Free Bottled Up by Jaye Murray

when you’re a little kid playing a game and something goes wrong. Everybody yells, Do over!
    I want that—a do-over.

    â€œThanks for the eats,” I said to Johnny.
    We were sitting in one of the booths at Mia Pizza Amore. I’d caught up with him at the Site after seeing the counselor. He was hungry. I was hungry. We both hate eating at home. So we split a pie.
    â€œNo problem. I made a lot of money today.”
    â€œYou started selling?”
    â€œHell, yeah. You need to get in on this. I can’t keep up. An hour after my first buyer walked away I had almost every jock, cheerleader, and pothead bugging me for weed.”
    We tossed our garbage into the pail and went outside. It was already dark and getting cool out. I lit a cigarette and handed my last one to Johnny.
    â€œI got two bags in my jacket right now with your name on them,” he said. “One is for you to sell, the other is all yours to smoke.”
    â€œThat’s a lot of grass.”
    â€œI got two full bottles of ecstasy you can sell too if you want. And in a couple of days there’s a bag of coke coming my way. We sell that and the weed, you’ll have enough money to take your little brother to Disneyland.”
    He took off his jacket and shook it onto my shoulders. “Borrow this tonight,” he said. “The bags are in the pockets. Listen, if you’re going to do this with me, you got to wear your own jacket or carry a backpack or something so I can pass stuff to you. This time tomorrow you’ll be paying for our pizza.” He flicked his cigarette butt into the street with a stupid-looking grin on his face. “And tie your damn shoes. You’re going to trip and drop the goods.”
    â€œYeah, and zip your fly,” I told him. “You’re going to drop your brain.”
    He grabbed his crotch, gave me the finger, then took off down the street.
    I slapped the top pocket of his jacket and felt one of the bags stuffed there.
    I wasn’t thinking about selling.
    I was thinking about smoking.
    I want a new drug.
    It has to be easy to get.
    It has to be free.
    It has to work.
    â€œWant to play winner?” my father asked me.
    He was lying on the floor with Mikey and a checkerboard. They had a bowl of Cheez Doodles next to them. Mikey was sucking on the straw of a fruit punch juice-box. My father had a glass in his hand—big surprise.
    Mikey made a muscle. “I won all six games. I’m king of checkers.”
    Dad winked at me.
    â€œWhere’s Mom?” I asked.
    â€œShe went to bed,” my father said. “She was pretty tired.”
    â€œSounds good.” I opened the refrigerator and grabbed myself a can of ginger ale. “Good night,” I said.
    â€œWait a second. Hang out with us a little bit.” My father got up off the floor and came over to me. “What have you been up to?”
    â€œI had some stuff to do.”
    He nodded his head as if he thought maybe I was going to tell him more than that. I didn’t—just started walking to the stairs so I could get to my room.
    â€œLet’s talk about a time we can get you on the road, give you a driving lesson.”
    Mr. Talk-About-It-and-Never-Do-It.
    â€œHow about right now,” I said, knowing he wasn’t even going to think about it.
    â€œIt’s dark,” he said with a smile. “Can’t go out your first time in the dark.”
    â€œWhatever. You let me know when.”
    I was hoping Mikey was paying attention to the promise game my father likes so much. The one he always wins, while everybody else is left standing around wondering why the hell they ever bothered playing along.
    â€œWhat’s this?” he asked, pulling the book out of my pocket.
    I grabbed it back. “Homework I got to do. I’m going up to my room to read it.”
    â€œGood for you,” he said, and gave me an old-pal shot in the arm. “Buckle down. Get those grades