Things Go Flying by Shari Lapena Page B

surprised. “Okay.” Audrey loved to play cards.
    Harold climbed out of his La-Z-Boy and padded over to the dining room table. Audrey got the cards out of the drawer of the sideboard. They sat down and Harold dealt. He was still nervous about his mother, but Audrey played cards with such intensity that with any luck she wouldn’t notice. Harold’s plan—although it wasn’t a formulated plan, it was more of an instinct or habit—was to ignore his mother for long enough that she’d simply give up and go away.
    After a while Dylan and John came in from outside. John gave a wide, false yawn and said he thought he’d shower and go to bed early. Audrey and Harold, absorbed in their game, barely noticed; Dylan smirked and went downstairs to watch TV.
    â€¢ • •
    J OHN HAD USED this escape route before. He got grounded fairly regularly, usually for not meeting expectations in school or in other areas of his life, rather than for anything actively bad. Never for something as serious as smashing the car and getting drunk. Somehow he knew that if he was caught sneaking out now, it would be worse for him than it would have been if he’d been grounded for something less significant. So he was more nervous than usual as he stepped from the bathroom at the end of the hall and into Dylan’s room and lifted open the window, as quietly as he could. His own room was dark; he’d pulled shut the curtains and stuffed clothes under the blankets to simulate his sleeping body. He knew it wasn’t his mother’s habit to look in on them once they’d closed their doors for the night, or he would probably never have taken the chance, but it was best to be prepared.
    He swung his leg out over the sill and ducked down underneath the window and pulled his other leg after him. He twisted his body and lowered the window behind him, leaving it open just an inch. He would have to come back this way—if his parents heard him coming from the direction of Dylan’s room they would assume he was using the bathroom. He could never sneak in the front door—his mother had the ears of a bat.
    It was easy to grab the branch of the old maple tree—it was right there, no trouble at all. He worked his way down toward the fence, and from there dropped softly to the ground. He stood still for a moment, listening, then rubbed his hands on his jeans. He walked down the lane toward the front yard, cutting off to the side so his parents wouldn’t see him through the living room window.
    He headed for the subway, Chester station, walking fast. Now when he tried to summon up Nicole’s face, he didn’t seem to be able to—maybe because he was nervous. He reminded himself not to talk too much. He was going to be cool and uncommunicative, and make her work at drawing him out—a girl like her would probably like that. He was wearing jeans, a sweater, and his leather jacket, and he had cash and condoms in his wallet. He hoped she’d take the lead, the way she had when they’d met—he remembered how she’d hiked up her skirt in the car and blown him a kiss, how she’d keyed herself into his cell phone—and told himself again that probably all he’d have to do was look cool and be sufficiently uncommunicative and she’d take care of the rest. Because if she didn’t, he didn’t know what the hell he’d do with a girl like her.
    It wasn’t that he was inexperienced; he’d just never experienced anyone quite like her before. He knew this instinctively, even though he scarcely knew her at all.
    He travelled west, then transferred and went north. He was early, which panicked him a little, but then he decided it was okay to be early; it showed a certain confidence. He slouched up against the wall outside the subway station, and when he saw her coming toward him he resisted the urge to stand up straight and go to meet her. Instead, he stayed