Free Split by Mel Bossa

was two days ago. After we got our first snow. It was the day after his birthday. November thirteenth.
    He turned twelve, so it’s his lucky year.
    “If you sleep over there,” warned Aunt Frannie, “you better be a good boy.”
    Of course I was gonna be a good boy.
    Why wouldn’t I be a good boy?
    When I rang the Lunds’ doorbell, my stomach twisted all up. My mouth tasted like metal. I clutched my bag and waited for someone to let me in. They hardly ever hear their doorbell, on account of all the noise the Lunds make.
    Eventually, Lene stuck her face in the window and came to the door. “Hello, Derek.”
    “Hello, Le-Lene.”
    “Boone says you’re sleeping over.” She looked me over. Her eyes are like a bedtime sky. She wore a yellow sweater and Sylvester the cat slippers. “What you got in the bag?”
    “My stuff.”
    “My bedroom is next to the living room. But I never sleep. You can come up and visit our baby later.”
    She turned on her heels and I let myself in.
    Inside, it smelled like lemon and beets.
    I set my bag down by the couch and walked to the kitchen. I stepped over the threshold. Mrs. Lund had her back to me, stirring something in a big ceramic pot. “Hi, Derek,” she greeted me without turning around, “Boone is downstairs. You know he’s still punished, but I expect you guys will be quiet, right?”
    “Yes-yes ma’am.”
    She spun around and wiped her hands on her pale blue apron. She had lipstick on her shiny mouth and her hair was tied back in a long blond ponytail. “Okay then, off you go.” She licked the spoon and smiled. “Supper is in ten minutes.”
    Supper? I had already eaten. I hadn’t planned on eating with the Lunds, on account of me wanting to vomit whenever I do. “Um, Mrs. Lund, I already had a sa-sa-sandwich with my-my aunt—”
    “A sandwich? Please, that’s not supper. You’ll eat with us. You’ll like it. It’s my specialty.”
    Mrs. Lund has the same exact eyes as Nick. They find a spot inside yours and make a nest. I couldn’t argue with her, so I nodded and left her smiling.
    I went downstairs to find Boone.
    He was in the playroom, watching Top Gun .
    Again.
    He’s been watching it every day ever since he was grounded.
    “Hey, Boone—”
    “Shh,” he hissed, “they’re kissing.”
    I watched the screen. I’ve seen that scene before. It’s gross. Their tongues keep slipping in and out of their mouths like slimy snakes. It makes me cringe. “I’m go-gonna go read a co-comic in your bedroom.”
    Boone only nodded. His eyes didn’t leave that TV.
    When I passed Nick’s room, my heart jumped up inside my throat.
    The door was ajar.
    He wasn’t home.
    I had to see his things.
    I pushed on the door.
    My eyes swarmed around like bees over a strawberry patch.
    I was terrified Nick would show up and tap me on the shoulder. “Hey pervert,” he would say, “what you doing?”
    I took a shy step inside.
    I could smell him. I could smell his clothes and sheets.
    Nick smells like suntan lotion and Ivory soap.
    I looked at the walls first. They were plastered with posters. One got my attention. It was the picture of some guy with hair like a spider and white makeup on. His name is Robert Smith. Beside it was a picture of a skeleton face, and the caption read: “Didn’t hurt that much.” In the corner, there was a brown guitar. It leaned on a dresser whose drawers overflowed with clothes. Nick’s blue sweater hung over the edge of the second one. On top of the dresser were a whole bunch of things. Some papers with music on them, some drawings he made, rubber bands, a statue of Rocky, some magazines, and some used Kleenex. On the floor, there was even more stuff. Clothes, socks, more magazines, empty containers of yogurt and Jello, some cracker crumbs and a pair of black boxers.
    I never knew Nick was so messy. Even his bed was undone. There was a bag of chips on his pillow.
    He’s going to need a maid when he’s older.
    For sure.
    Of all the