Free The Keys to Jericho by Ren Alexander Page A

Duquesne.
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    So is it death by hanging
    or firing squad for me?
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    I smile, knowing he’d cave first. He’s so predictable.
     
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    I like beheading.
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    Nice. Just make sure
    Douche doesn’t have me
    sucking my own dick in my
    casket.
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    I won’t make any promises.
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    Grinning, I toss my phone onto my bed and get dressed. As I put on my watch, my phone rings. Leaning over, I notice Dash had taken a picture of himself giving me the middle finger, and made it his number ID.
    I snatch up my phone. “Where have you been, Calder?”
    “Helping my mom! I told you that.”
    Twisting to look into the mirror, running my hand through my hair, I say, “Yeah, I heard her stripper pole was rusty and needed replaced.”
    “Hardy, har, har. I hear you were kicked out of doing charity work because they asked for a screwdriver and you mixed a drink.”
    “No, I was kicked out because when someone talked about studs, I thought they were referring to you, so I got into a fistfight over their lack of taste.”
    “Fuuuuuny, Jericho. So, I guess you need me there tomorrow?”
    “Yeah, but tonight, you’re going to the races with me.”
    “Ugh, I don’t know.”
    “We’re bringing pizza.”
    “Meet at our usual spot?”
    “Yep.”
    “I’m on it.”
    Shaking my head, I grin at my reflection.
    Too easy.
     

     
    Setting the box of pizza on the truck bed, I hoist myself up onto the black tailgate, and my dad does the same. Since we finished early at the site, we’re also early here. Our view of the race from this small parking lot isn’t the greatest, but it’s a good place to eat.
    The races just aren’t about, well, racing. They’re more of a weekly social event, with a nod here and there at the boats. Some people really get into them, as if their lives depended on it. Dash and I used to meet up and escape our parents when we were old enough to venture out somewhat on our own. Afterward, we’d all go out for ice cream, and Dash and I usually got in trouble for flicking something at each other, be it the nuts on our sundaes, wadded straw wrappers and napkins, salt packets, or the contents of Hadley’s purse. We always found a way to get into trouble.
    Dad asks, “So, how are you doing?” As I adjust my blue cap on my head, I glance over to see him suspiciously watching me.
    “Huh?” I impetuously frown as I reach back to grab some pizza.
    He shrugs and looks out to the marina. “We haven’t really talked since you got here. Actually, we haven’t really talked…ever.”
    My frown intensifies. “We talk.”
    “We don’t.”
    “We’re talking now.”
    He sighs and looks at me. “Are you nervous moving to Philadelphia and starting a new job?”
    I take a bite and slowly chew it before mumbling, “Nervous?” I laugh. “No.” Yes.
    “Are you going to miss Baltimore?”
    “No.” Yes.
    “What about Rio?”
    “What about him?” Perturbed, I fleetingly glance at him before looking down at the pavement below my dangling legs. I take another bite, hoping he’s done with his questions, but he answers me with another.
    “Aren’t you going to miss him?” Yes.
    I indifferently shrug and glower at the gathering boats. “He’s so far up his new girlfriend’s ass that it’ll take surgery to get him out. He won’t even know I’m gone.”
    “That’s not true. You won’t be that far from him. You’ll still be able to do things together.”
    “If he’s allowed to.”
    “You two have always been close. You’ll figure it out.” I don’t respond because I don’t know what will happen. Furthermore, I don’t want to give my dad more incentive to keep talking about it; however, that’s a mistake on my part. “You should worry more about being farther from Dashiell than Rio.”
    Finally looking at