Kids These Days by Drew Perry

holding a sparkly pink duffel bag and banging his head against the door. Nothing in Sandy’s bird books for that, probably. I found my wallet, found my shoes, and only then remembered that I didn’t own my own car anymore, and that Alice had taken the one we had. “Mid,” I said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou drove here?”
    â€œIn the banana.”
    â€œYou buy that thing yet?”
    â€œStill test-driving it.”
    â€œYou’re going to have to test-drive us to the store.”
    â€œRight. That’ll be fine.”
    I walked out there. “Can I ask you something?” I said.
    â€œGo ahead.”
    â€œWhat’s in the bag?”
    He looked up at me. I don’t know what I thought he was about to show me. Stacks of twenties. Silver-plated pistols. Pure uncut Venezuelan hash. He unzipped the bag. Clothes. T-shirts and socks. I felt relieved, but also a little disappointed, which was how I knew Mid might not be the only one tuned in to the wrong station. Be good, I could hear Alice saying. Be good, be good.
    â€œYou ready?” Mid said, standing up, and off we went.

    Delton was in the parking lot at the grocery. We passed her coming in. “Jesus Christ in a rayon tracksuit,” Mid said. “Another country heard from.” He cut a long loop around a row of parked cars, brought the Camaro back to where she was standing with a few other kids, all of them smoking cigarettes. She’d seen us the first time by. There wasn’t any mistaking that car. When she flicked her cigarette away, it was more show than any attempt to cover up what she’d been doing. Mid shut the headlights off so we wouldn’t blind them. The kids stared at us. They were bored. Not caught. Not afraid. Just bored.
    â€œSee?” Mid said. “This is what I’m talking about. She doesn’t give a shit about anything.”
    â€œSure she does.”
    â€œShe doesn’t give a shit about me. We’ve asked her not to smoke.”
    â€œKids smoke,” I said. “At least she’s not driving.”
    â€œWe asked her not to smoke until she was eighteen. That’s the kind of fuckwad compromise you end up making.”
    â€œThe other night, Alice said she’d have her on the pill.” It was out of my mouth before I even tried to think it through.
    â€œShe is on the pill.”
    â€œShe is?”
    â€œSure, man. You think we’re idiots?”
    He left the motor running, got out of the car, and walked over to Delton. He didn’t yell. He put his hands in his pockets, stood there and fathered. He’d gone to jail. He’d been kicked out of his own house. He was in search of ice cream. He asked her a couple of questions, and she shook her head no to each one. She had a new haircut, one side longer than the other. She had on that same long-sleeved band T-shirt again, only this time with a pink ballet skirt. She was cute—not Homecoming Queen cute, but you could tell she wasn’t going for that. Mainly what she looked like was a kid playing dress-up, trying to play at being grown up. And who could blame her? That was give or take what any of us were doing. Mid asked another question, and she nodded yes this time, leaned into the car they were standing around, came out with her purse. They walked back toward me and Mid opened the driver’s-side door, folded the seat forward. She got in. She reeked of smoke. “Walter,” she said, in a fake deep voice. “How goes?”
    â€œDelton. It goes.”
    â€œFather has suggested I tag along with you two for a while, instead of hanging out with my miscreant friends.”
    â€œFabulous,” I said.
    â€œIsn’t it?”
    Mid drove us over a few rows, found a space by the door. He parked and we sat there, the grocery glowing out into the lot. I hadn’t seen Delton since she spent the night in the condo. From the back seat, I heard the scrape and flash of a