Free Stick by Andrew Smith Page B

to leave soon.”
    She held out her hand to me. She had a Pittsburgh Steelers wool beanie.
    â€œI    thought                 you would like this.”
    It was amazing.
    â€œThat’s the coolest thing ever, Em. Thanks!”
    Well, I thought, it wasn’t the coolest thing, not compared to what we did the day before.
    â€œI figured you’d need a new one.”
    â€œYou                heard                        about that?” Bosten said. He took his cap from my head and put it on.
    â€œI would have paid to have been there and seen Ricky get punched for that.”
    I put the beanie on, pulled it down over my ears. It felt so good. “You couldn’t have been there, Em. It happened in the boys’ pisser.”
    Emily smiled.
    â€œAnd we                left him there, on the floor,      laying in a puddle of                    piss and blood,” Bosten said.
    Emily looked at Bosten. “Why don’t you  teach him how to punch like that?”
    â€œHe knows                how                 to punch,” Bosten said. “Believe me.”
    â€œWell, it looks good on you, Stick,” she said.
    I felt myself going red again. I wanted to kick something for being so dumb. I looked back at my brother, and I could see he felt awkward being there, too, which made me feel even more flushed.
    â€œThanks, Em. I’ll see you at the bus stop tomorrow.”
    â€œOkay,” she said.
    And as I turned around and started heading back up to the house, she called out, “And it does look good                                  on you.”
    On the way back up the drive, Bosten walked right beside me. One time, he bumped his shoulder against mine and said, in that same tone that meant he knew everything without me or him saying it,                        “Oh.”
    And then he said, “Sorry for getting in the              way with you and Em,            Sticker.”
    But Bosten would never be in the way.
    *   *   *
    Mom and Dad gave me things on birthdays and Christmas.
    But nobody ever gave me anything just to give me something before that day.
    *   *   *
    Mom sat up front, in the same spot where I’d gotten a boner two nights before looking at Dad’s jack-off magazine. She held a big orange Tupperware bowl of potato salad hammocked between her spread thighs in the sling of her parrot dress.
    Her dress was blue, and had orange and red parrots and bright green bamboo on it.
    I wondered if parrots really lived in bamboo forests, or if, maybe, the artist in charge of Mom’s dress just figured parrots plus bamboo equals fun.
    She lit a cigarette with the same dashboard lighter that had last been used to burn Bosten and Paul’s joints the night of the UFO invasion.
    I swear the thing still smelled like pot when she pulled it out, but she didn’t seem to notice.
    Bosten was stiff and slow getting in behind the steering wheel.
    He moaned when he sat down. I couldn’t hear it, but I knew he did.
    Mom couldn’t drive a stick.
    Especially with that bowl of potato salad sitting on the lap of her parrot dress.
    I could see how much it hurt him to sit down like that. His eyes were wet.
    â€œAre you going to be okay?” I asked. The car was already fogged with