“That’s where you were looking,” I go.
“You ever think about stuff like that?” he goes. “All those flowers and shit lined up for months and months?”
I shrug. “I guess,” I go.
He gives me a look.
The look gets me pissed off. Why am I always the pussy? I think.
“Let’s do it,” he tells me.
It’s easier if we put one duffel on top of the other and grab both handles. It takes us about a block and a half to figure this out. We lug the things along worrying about cars, but we only see one that’s heading in the wrong direction.
We circle the school out in the athletic fields to avoid the lights on the building, then hustle the bags over to the back stairs and dump them underneath where it’s dark. We both stand around with our hands on our thighs, breathing hard.
I can hear Flake feeling around in the dark. “They never fixed this?” he goes. The window opens and I hear him sliding through.
He calls for the bags. I pull them over and he drags them through. When I climb in I forget how far the drop is and lose my balance and knock him over against the bags.
“It’s all right,” he goes.
The corridors are narrow so we each have to carry our own. We put them on our backs and hunch over while we walk. We sling the handles over our shoulders. He gets out his little flashlight and holds it in his teeth. We go through some doors and then up the stairs. The door at the top is locked.
He sits down. He’s still got the flashlight in his teeth, and it’s shining on part of the stair railing.
“What do we do now?” I go.
He sits there. A minute goes by.
“Remember that guy in the SUV?” he goes.
It takes me a second to figure out who he’s talking about. Plus it’s hard to understand him with the flashlight in his mouth. “The old guy?” I go.
“Yeah,” he goes. When he nods the light slides up and down the railing. “The guy that followed us.”
The cement’s cold on my butt. He’s waiting for me to say something. “I know who you mean,” I tell him.
“He followed me again last week,” he goes. “At like four in the morning.”
I slide my duffel around so it’s not hurting my hip. “What were you doing out?” I go.
He ignores the question. “I got in his car,” he goes. I can see him watching me. “He gave me a blow job.” The light in his mouth moves a little. “You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I go. “Why’d you let him?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to know what it felt like.” Then he gets up and hoists the duffel higher on his back. “Come on.”
“Where’re we going?” I whisper.
We go back down the stairs and along some corridors and turn a different way. That leads to another locked door. We turn back and go up some other stairs. The duffels are heavy.
At the top there’s another door. He hesitates, and then puts his hand on it. It opens. “The door down to the art storeroom,” he goes. “I figured they’d leave it open.”
It’s two hallways to Flake’s locker. He opens it and stuffs the duffel in standing up. It barely fits and we have to tuck in part of it so it doesn’t catch on the door. The next hallway over we find mine. Flake holds the flashlight while I work the combination. Of course I can’t get it to open.
“Gimme that,” he finally says. “What’s the combination?”
It works on the first try for him. We go back out the way we came.
We don’t talk until we’re off school property. “You forgot your shit for us to bury,” he tells me.
“Yeah,” I go.
“I won’t bury mine, then, either,” he goes after a minute. “They’ll find it anyway.”
When I get home I stand outside my house in the front yard and look at it. The moon’s out. The trees make black patterns over one side with their shadows.
It’s four o’clock. I think about Flake in the car with the old guy.
I head down my driveway. My sneakers are still making those rubbery sounds on the pavement. I look at our bushes. I look at the garage. I look at our mosh-volleyball court.
I stand in the back porch for a minute, getting used to the indoor darkness. My feet are wet from the grass. I get a drink of water and go upstairs. I stand around in the upstairs hallway and then peep into Gus’s room. He’s on his back with a hand above his head. He’s holding his new Nerf against his side with the other hand.
I put a finger near his face on the pillow. When I go to leave, he says, “What’re you doing?”
“Shhh,” I tell him. I come back to the bed and get down on one knee beside his head.
“Is it dark out?” he wants to know.
“Yeah, it’s still dark,” I whisper.
“Is Mommy up?” he goes.
“Mommy’s sleeping,” I go.
“What’re you doing?” he goes.
“I’m just going to sleep,” I tell him. “You go to sleep, too.” I pull the covers up to his chest. “You like your Nerf ball?” I go.
“Yeah,” he goes.
“This one’s pink,” he tells me.
I clear my throat. One of his shoes is on the windowsill for some reason.
“Don’t be sad,” he tells me.
“That’s what everybody says,” I go. “Why does everybody say that?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“I just get so mad sometimes,” I tell him. I get mad just thinking about it. I make a fist and push it as hard as I can into my hip.
He holds up his ball and I tuck it back under the covers. “How’s your ear?” I go.
“It hurts,” he says.
“Does it hurt now?” I ask him.
“No,” he says.
We don’t say anything for a few minutes. He rolls onto his side. He’s starting to get drowsy again.
“Okay, go to sleep now,” I whisper.
“Good night,” he goes.
“Good night,” I go. “You’re a great little guy, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he goes. “But leave the door open,” he goes.
For the first time in however long my mom has to wake me up for school. “Let’s go,” she says. I have no idea how long she’s been in my room.
While I get dressed she strips the bed and talks about when she’s going to come get me. She has errands to run so she won’t get there till a quarter of twelve or so.
I sit on the floor and pull on my cargo shorts. Assembly’s at eleven.
“You’re not wearing your pants,” she says.
I had my clothes all arranged in order so I could get them on faster.
I look at her and she looks at me. Something goes across her expression. She twists the sheets together and lifts them up and carries them down the stairs.
I forget my earplugs and have to go back up to my room.
Everything I eat and drink feels like it stays up in my throat. “Your brother’s conked out this morning, too,” my mom goes. She’s making and wrapping sandwiches to eat on the road. She reminds me not to forget to show my homeroom teacher the note. “And be where I said,” she tells me. “Don’t make us come looking all over the building for you.”
“I won’t,” I go. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went in early to practice his thing,” she tells me.
“Tell him I said good luck,” I go.
“You’re going to be late,” she says.
I stop at the door but she’s already gone down to the basement with a load of laundry.
At the bus stop the ninth-graders are having a loogie contest. One kid hawks one way farther than anybody else, and it lands on my pack. “Hey,” I go.
“Hey,” the kid goes. The other kids laugh.
I don’t have anything to wipe it off with. I end up dragging it along the grass and it just smears around.