something like that? Guys like that came to matches? Their matches? He wanted to ask Dink all sorts of questions, but he didn’t want to scare him off. He didn’t want to be like Anthony, getting too close to the truth, ending up alone because of it.
Dink said nothing for a while. They walked.
“My mom’s goin’ to Willowbrook Saturday. Ya wanna go with me?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Cool.”
When he asked his mother if he could go, she said, “You’re going where?”
He had a hard time explaining, since when Dink invited him, Joey didn’t know that Willowbrook was a shopping mall. His mother thought he meant the insane asylum of the same name.
Joey didn’t care what it was. He was going with Dink, away, anywhere that little girls didn’t need the answer to “Why is My Little Pony pink?” explained in endless detail, where no runts would spy on him, where his buddy’s every touch made him think sexy thoughts, where no one made something as dumb as shopping sound like a sin.
Mrs. Khors said, “See you in an hour at the fountain.” They sped off on a quiet spree, downing coffees at a cafe, since they had to cut weight. Joey learned quickly that he should only drink coffee in the morning, even then on weekends only, or else he’d be up all night drawing.
Joey followed Dink through every shop in the mall, including both sporting goods stores, where they laughed at the dorky salesmen dressed like refs, scanned through the circled racks of T-shirts, knowing they didn’t even have wrestling shirts, let alone the wild ones from the catalogs.
“This is all junk. Come on.” Dink led him to a vintage store with a lot of old stuff, already worn, everything half as much as the fake grunge in the mall.
They clicked through CD racks. Joey told Dink which ones he liked. Dink took him to the bookstore where they had planned to spend the extra cash on comic books, until Dink dared him to steal something.
The first thing Joey wanted was the Marky Mark book, which he’d already looked at while Dink scanned the shelves in Sci Fi/Horror.
His heart thudded from the glances at the pages where Mark Wahlberg’s shirtless torso stuck out like a wet muscle version of some pop-up book. He wanted to see something like that at night. He wanted more pictures of men he worshipped. He couldn’t draw everything.
Joey walked to the back, checked for circular mirrors up in the corners, then stuffed the book under his jacket, under his sweat shirt, against his belly, down his pants.
He saw Dink standing out in the lobby of the mall, but then he thought of a scarier way to make sure he didn’t get caught. He went to the newsstand and grabbed a fitness magazine with even more nearly naked muscular guys in it, bought it. The bald guy at the cash register smiled ever so nice.
Joey trotted out to meet up with Dink, who tried hard to maintain the dopiest of grins.
“Whadja get?”
“Hold on. Not till we’re home.”
“Show me.”
“It’ll fall out. Come on.”
They snuck into the men’s room. Dink pulled out a paperback copy of a Clive Barker book. Joey yanked out the Marky Mark book. It peeled off his skin like a bandage.
“Cool.”
They marveled quietly at each other’s catch until somebody in one of the toilet stalls emitted a disgusting sound. They shoved the books in the bags with the other stuff, rushed out giggling.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Khors found them waiting at the fountain with the smiles of angels.
11
Proudly showing off his front lawn fort from the first day, his brother had already made a few friends with some boys his age, who’d come by on little bicycles. Mike doled out empty boxes, becoming instantly popular with a casualness Joey secretly envied.
He’d helped unpack with his father and the movers, occasionally glancing down the street to see if anyone his age might also come by to introduce himself. No such luck.
He’d been wiping his face with his T-shirt when a chubby
Dink said nothing for a while. They walked.
“My mom’s goin’ to Willowbrook Saturday. Ya wanna go with me?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Cool.”
When he asked his mother if he could go, she said, “You’re going where?”
He had a hard time explaining, since when Dink invited him, Joey didn’t know that Willowbrook was a shopping mall. His mother thought he meant the insane asylum of the same name.
Joey didn’t care what it was. He was going with Dink, away, anywhere that little girls didn’t need the answer to “Why is My Little Pony pink?” explained in endless detail, where no runts would spy on him, where his buddy’s every touch made him think sexy thoughts, where no one made something as dumb as shopping sound like a sin.
Mrs. Khors said, “See you in an hour at the fountain.” They sped off on a quiet spree, downing coffees at a cafe, since they had to cut weight. Joey learned quickly that he should only drink coffee in the morning, even then on weekends only, or else he’d be up all night drawing.
Joey followed Dink through every shop in the mall, including both sporting goods stores, where they laughed at the dorky salesmen dressed like refs, scanned through the circled racks of T-shirts, knowing they didn’t even have wrestling shirts, let alone the wild ones from the catalogs.
“This is all junk. Come on.” Dink led him to a vintage store with a lot of old stuff, already worn, everything half as much as the fake grunge in the mall.
They clicked through CD racks. Joey told Dink which ones he liked. Dink took him to the bookstore where they had planned to spend the extra cash on comic books, until Dink dared him to steal something.
The first thing Joey wanted was the Marky Mark book, which he’d already looked at while Dink scanned the shelves in Sci Fi/Horror.
His heart thudded from the glances at the pages where Mark Wahlberg’s shirtless torso stuck out like a wet muscle version of some pop-up book. He wanted to see something like that at night. He wanted more pictures of men he worshipped. He couldn’t draw everything.
Joey walked to the back, checked for circular mirrors up in the corners, then stuffed the book under his jacket, under his sweat shirt, against his belly, down his pants.
He saw Dink standing out in the lobby of the mall, but then he thought of a scarier way to make sure he didn’t get caught. He went to the newsstand and grabbed a fitness magazine with even more nearly naked muscular guys in it, bought it. The bald guy at the cash register smiled ever so nice.
Joey trotted out to meet up with Dink, who tried hard to maintain the dopiest of grins.
“Whadja get?”
“Hold on. Not till we’re home.”
“Show me.”
“It’ll fall out. Come on.”
They snuck into the men’s room. Dink pulled out a paperback copy of a Clive Barker book. Joey yanked out the Marky Mark book. It peeled off his skin like a bandage.
“Cool.”
They marveled quietly at each other’s catch until somebody in one of the toilet stalls emitted a disgusting sound. They shoved the books in the bags with the other stuff, rushed out giggling.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Khors found them waiting at the fountain with the smiles of angels.
11
Proudly showing off his front lawn fort from the first day, his brother had already made a few friends with some boys his age, who’d come by on little bicycles. Mike doled out empty boxes, becoming instantly popular with a casualness Joey secretly envied.
He’d helped unpack with his father and the movers, occasionally glancing down the street to see if anyone his age might also come by to introduce himself. No such luck.
He’d been wiping his face with his T-shirt when a chubby
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