want us around? Unbelievable.”
As we’re walking off, I overhear Cornpup and Dr. Gupta engaged in what sounds like a conversation continued from another day. Cornpup says something about surgery and scars. Dr. Gupta says, “Your parents still need to sign the consent forms.” Then a truck without a muffler drives through the parking lot, and it’s so loud, it drowns out everything else. Now I’m real curious to know what Cornpup’s not telling us.
Me and Charlie walk to the shores of Two Mile, because we need to get our clothes muddy. We need to cut our hands open on the sharp rocks. Maybe Charlie will even swallow a mouthful of creek water, because it’s a shocking thing to do, and because he knows I’ve got more cough drops in my pocket.
I know how good it feels, gulping that sharp water, making your throat burn on purpose, never giving in to the tug of fear.
CHAPTER 14
VIPER
TODAY is one of those chilly summer days you get when you live twenty minutes from the Canadian border. Me and Cornpup are sitting on my front porch, freezing our butts off. I watch him tear through today’s paper for the fiftieth time, scanning the pages for any mention of the town meeting, and of course, there is none.
“Maybe they’ll print it tomorrow,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “The reporter was there. He took pictures. Maybe he’s just making sure he’s got all the facts together or whatever.”
Cornpup shakes his head. “No, if they were really gonna run it, they would’ve done it by now. They’re burying the story, like always.”
Charlie rolls up on his bike. His ear is heavily bandaged. He’s got blacktop skids all up and down his jeans. “I don’t want to talk about my ear,” he says. “Don’t even bring it up.”
I notice something wiggling around inside his zipped backpack.
Cornpup is annoyed. “Would it kill you to show up on time? Gramps is on a tight schedule.”
We know all about the tight schedule. Pills and a liverwurst sandwich at noon. Nap at one. Forty-five minutes on the toilet at two-thirty. And a mug of warm PBR when the Mets game is on. I hope I never get old.
“How’d your mom do at the farmers’ market?” Charlie asks me.
“She didn’t buy any vegetables. Or fruit. But she bought three pies. She kept going back for free samples of banana bread till the muffin man told her to move along.” I try to make this sound funny, and it is kind of funny—Charlie and Cornpup both laugh—but I feel a little sad.
I don’t know why I keep thinking Mom will snap out of her fat-lady phase. I don’t know why I keep getting my hopes up.
I watch Charlie’s backpack with a vague sense of curiosity. I’m sure I’ll find out what’s in it soon enough, but the annoying thing is waiting until he’s ready to tell us. Charlie won’t do anything before he’s ready.
We walk past an abandoned plot of land, which has become an unofficial dumping site for ceramic stuff: broken tiles, toilets and bathtubs, fake fireplace logs, and flowerpots. We pass a water treatment plant, a custard shop that will close in the fall, and a warehouse that was once a furniture store. Me and Charlie are trudging along lazily. I kick dandelions like they’re soccer balls, leaving behind a trail of decapitated yellow flowers. Charlie rolls several rocks around in his hand, and I can tell he’s thinking hard about something. Cornpup is in a major hurry. He’s already a couple blocks ahead of us.
I can’t stand it anymore. I ask Charlie what’s in the backpack.
He stares at one of his rocks, which is really a small chunk of asphalt. “Something.”
“Let me see.”
“First you have to promise to keep it.”
“I’m not promising you anything.” To Charlie, promises are permanent, like DNA or a scar. If I promised to cut off one of my fingers, he’d bring the knife.
He unzips his backpack. I see a paw. I see a black tail. “Some guy was selling dogs out on the 990. Labs, purebred, about
As we’re walking off, I overhear Cornpup and Dr. Gupta engaged in what sounds like a conversation continued from another day. Cornpup says something about surgery and scars. Dr. Gupta says, “Your parents still need to sign the consent forms.” Then a truck without a muffler drives through the parking lot, and it’s so loud, it drowns out everything else. Now I’m real curious to know what Cornpup’s not telling us.
Me and Charlie walk to the shores of Two Mile, because we need to get our clothes muddy. We need to cut our hands open on the sharp rocks. Maybe Charlie will even swallow a mouthful of creek water, because it’s a shocking thing to do, and because he knows I’ve got more cough drops in my pocket.
I know how good it feels, gulping that sharp water, making your throat burn on purpose, never giving in to the tug of fear.
CHAPTER 14
VIPER
TODAY is one of those chilly summer days you get when you live twenty minutes from the Canadian border. Me and Cornpup are sitting on my front porch, freezing our butts off. I watch him tear through today’s paper for the fiftieth time, scanning the pages for any mention of the town meeting, and of course, there is none.
“Maybe they’ll print it tomorrow,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “The reporter was there. He took pictures. Maybe he’s just making sure he’s got all the facts together or whatever.”
Cornpup shakes his head. “No, if they were really gonna run it, they would’ve done it by now. They’re burying the story, like always.”
Charlie rolls up on his bike. His ear is heavily bandaged. He’s got blacktop skids all up and down his jeans. “I don’t want to talk about my ear,” he says. “Don’t even bring it up.”
I notice something wiggling around inside his zipped backpack.
Cornpup is annoyed. “Would it kill you to show up on time? Gramps is on a tight schedule.”
We know all about the tight schedule. Pills and a liverwurst sandwich at noon. Nap at one. Forty-five minutes on the toilet at two-thirty. And a mug of warm PBR when the Mets game is on. I hope I never get old.
“How’d your mom do at the farmers’ market?” Charlie asks me.
“She didn’t buy any vegetables. Or fruit. But she bought three pies. She kept going back for free samples of banana bread till the muffin man told her to move along.” I try to make this sound funny, and it is kind of funny—Charlie and Cornpup both laugh—but I feel a little sad.
I don’t know why I keep thinking Mom will snap out of her fat-lady phase. I don’t know why I keep getting my hopes up.
I watch Charlie’s backpack with a vague sense of curiosity. I’m sure I’ll find out what’s in it soon enough, but the annoying thing is waiting until he’s ready to tell us. Charlie won’t do anything before he’s ready.
We walk past an abandoned plot of land, which has become an unofficial dumping site for ceramic stuff: broken tiles, toilets and bathtubs, fake fireplace logs, and flowerpots. We pass a water treatment plant, a custard shop that will close in the fall, and a warehouse that was once a furniture store. Me and Charlie are trudging along lazily. I kick dandelions like they’re soccer balls, leaving behind a trail of decapitated yellow flowers. Charlie rolls several rocks around in his hand, and I can tell he’s thinking hard about something. Cornpup is in a major hurry. He’s already a couple blocks ahead of us.
I can’t stand it anymore. I ask Charlie what’s in the backpack.
He stares at one of his rocks, which is really a small chunk of asphalt. “Something.”
“Let me see.”
“First you have to promise to keep it.”
“I’m not promising you anything.” To Charlie, promises are permanent, like DNA or a scar. If I promised to cut off one of my fingers, he’d bring the knife.
He unzips his backpack. I see a paw. I see a black tail. “Some guy was selling dogs out on the 990. Labs, purebred, about
Similar Books
