Free Untitled.FR11 by Unknown Author Page B

message. “Good. I liked what we did.”
    “Mwwwah, sweets. Smooch at you later.”
    “Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    Chat Mode off.
    Four days later. Thursday afternoon. Conner, having quickly learned to avoid College with his bike, sped along the tree-lined, far-less-traveled Remington Street, picked up the bikepath at Johnson Drive, and headed home. Jounce of wrapped gift in his back basket. A warm day. He hoped they wouldn’t melt.
    Fort Collins was a neat place. Water fountained over boulders in Old Town Square, a bookstuffed Stone Lion just at its south edge, and refurbished brick buildings cozying it in. And that was just one block, but a block that kept calling him back. The chocolates had been waiting for him a few stores south of Walrus Ice Cream down College. Then he’d found his bike and sped off, Mom’s surprise prompting notions of secrecy as he rode. Sure Dad had bought a gift for both of them to give her, as usual; but other than his heartfelt amateurish kid-art, painted or penciled at Dad’s request, this was the first time he’d planned and bought a gift of his own without Dad’s help or conniving. A sweaty jogger, bare-chested, passed by with a perfunctory wave on the other side of the bikepath. Conner grinned at him but the grin was broader for sweet anticipation: He’d get off the bike early, prop it against the side of the garage, no kickstand, eggwalk to the sliding door into the den, glide through a minimal unscreened crack, close it, creep around like in the movies, find Mom and Dad together by the sound of their voices, and visit heart attacks of happiness upon them. It was past four. Mom would’ve just come home from work and Dad would be back from school by now.
    A rollerblading couple went by, the woman tailing the man and neither one of them giving him any acknowledgment. On his right, a trio of ducks waddled nonchalantly down an embankment into the pond. Beyond it, his house went past, odd view of it from the back, Mom and Dad’s bedroom window above but he doubted they were watching. She was going to be so excited and he’d be too, but he wouldn’t show it cuz that was uncool; okay, a little and he’d endure her hug so she wouldn’t feel bad. Dad’d be proud. Up over the arced bridge, around the bend, and straight away along a trickle of creek—there was the path’s end, through a wide gate to Wallenberg Drive. No traffic or rare. Rich houses. Past them he coasted, ramping up onto the sidewalk, slowing and dismounting. There was Mom’s car in the driveway. A riot of flowerbeds edged the walkway to the front door. Conner felt like a thief, cutting a corner, taking the walk along the garage. He propped his bike along the side and worked the package loose, wrapping paper crinkling out his guilt. Skulking about was super fun.
    Good, the screen was unlatched. He slid it, zvrig-gled it really, along a stubborn track, then backward once he’d got inside. Voices through the vent. They were upstairs. His tennies squeaked. He slipped them off, padded on soft socks across the kitchen floor, through the dining room to the vestibule, and up the stairs.
    He was gonna make it undetected. Above, the straight edge of white wall was poised to yield up a parent or two, his surprise blown. Nope, nope; thick-carpeted stairs, no telltale creak to them, one hand angling on the bannister, the other clutching Mom’s chocolates. Voices again louder above. Bedroom, he guessed. Parent stuff. Who knew what they found to say after so many years?
    Hallway now. He hung near the baseboard, stifling an almost irresistible urge to laugh. Door ajar. The voices came clearer. “I decided to keep it from you one more day what with your birthday and all. I thought—”
    “C’mon, Marcus, forget that, my birthday is nothing.” Her voice was raw. Conner stopped feeling so impish.
    “I’m sorry. I think it’s really finally—”
    “We’ll get it looked at first thing tomorrow morning. We can go now if you want,