bite of pizza and looked at me as if he didn't know what I was talking about. "You're just as tan," I repeated when he didn't seem to be catching on. He glanced down at himself as if surprised by my observation. "Oh, yeah," he remarked, as if now he remembered. "Well, I'm outside a lot. I play baseball and tennis for my school so I have to practice outside all the time. I don't swim, though, so I'm not tan all over. Just my arms and legs. If I take off my shirt I look like a snowman. I'll have to come over and swim in your pool sometime." "You can come tomorrow," I said quickly; too quickly. It made me sound like a huge dork and I blushed. "I mean, if you're not busy." I sounded like a girl. Suddenly there was music coming from Brad's pockets, and my brief confusion was ended when he fished around and pulled out a cell phone, the buttons lighting up with the ringing. He took a skeptical glance at the caller ID and then answered it. "Hello?" he asked the caller on the other end of the line. Whoever it was could be heard pretty easily. I couldn't make out the words, exactly, but I could tell it was a guy. "What are you talking about? I'm in freaking Leon Valley, how am I supposed to come over?" He paused for a second, whereupon I heard laughter from his friend. "How did you forget? Did you think I just became a recluse this summer and decided not to talk to anyone all of a sudden?" he asked after another pause. "Eating pizza. Listen, you're drunk as hell, I'm letting you go," he said, hitting the "off" button and returning the phone to his pants. "Drunk bastard," he muttered as he went back to work on his pizza. "Sorry," he said through a mouthful of toppings. "My friends aren't very smart." "Are you guys doing okay?" Brad's new friend came over to check on us again. Although she technically was addressing both of us, she seemed to be focusing her eyes exclusively on Brad, and when I tried to make eye contact and show her my third empty glass, she didn't even see me. Instead, she hastily slapped a receipt face down on our table. "They'll take care of you at the register when you're done," she said, handing us a few to-go boxes in case we wanted to take our leftovers with us. "I'm off, but maybe I'll see you later," she added mysteriously, giving Brad another smile. She turned and walked away, giving occasional awkward glances over her shoulder that Brad hadn't noticed. I was full to the point of exploding, and I still had three pieces left, but I had still eaten quite a bit, and I was proud of myself. As I deposited my remaining slices in the smaller of the two boxes she'd given us, I noticed Brad turning over the receipt, and oddly enough, smiling. I wasn't used to seeing either of my parents smile when they were perusing a receipt. "Was it cheaper than you thought?" I asked, unable to help myself. Distractedly, he pulled his cell phone back out, fiddled with it for a few minutes, and then returned it to his pocket before realizing I'd asked him a question. "What?" he asked blankly. "Oh, yeah. Not bad at all. Your pizza was only like eight bucks. So you'll only have to be my slave for an hour or something. I'll be right back; I'm gonna go pay." He jumped out of his seat and went up to the cash register. I watched him the whole way, still wondering what had made him so happy about the receipt. After he paid, he wadded it up and threw it away, so I forgot about it. He returned to the table, quickly dumped his extra slices (he'd only eaten three) in his much more sizeable to-go box, and then motioned for me to follow him out. "Thank you," I said to him meekly as I scampered to catch up to him outside, remembering how Mom was always getting at me to have good manners. Brad, however, didn't seem to have heard me. We were in his car seconds later, squealing out of the parking lot and into the street, Coldplay blaring loudly from his CD player, the wind whipping my hair around violently. I thought he wasn't going to say anything the whole way back, but then we turned back onto our street, and he shut off the music and rolled up the windows. "Glad you came with me?" he asked, prodding me in the side with his elbow. "Yes," I admitted sheepishly, patting my full stomach. The skin was stretched tightly, and even breathing was kind of difficult. He was coasting now, gliding ever so slowly up our street, three houses away from his, two houses away, one house away. Then he kept going when he got to his. Instead he backed up into my driveway and pulled it as far back as he could. "You didn't have to drop me off at my front door," I said, giving him a perplexed look. "I don't mind walking from your house." "I just thought I'd do you a favor," he grinned. "But next time I'll just leave you in the parking lot." I smiled and slowly pulled myself out of his car, bringing my pizza with me. "Are you going to come swim tomorrow?" I asked, unable to help myself just as I was starting to shut the door behind me. "Sure," he shrugged. "I don't know when, though. I have to work and do some other stuff. But I can at some point." My heart lifted considerably. I wasn't sure I could face another day of lounging around on the couch in the living room alone, feeling sad about Mom and Dad and wondering if Dad would ever call. It would be so much easier if I had Brad to keep my mind off it. "Cool," I said, trying to make my voice casual. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." And I walked up the path to the front door, standing on the porch and watching as his car pulled back out of the driveway and made a U-turn into his, where it gradually became consumed by his garage. My sister was inside when I unlocked the door and stepped into the living room, the cool breeze from the air conditioner hitting me full blast in the face, a sharp contrast from the air outside that was so humid it felt like walking through water. The lights were all off except for the TV, and her back was facing away from me on the couch. Apparently she hadn't heard me come in; she was too busy making out with her boyfriend. I watched them for a few seconds until I'd seen more than I could take. I cleared my throat loudly, causing them to jump apart and snap their heads back towards me. "Where were you?" she asked me, clearly shocked I hadn't been in bed the whole time. "Nowhere," I said, even though it was obvious, based on the pizza box I was cradling against my chest like a newborn, that I had been somewhere. "Where have you been?" "Don't act like Mom," she snapped at me. "It doesn't look like you've been hanging around here all day yourself." "No, but at least I haven't been gone all the time for three days straight," I said, my shoulders tensing up for a confrontation. I was tired of my encounters with family members being awkward and stressful. "Oh, so I should just spend all my time sitting here at the house feeling miserable all day around you and Mom?" "At least then we could be miserable together," I spat. "You leave me here with Mom all day, and I can't cheer her up by myself. You're not helping any by avoiding everyone all day and coming home in the middle of the night. You're just making it harder!" I accused her, my voice slowly starting to rise. "She's home tonight, so calm down, man," her boyfriend cut in for some reason. I think his name was Matt. He was at least twenty, and no one liked him. "I got here before you did tonight, anyway," Jesse added. "Quit being such a little prick. It's not my fault Mom and Dad are getting divorced." "I'm tired of you and Mom fighting every day!" I nearly shouted, even angrier now that they were both ganging up on me. "Can't you at least try and get along for now so the entire family doesn't hate each other? And if you being here just means he's going to be here, too, you really should be gone all the time!" I didn't want to wait to hear what she'd say back to that, so I stormed off to my room and barely contained myself from slamming the door, knowing it would probably wake Mom up if I did. Right before I had shut the door and closed myself off from the world, I heard a snide remark from Jesse's boyfriend. "That angry little fucker needs to go through puberty."