Fiends

***

    The next day, we made the mistake of riding our bikes past George’s house. We were heading for the Fashion Mall, a good place to hang out and watch the babes - especially Cyndi Taylor. She was a varsity cheerleader and didn’t know we existed, but she had a summer job working at Music World. We could pretend to brouse through the CDs and tapes for about an hour, and spend the whole time scoping her out. I know, that might sound kind of dumb. You wouldn’t think so, though, if you’d ever seen Cyndi.

    The only thing was, George must’ve been keeping a lookout. We hadn’t even gotten past his house when the screen door banged and he ran out, yelling, ‘Hey, guys! Wait up!’

    Jim gave me a disgusted look, but George was still in his pajamas so I figured we were safe. We swung our bikes to the curb.

    ‘Hiya, George,' Jim said.

    George stopped beside us, huffing and grinning. ‘Hey, where we going?’

    ‘Nowhere,’ I said. ‘Just tooling around.’

    ‘Great! I’ll be right out!’

    ‘That’s all right,’ Jim said. ‘Don’t you have something else you’ve gotta do?’

    ‘Nope!’ And off he ran, his big butt bouncing the seat of his Pajamas.

    The screen door whammed shut.

    ‘Terrific,’ I muttered.

    ‘Let’s beat it,’ Jim said.

    So that’s what we did.

    We sprinted our bikes for the corner, sped around it, then cut down the first alley. All the way to the mall, we kept glancing back, afraid George might be on our tails. But he wasn’t.

    He didn’t show up at the mall, either.

    He ruined everything, anyway. I couldn’t quit thinking about him. He’d been so damn excited about coming with us. He’d probably rushed to get dressed, and yelled something to his mom like, ‘Hey, I’m going off with my pals!’ He’d probably been hurrying out to the garage for his bike when he saw we were gone. I wondered if he’d cried. I wondered how he explained to his mom that his friends had left him behind. I felt like a jerk.

    I couldn’t even work up much excitement watching Cyndi Taylor glide around the music store. I’d look at her, but mostly I’d see George. I’ve been ditched a few times. I know how it feels.

    And it doesn’t always feel much better when you’re the one who did the ditching.

***

    To get home that afternoon, we took a back route so we wouldn’t have to ride past George’s house.

    Every night since school let out, we’d been playing catch in my front lawn after dinner. But not that night. I cut across backyards to reach Jim’s place. He had a pool, so he also had a fence. I scrambled over the fence. Jim was waiting. We shot the ball back and forth across the length of the pool. Later on, Jim stood on the diving board. I threw just out of his reach, trying to get him to fall in. After a couple of close calls with him teetering and flapping his arms, he said, ‘I go in and wreck my mitt, it’s your ass!’

    ‘Language!’ his mom called from inside the house.

    When it was almost too dark to see the ball, someone turned on the lights. Then his sister, Joan, came out with a friend. They were both seniors and wearing bikinis. They didn’t talk to us or anything, but it was great while it lasted. They splashed around, all shiny in the water, while we fired the ball from one end of the pool to the other. I think they liked having us there. They floated around on their backs quite a lot.

    But then I guess Jim’s mom noticed what was going on and got scared we might bean someone, so she told us to quit.

    We went up into the living room and played some Super Mario Brothers till it was time for me to go home.

    I took the front way. Off in the distance, I could see George’s house. I realized that, somewhere along the way, I’d stopped feeling rotten about ditching him.

    When it was time to set out for the mall the next day, I sped over to Jim’s place. He was waiting on his driveway.

    ‘Wanta drop by George’s house and see if he wants to come along?’ Jim asked, grinning.

    ‘In your dreams.’

    ‘The little shit.’

    ‘You said it.’

    Not only had I quit feeling sorry for the twerp, but I’d found myself really resenting the way he’d messed with our lives. Hell, we couldn’t play catch in my frontyard, we couldn’t ride our bikes past his house. We were like fugitives on our own block, hiding from him. And then we felt guilty about it. I did, anyway. And I didn’t like it. He had no right. So the hell with him.

    We coasted down Jim’s driveway. At the street, Jim swung to the right.

    ‘This way,’ I said, and swung my bike to the left.

    ‘Are you kidding?’

    ‘Screw him.’

    We picked up a lot of speed by the time we reached George’s house. Neither of us looked at it. I didn’t hear the screen door slap shut, so I figured we must’ve shot past too fast for the little scuzz. Then I looked back.

    George, hunched over the handlebars of his ten-speed, swooped down his driveway and swerved into the street. He pumped his pedals like a madman trying to catch up.

    ‘Oh, no,’ I muttered.

    Jim glanced back. ‘Terrific. You and your great ideas.’

    ‘Hey, wait up!’ George yelled.

    ‘Wanta ditch him?’ Jim asked.

    ‘God damn it! The hell with ditching him.’ I slowed down. So did Jim.

    George closed the gap. Riding between us, he matched our speed. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

    ‘Not much,’ I said.

    ‘Where’d you guys go yesterday?’

    ‘Nowhere,’ I said. This hot feeling went through me. It was shame, whether I wanted it or not.

    ‘I got a sudden case of the trots and had to go home,’ Jim explained. ‘Sorry we couldn’t wait for you. But it would’ve got pretty messy on the street, you know?’

    ‘Gosh, I’m sorry.’

    ‘Shit waits for no man,’ Jim added.

    George laughed. ‘So, you okay?’

    ‘Fine,’ Jim muttered, and gave me the eye.

    ‘So, where we going?’

    Jim had saved us with the trots story. Now it was my turn. ‘The pool. Over at the Jefferson Recreational Center.’

    George’s smile faded. ‘The pool?’

    ‘That’s right,’ I said.

    He looked confused. Frowning at Jim, he said, ‘Don’t you have a pool?’

    Jim didn’t miss a beat. ‘Sure, but all the babes are at the public pool.’

    ‘You got your trunks with you, George?’ I asked.

    He gave our bikes a once-over. ‘Where’s yours?’

    ‘Wearing ’em,’ I said, and patted the seat of my jeans. ‘Underneath.’

    ‘Oh.’

    ‘You’d better go get your trunks,’ Jim said, ‘and we’ll meet you at the pool.’

    ‘I don’t know where it is.’

    Jim gave him directions. George listened, frowning and nodding, then made sort of a nervous smile and said, ‘Okay. Guess I can find it.’

    ‘Great,’ Jim said.

    ‘See you there,’ I said.