Free Cold Fury by T. M. Goeglein Page A

idea!” I said, hearing my words fly out too fast and too loud. I cleared my throat and held back a blush. “I’m, uh . . . I’m the president.”
    “You are?” he said, looking at me in a way that gave me good goose bumps. “Hey, have you watched any gangster flicks? I’m into film noir . . . the old black-and-white stuff. The dialogue is fast and smart, and there’s always a wiseguy who you know is dead from the first time you see him. He either likes being a criminal too much and wants to be the boss or can’t outrun his criminal past no matter how hard he tries.”
    I told him that the club (i.e., Doug and I) had seen several gangster movies, the most recent being The Public Enemy , and how I’d felt that the main character was doomed from the first scene. Max was surprised I even knew about the movie. He told me it was one of his favorites and that it was based on an actual guy, a bad-to-the-bone thug who ran a big criminal operation in Chicago during Prohibition.
    I said, “That was the no-alcohol law, right?”
    Max nodded, saying how criminal gangs raked in enormous amounts of cash by making and selling illegal alcohol, and then paused, grinning. “You can tell me to shut up anytime you want.”
    “What?” I said, staring into his eyes, and then realized I was staring. “No, no! It’s really interesting. How do you know so much about it?”
    He shrugged. “I like history. My mom always says, if you don’t understand what happened in the past, how can you understand what’s happening now?” Max was right, and it reminded me of what Willy said about my dad and Uncle Buddy, about their history and making it my business. Before I could reply, his phone buzzed. “My mom,” he said, glancing at the screen. “Since we moved back to the city, she thinks I’m going to be randomly shot or kidnapped.”
    “What does your dad think?”
    “Hard to tell. I haven’t spoken to him in a while. My parents got divorced a couple of months ago and he took off for California with his girlfriend.”
    “Geez . . . that . . . sucks,” I said, and blushed. The lameness of my reply made me feel like one of the world-class knuckleheads he’d referred to so long ago.
    “It does, worse than braces. My mom was determined to move back to the city, even if it meant me transferring to another school with what, only two months left until summer break? But hey, at least I got to escape the suburbs,” he said cheerfully, but fake cheerfully, like he was trying too hard. He put on a half smile and said, “So, when are we getting together?”
    “Together?” I tried and failed to get a wild strand of hair behind my ear, and asked, “For what?”
    Max’s half smile became a real one. “A classic movie?”
    “Oh, right, of course! Uh . . . soon,” I said. “Tomorrow?”
    “Awesome. What are we watching?”
    “Oh, um, well, we’re watching . . . we’re watching . . .” I scanned my brain for the title of any movie I’d ever seen, and came up blank until Doug’s chubby grin filled my mind. “We’re watching About Face ,” I said. “It’s genius. You’ll love it.”
    Max nodded and said, “I trust you,” and walked down the hallway. At the exit, he turned and waved.
    I waved back casually, like I was the coolest chick in the world.
    I waited until he disappeared.
    When I was absolutely sure he was gone, I did an excited little Muhammad Ali shuffle move and threw a one-two left hook combination in the air.
    • • •
    Talking to my mom and dad about boys I liked (who usually had no idea I even existed) always made me feel weird. I couldn’t help bringing up the subject, but then felt shy or silly as soon as I had. My parents seemed to sense my anxiety, and would tiptoe to the edge of a question, asking something decidedly neutral like, “What color is his hair?” I wanted to confess my deepest feelings, to discuss my crush like an adult, but then I’d chicken out and become a kid