was no pussycat.
****
Three Weeks Later
They were by the pool. Mrs. Mason hyperventilated when the Mason’s butler, Henderson, caught them swimming in the river—even though Brent’s physical therapist said his prosthetic was saltwater grade. She made him promise that the only place he’d swim was here at the pool, with Henderson close by. There wasn’t anything Brent hated more than seeing his mother upset, so he made a promise—and stuck to it.
So, they were poolside, in the shade of a cherry tree, on two huge cotton towels. Brent liked the pool better anyway—he could swim without his leg, without crawling through the rocky sand to retrieve it, or worrying that it’d be washed away and sink to the bottom of the Potomac River. That would suck.
But he wasn’t swimming now. And Kennedy knew he wasn’t listening either.
Because he was on his back, shirtless and tan, damp hair curving over his forehead, one arm bent behind his head, the other holding a comic book. He always had one with him—in his back pocket. And if they weren’t doing something that required movement, Brent was reading.
“I’m going to shave my head. What do you think about that?” Kennedy asked.
“Cool.”
“And then I’m going to steal a car. Get a tattoo. Change my name to Snowflake.”
“Uh huh.”
Her hair fell over the strap of her green bathing suit as she leaned towards him. “Then I’m going to sneak into your room, take everything you own and sell it at the flea market.”
“That’s nice.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes. And pinched Brent’s bicep.
“Ow! What’d you do that for?”
She waited for him to look at her. Then she asked, “What’s with the comic books?”
Brent shrugged. “They’re cool.” Then he tried to go back to reading.
Tried .
Kennedy snatched the comic from his hands and flipped through the pages. Brent turned on his side, bracing his head on his hand.
“Why are all the girls in bikinis?” She looked more closely and added, “Barely.”
Brent chuckled. “That’s just how they draw them.”
“Is that why you think they’re cool?”
“That’s not the only reason,” he hedged.
She adjusted her glasses, waiting for him to continue. Eventually, he did.
“Right after the accident, I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even get out of bed to take a wizz. It drove me nuts. So my father started bringing me stuff to read. Books were too long, I’d fall asleep from the medicine after a few pages. But comics were quick and it was easy to pick up where I’d left off when I woke up. Two weeks after the accident, he bought me Superman #1. Do you know what that is?”
“No.”
“It’s one of the rarest comic books in the world—worth like, a million dollars. It was wrapped in plastic because that keeps it valuable. My father showed it to me, then tore the plastic right off, because he said being able to watch me read it was worth more than a million dollars.”
“That’s awesome.” Kennedy said breathlessly. She couldn’t imagine her mother being content to watch her read anything—not without telling her she was doing it wrong. “So that’s why you read them all the time, because your father bought you your first one?”
Brent shook his head. “That’s why I started, but I keep reading them because . . . because all the heroes had something bad happen. Really bad. And it . . . changed them. But they weren’t just different afterwards, they were better. More than they ever could’ve been if the bad thing hadn’t happened, you know?”
Kennedy nodded.
“That’s how I want to be too.”
Kennedy handed him back his comic book and smiled. “I think you already are.”
After a quiet moment, she asked, “Is that what you want to do, for your career when you’re older? Collect rare comic books? My Uncle Edgar collects Egyptian artifacts for a living. He smells weird.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. Drawing comic books would be an awesome job, but I suck
****
Three Weeks Later
They were by the pool. Mrs. Mason hyperventilated when the Mason’s butler, Henderson, caught them swimming in the river—even though Brent’s physical therapist said his prosthetic was saltwater grade. She made him promise that the only place he’d swim was here at the pool, with Henderson close by. There wasn’t anything Brent hated more than seeing his mother upset, so he made a promise—and stuck to it.
So, they were poolside, in the shade of a cherry tree, on two huge cotton towels. Brent liked the pool better anyway—he could swim without his leg, without crawling through the rocky sand to retrieve it, or worrying that it’d be washed away and sink to the bottom of the Potomac River. That would suck.
But he wasn’t swimming now. And Kennedy knew he wasn’t listening either.
Because he was on his back, shirtless and tan, damp hair curving over his forehead, one arm bent behind his head, the other holding a comic book. He always had one with him—in his back pocket. And if they weren’t doing something that required movement, Brent was reading.
“I’m going to shave my head. What do you think about that?” Kennedy asked.
“Cool.”
“And then I’m going to steal a car. Get a tattoo. Change my name to Snowflake.”
“Uh huh.”
Her hair fell over the strap of her green bathing suit as she leaned towards him. “Then I’m going to sneak into your room, take everything you own and sell it at the flea market.”
“That’s nice.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes. And pinched Brent’s bicep.
“Ow! What’d you do that for?”
She waited for him to look at her. Then she asked, “What’s with the comic books?”
Brent shrugged. “They’re cool.” Then he tried to go back to reading.
Tried .
Kennedy snatched the comic from his hands and flipped through the pages. Brent turned on his side, bracing his head on his hand.
“Why are all the girls in bikinis?” She looked more closely and added, “Barely.”
Brent chuckled. “That’s just how they draw them.”
“Is that why you think they’re cool?”
“That’s not the only reason,” he hedged.
She adjusted her glasses, waiting for him to continue. Eventually, he did.
“Right after the accident, I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even get out of bed to take a wizz. It drove me nuts. So my father started bringing me stuff to read. Books were too long, I’d fall asleep from the medicine after a few pages. But comics were quick and it was easy to pick up where I’d left off when I woke up. Two weeks after the accident, he bought me Superman #1. Do you know what that is?”
“No.”
“It’s one of the rarest comic books in the world—worth like, a million dollars. It was wrapped in plastic because that keeps it valuable. My father showed it to me, then tore the plastic right off, because he said being able to watch me read it was worth more than a million dollars.”
“That’s awesome.” Kennedy said breathlessly. She couldn’t imagine her mother being content to watch her read anything—not without telling her she was doing it wrong. “So that’s why you read them all the time, because your father bought you your first one?”
Brent shook his head. “That’s why I started, but I keep reading them because . . . because all the heroes had something bad happen. Really bad. And it . . . changed them. But they weren’t just different afterwards, they were better. More than they ever could’ve been if the bad thing hadn’t happened, you know?”
Kennedy nodded.
“That’s how I want to be too.”
Kennedy handed him back his comic book and smiled. “I think you already are.”
After a quiet moment, she asked, “Is that what you want to do, for your career when you’re older? Collect rare comic books? My Uncle Edgar collects Egyptian artifacts for a living. He smells weird.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. Drawing comic books would be an awesome job, but I suck
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