to lie on the chance it scores you a piece of ass? To climb the social ladder for a better view?”
He laughs, thinking I’m joking with him, but I’m not. I’m dead serious. His chuckle turns into a sputter. “When you put it that way…”
“What if I told you I know who set that fire? What if I told you there’s evidence and a witness, and your story could be blown apart in two seconds?”
Nick just stares at me. “I guess I’d say to back me up, man. The girl chose me. This kind of crazy shit doesn’t happen to guys like us every day, you know? So it would be cool if you kept what you knew to yourself and gave a guy a break.”
With that, Mr. Vaughn enters the room, ready to get class rolling, although from the look of his pupils, he’s already been rolling other things.
Ten minutes later, the fire alarm goes off. I’m theorizing that before this day is over, a male Ken doll with brown hair and a Sharpie-ed eye patch will be contorting over hot coals. Okay, so maybe Peyton lied. She’s a little pissed.
As we’re walking out of the classroom single file, Mr. Vaughn pats me on the back. “Hey, thinkin’ good thoughts for you, Hank.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m glad to see you changed your mind.”
I am thoroughly confused. “Changed my mind about what?”
Before I can thank him or ask him what he means, he gives me a thumbs-up and pushes ahead of the class to lead everyone outside.
This day just keeps getting more and more surreal.
• • •
I sludge through the rest of the afternoon and show up ten minutes late for work, which sets O’Callaghan off on a rant. Tonight he has me checking the shelves for dented cans. He wants me to pull them all toward the front and angle them so unsuspecting customers buy them and he can unload the damaged stock. Apparently, people are scared of dented cans because they can, in rare cases, have contents with botulism. But O’Callaghan is more concerned about lost profits than spreading a potentially fatal bacterial illness. The only thing that gets me through my shift is hoping that Peyton will be waiting for me when I get home.
Except she isn’t.
Dad’s watching the tail end of a ball game that’s in extra innings when I walk in. He’s wearing his lucky Red Sox shirt and a pair of blue Christmas boxers, which Monica bought him last year, with a big snowman’s face that has a strategically placed carrot nose. Definitely a change from his interview outfit the other morning.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, but he’s too engrossed in the game to respond. My stomach growls with hunger, as it did nonstop during the last miserable hour of my shift, and I head into the kitchen to quest for food. I grab the last Stouffer’s frozen dinner out of the otherwise empty freezer and throw it in the microwave.
There’s a commotion in the crowd, and Dad yells at the TV, “Son of a bitch! That guy was safe!” He’s on his feet. “This umpire is a piece of work. He don’t know his ass from his elbow.”
“Who’s playing?”
“Sox and Angels. It’s neck and neck at the bottom of the eleventh goddamn inning.”
“Wow.” I lean against the doorjamb, watching the end of the game with him while my food cooks. The Sox win and that puts Dad in a great mood. I take advantage of it and ask him, “I haven’t seen you to ask. How’d that interview go the other day?”
“It didn’t. Christ, everyone working there was half my age. A bunch of college pukes. They said I didn’t have enough experience to be manager of a goddamned drugstore. Can you believe that? Because I’d never worked a friggin’ register. It ain’t exactly rocket science to ring up toilet paper and shampoo. You should know.” I knew he’d have to get a jab in there somewhere, but I let it roll off me. He reaches for his beer. For once, there isn’t a mountain of spent cans in front of him. He must be scaling back now that he’s out of work. At least when Dad’s drunk, I know what to expect from him.
“So you didn’t get it, then?”
His eyes remain riveted to the TV. “I don’t know. They said they’d call if they’re interested.”
“Well, once school ends, I’ll be able to pick up more shifts at Shop ’n Save, so that’ll be good,” I