Free Repossessed by A. M. Jenkins Page A

I felt bad for her. She was so concerned about her son—and clueless as to how to help him.
    Thinking about it, I believed I knew a good possibility for a Jason friendship. There was an eighth-grade boy who lived not far from Bailey, who was shy, video-game friendly, and very uncoordinated. Just like Jason. They might enjoy each other’s company.
    I’d never really appreciated the problem, though, of how one might get two human beings to become friends with each other. Especially when both tended to avoid speech and eye contact.
    â€œJason,” his mom said, “I know it’s hard, but I wish you’d get out and socialize once in a while.”
    â€œI did,” Jason said through his last mouthful of double cheeseburger.
    â€œDon’t talk with your mouth full. Did what?”
    Jason chewed and swallowed. “Got out and socialized.” He slid his chair back.
    â€œWhen did you do that?”
    Jason stood up. “After school.”
    â€œYou need to ask if you can be excused.”
    â€œMay I be excused?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “What do you mean, got out”—too late, Jason was gone, and she was talking to the empty doorway—“and socialized?” Her voice died off. She sounded confused, as if this particular phrase must have a different meaning from the usual one, when Jason used it.
    At this rate, she’d have to track him down, sit on him, and pull an explanation out of him word by word, on a string.
    â€œHe came with me to Bailey’s house,” I explained.
    â€œOh.” She looked puzzled. “Why?”
    â€œWe invited him.”
    â€œYou invited him to hang out with you and Bailey?”
    â€œYes.”
    She digested this information. “You know you’re supposed to call and let me know where you are,” she said, but I thought she sounded tentative, not angry. And then she said nothing for a while, but thoughtfully ate her salad.
    â€œWhat are those?” I asked her, pointing.
    She looked down. “Cherry tomatoes.”
    I looked at the remaining unsquished packets. “Tomato Ketchup,” they said.
    â€œMay I try one?” I asked.
    â€œA tomato? Sure.”
    I watched as she tried to stab it. It shot out from under her fork. Then she tried scooping, but it rolled away. Finally she grabbed the tomato with her fingers and handed it to me: “Here.” She sounded irritated.
    I popped it into my mouth and bit down. Juices exploded onto my tongue. Disappointing. It didn’t taste the least bit ketchupy. Definitely not worth the chase it required.
    Must be, I reflected, it’s the other ingredients that give ketchup its flavor. The spices and sugars and other things.
    Still, I chewed and swallowed the tomato. It did have interesting textures.
    Shaun’s mom appeared to be deep in thought. I decided not to bother her, and silently finished my fries and burger before slurping the last drops of Coke out of the bottom of my cup. Then I gathered up the trash and prepared to take it into the kitchen and dispose of it.
    â€œMay I be excused?” I asked politely.
    Shaun’s mom nodded. But when I stood up, she said quickly, “Shaun.”
    I paused.
    â€œThat was a very nice thing to do, taking your brother with you today. Did he enjoy it?”
    â€œSeemed to.”
    â€œI really appreciate it. He has such a hard time makingfriends,” she added, and I could tell she was fretting about Jason, because she started stirring her salad again.
    â€œWould you like me to invite him again tomorrow?” I offered magnanimously.
    â€œYes, if you can. It’s not putting a cramp in your style, is it?”
    â€œI don’t have much of a style to cramp,” I pointed out, and turned to go. If Peanut had moved on, I wanted to sit in Shaun’s room and correct a test he’d failed. The answers had to be marked on a sheet that had hundreds of tiny circles on it. I would