box and attached a bobber to my line, then got my secret weapon, a dragonfly. I put it on the hook and gently cast it out so it floated about twenty feet from the rocks. I was after surface feeders, especially red snapper, which was my favorite. Together we stood there with our rods pressed against our bellies like two guys peeing off a dock.
Suddenly my bobber went under. I counted. One, two, three. I jerked back on the rod to set the hook, and reeled it in. The fish didnât put up much of a fight, but it was the first one caughtâa bluegill about the size of my hand.
âI won,â I hollered. âIâll take a Lemon Squash.â
âYou didnât win,â he replied. âThatâs not a fish. Thatâs bait.â
âYou didnât say how big it had to be. You just said it had to be a fish.â
âWell, you cheated,â he said. âAnyone can catch a fish like that. I could have just stuck the net in the water and caught one of those. Now you have to get the drinks.â
âNo way,â I said. âI won. You havenât caught anything yet.â
âDonât argue with me,â he replied. âYou cheated. Besides, Iâm paying. Now fetch. Iâll take a Banks in the bottle. And tell the bartender your dad wants it ice-cold.â
I threw my fish back into the water and took the money from his hand. Bully, I thought to myself. There is no winning with someone who wonât play by the rules.
By the time I returned he had seen a few of his friends and waved them over. They sat down on the rocks to shoot the breeze and I couldnât get a word in edgewise.
I recast my line and drank my soda. I should have talked Shiva into running, I thought. It would be a lot more fun than watching Dad and his pals talk. And then I remembered what I told him about the prunes. I hoped he didnât take my advice. I was sure he knew better. Everyone knew what prunes could do to you.
Â
The next morning Betsy and I were standing at the edge of the driveway. I looked up at Dadâs window. It was still broken.
âDonât you get tired of being treated like a kid?â I asked.
She frowned. âNobody treats me like a kid.â
âWell, donât you hate it when adults say things like, Do as I say, donât do as I do.â
âI just ignore them,â she said.
âDoesnât it bug you that you never get a vote on where to live, what to eat, where to go to school, what clothes to buy?â
âWhat are you whining about?â she shot back. âYou are always complaining about something. You are the last person I would want making decisions around here. If it wasnât for Dad, youâd be living in a refrigerator box and raiding garbage cans for dinner.â
I could tell whose side she was on. I missed Pete already. He usually agreed with me. A month of Betsy and Dad and Iâd be a nervous wreck.
We were standing at the edge of the driveway when a car raced up the street and aimed straight for us. It was a big old American car with a huge hood ornament, and as it got closer it looked like a charging rhinoceros. Betsy stood her ground, but I jumped behind a fence post as it hit the brakes and skidded to a stop.
âGet in,â squeaked a little voice.
The driver was a bug-eyed maniac. He was skinny, sat on a pillow, and scratched at a bald spot on his head that looked like a rug burn. He smoked unfiltered cigarettes and had a lead foot. Betsy took the front seat and sneered at him. I climbed in the back with two boys who must have been brothers, about my age and Peteâs. They were pale, sweaty, and terrified. We took off with a lurch and peeled rubber up to the corner, where he took the right-hand turn
without slowing to look. The car tilted like a canoe about to flip over. I tumbled across the seat and crunched into the two boys. They both grabbed their crotches and moaned.
âSorry,â I
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