motorcycle. “I can take that baby apart and put it back 1 5 1
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
together again in less than a day. They say my brain’s not right, but could a person with an effed-up brain change the oil in a truck? I don’t think so.”
Cami takes my arm and starts pulling me toward the house.
“Speaking of changing the oil, we better let you get back to it.”
“Yeah.” He nods, looking at the truck like he’d forgotten it was there.
“You didn’t say much in your text,” Cami says once we’re inside. “How was Dallas? Did they figure out anything?”
I don’t know where to start or how to start.
“Kyle?” Before I know it, she’s giving me an awkward hug.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says, and I want to believe her so much I hug her back. I hold on to her until a timer starts buzz-ing in the kitchen.
“Frozen pizza for my brother and his friend,” she says after we let go of each other. “They’re in the backyard. I made them go out a little while ago because they were driving me crazy.
Nine-year-olds!”
Cami opens the oven door, and warm bacon and pepperoni smells float into the kitchen like spirits taunting me. I can’t remember the last time I ate pizza. Even with my arteries being one hundred percent clog free, Mom still wants me to eat healthy. It’s torture.
“Want me to get them?” I ask. I need to breathe some un-pepperonied air.
“Sure.”
There’s a sliding glass door in the dining room. I open it and walk outside. Two kids, a boy and a girl, are sitting on the 1 5 2
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
cement patio drawing with sidewalk chalk. The girl, wearing a bright sundress, has drawn several flowers with a rainbow stretching over them. The boy, Cami’s brother, is drawing monsters who look like they’re about to descend on the girl’s garden.
“You’re such a boy,” the girl says.
“We should play zombies,” Josh says, using a red stick of chalk to smear blood over the face of one of his creatures.
The girl stops coloring, and I’m so prepared for her to tell him how immature he is. “Do you have any guns?” she asks.
“We can’t play zombies without guns.”
“Yeah.” He stands. “I’ve got Nerf guns and cap guns. I’ve got a machine gun that sounds like the real thing.” He turns around and sees me.
“Sorry, kids. The zombies will have to wait. Your pizza’s done.”
The girl stands up and starts to shake dirt from her dress, but then realizes her fingers are more colorful than the rainbow she’s drawn. “I guess I should wash them,” she says as she walks past me. “And he’s not my boyfriend, in case you’re wondering. We’re just friends.”
“Got it,” I tell her.
“Hungry?” Cami asks me after she slides two slices onto each paper plate and sets them on the table.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say. “I had a delicious walnut and spinach salad back home, followed by a handful of vitamins.”
Cami gives me a sympathetic, supportive smile. “How about a can of Sprite?”
1 5 3
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
“Sure. If, that is, you don’t have any pureed broccoli.”
“All out.” She hands me a cold can. “After you’re done with your lunch,” she says to the kids, “I want you to either watch television or go back outside. Kyle and I have important things to discuss.”
The little girl finishes washing her hands at the sink and leans over to whisper something into Josh’s ear before sitting down.
“No they’re not,” Josh says, his face turning red.
“We’re not what?” Cami asks.
“Going to have sex,” Josh says.
“When my sister says that her and her boyfriend are going to go ‘talk’ in her room, it means they’re going to have sex.
That’s what Mom says, so I have to stay in my sister’s room with them, or else they can’t close the door.” She looks at Josh.
“Maybe we shouldn’t play zombies. We should stay inside and keep an eye on them, or else you’ll end up with a . . .” Her face squashes up as she tries to figure out what relation Josh would be to a baby his sister might have.
“We’re not going to have sex,” Cami nearly screams. “And I don’t think your mom should talk to you about such things.”
The little girl straightens in her seat. “My mom’s a therapist, so we talk about everything. I