Chapter 8

Pierce snapped, “Am I talking to you?”

“Eighteen,” Mikey muttered.

Mr. Pierce stood back. “Then fucking act like

it.”

Determined to have the last say, Mikey

whined, “He was trying to show me his dick.”

“You should’ve looked,” Mr. Pierce said,

surprising us both. He looked at me and for a brief moment our eyes

met. In that instant I could’ve sworn I saw the hint of a smile toy

around the edges of that stern mouth. “You might’ve liked it.”

Without another word, he turned and

disappeared down the hall. I snickered into my hand as beside me,

Mikey’s face purpled. “Dad!”

* * * *

Mikey was like a brother to me—annoying as

hell sometimes, but I knew I’d never know another as well as I knew

him. There was too much between us, too much time, too much

friendship, too much shared experience I was going to miss when I

went away to school. Part of our bickering stemmed from the

knowledge that the time we had remaining was short and neither of

us wanted to squander it, though we knew nothing else to do.

After his father left us a second time, Mikey

punched his pillow into shape and stretched out on his bed,

ingeniously lying so as to keep me from finding a place to sit. I

didn’t care—I plopped down on his knees, and when he raised them to

shake me off, I slid in the space between his body and the wall, my

legs draped over his. To make peace, I accepted the magazine he

gave me, even though I knew by the brunette on the front that it

wasn’t one of his favorite issues. Mikey liked blondes, the bigger,

the better. But the cover of this Playboyboasted a story by

Stephen King inside, so at least I’d have something interesting to

read.

The silence between us was broken only by the

sound of magazine pages turning, mine less often than Mikey’s. He

was just looking at the pictures, holding the magazine up to hide

his face from mine. I could see he was sporting wood again, and

when I finished reading the story, I slapped the magazine down

across his crotch, earning a satisfying groan. “Your dad saw my

dick,” I joked. I hoped my own thrill at that thought didn’t

broadcast loud and clear in my voice.

Mikey scoffed and turned a page. “There’s

nothing to see.”

“Ten inches.” I cupped the front of my jeans

and gave myself a quick goose that got my blood pumping all over

again. “It’s more than you have.”

This time the magazine lowered. Over the top

of it, Mikey rolled his eyes. “You wish.”

I waited until he raised the magazine again,

hiding from me, before I lunged for the bulge at his crotch. I got

a fist full of fabric and a squeal that made me laugh out loud as

Mikey squirmed away from me. “That’s only like seven, if that.”

I reached for him again but he pulled away,

slapping at me with the magazine. “Get your hands offme!”

he yelled as his magazine stash slid off the bed onto the floor.

“I’m not all over you copping a feel, am I?”

With a slow grin, I teased, “You want

to?”

I laughed as Mikey growled and tackled me.

With one foot planted against his stomach, I kept him back, but his

fists battered my arms and chest as I pushed him away. For a few

moments we scrapped, him coming at me and me keeping him at arm’s

length, which only made him angrier. Then the distant sound of the

doorbell froze us both in mid-swing. Mikey looked at me, eyes wide.

After a heart beat, we both said the same thing. “Pizza.”

He tried to untangle himself from me but I

pushed him back as I leapt off the bed. Catching hold of the back

of my shirt, Mikey yanked me down—I flailed out, arms pinwheeling

as he ran by me. I grabbed one thick ankle and almost pulled him to

the floor; he staggered into the door and kicked out, trying to

knock me away, but I was on my feet again and racing past him at

such speed, I hit the opposite wall in the hallway and fell back

against him when he hurried after me. “Outta my way,” he muttered,

shoving me aside.

I caught his shirt and tried to pull him

back, but instead found myself stumbling down the stairs after him.

By the time we reached the living room, we were both disheveled and

breathless. At the front door, Mr. Pierce stood with his wallet in

his hands, one eyebrow arched as we came into view. A young woman

in a Pizza Hut outfit stood inside the open screen door, four large

pizza boxes held out. When she saw us, she gasped and took a step

back, startled at our sudden appearance.