Stupid Fast - By Geoff Herbach Page 0,61

Cody’s dad would know something was wrong. I had to go home. I had to.

“No, no. I’ll just go home. I’ll be okay,” I said, nodding, trying to hold it together.

“You sure, Reinstein?”

“Yeah.”

Cody wanted to help me into the house when we got there, but I wouldn’t let him. I couldn’t let him see the rubble inside.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Don’t worry.” I tried to sound reassuring. “I’ll come up to the game tomorrow,” I nodded.

“Put some ice on it,” he told me.

“On what? On my back? Will that help?”

“I don’t know. Everybody always says to put ice on it.”

“Okay. I’ll put ice on it.”

I straight-leg zombie-walked into the garage, totally wincing the whole way. When I turned, Cody wasn’t driving away. He was waiting until I entered the house (and into the care of Jerri, I suppose). I waved and went in.

CHAPTER 42: FOOD FIGHT

Andrew wasn’t home or at least wasn’t inside. There was no banging or music. And I don’t mean piano music. He never played piano anymore. Not forever. The house was so silent, except for Jerri’s TV, terrible and dead. Jesus Christ, I missed his piano.

I sat down on the couch because it was the closest seat to the garage door. I stared at the spot on the TV table where the TV had been. I’d missed cleaning that spot. The table was filled with trash. My trash. My food wrappers. No TV. Dead wrappers. I sat for maybe five minutes, but it felt like a year. My lower back throbbed, and I groaned.

If old Andrew had been there, I’d have crawled upstairs and asked him to play me a song to take my mind off the pain.

What happened to him?

I knew what happened.

Andrew had made good on his promise not to take Jerri’s behavior sitting down. Andrew stood up tall. He’d taken all the dark in this story and pushed it right out to the outside. He turned his clothes black. He’d turned his eyeballs black. He’d turned into a pirate. And I’m not talking about a funny movie pirate. Give me a bottle of rum! Arrggh! Feed my parrot! I’m talking about the kind that would board your ship and kill you for your hamburger.

Me? I ran away up a cliff and then fought to keep both him and Jerri away. Andrew turned all Black Night Bart and refused to disappear. What a kid. The real Barbarian. Not me. I ran away.

I wanted to be with my little brother.

Or I wanted to seriously run away.

My little brother was gone, and Ken had broken my back. I had no brother left—and no ability to run.

I moved my leg, and the pain took away my breath.

I seriously moaned.

I sat, trying not to freak, for another twenty minutes. But my head spun. Get out. Get out. Get out. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I was totally freaking out.

Then I thought: Go upstairs. Get ice. Ice back. If the back is iced, it might feel better. And I was hungry. Goddamn it, so hungry. I’d lifted hard before Ken’s attack. Eat cheese and bread. I’d put bread and cheese in the refrigerator the day before. I bought it at Kwik Trip so I wouldn’t spend so much money.

I could hear that awful TV in Jerri’s room. She was up there. But I wouldn’t bother her. Only Andrew bothered her. She wouldn’t come out of her room. I didn’t want to see her and have her not care about my back. She wouldn’t come out, I was convinced. My bread and cheese. Then ice.

So I got up. I moved across the basement as silently as possible. I hobbled up the stairs. As I climbed, my back muscles pinched, almost taking me down. I gasped but tried to hold it in so as not to make noise. Should I crawl? No. I kept moving.

At the top of the stairs, the floorboards creaked, and I stood still both from pain and worry. Claustrophobic. I released my muscles, my brain telling them to let go, and I worked my way into the kitchen, holding on to walls, propping myself up on tables, etc. The pain burned in my back. Hunger burned in my gut.

Then I stumbled up to the refrigerator.

First things first. Bread and cheese.

I opened the door and looked in. Where was my bread and cheese? I bent, although it pained me, and rifled through the mess of expired eggs and black and mushy vegetables—and found nothing. No, there was