Free Saturday Boy by David Fleming Page A

mustard and then stood there and watched me eat. I put the hood of my sweatshirt up.
    â€œStop looking at me,” I said.
    â€œBut you’re so handsome.”
    â€œStop it.”
    â€œBut I love you.”
    â€œMo-om!”
    â€œOkay, okay,” she said. “Want some chips?”
    â€œYes, please.”
    Mom got the potato chips from the cupboard and shook some onto my plate. I took the top slice of bread off the sandwich and put the chips on the inside. Then I replaced the bread and took a bite. A lot of sandwiches taste better with potato chips in them. Especially boring sandwiches like ham and cheese. Mom sat down across from me.
    â€œHave you told him to stop?” Mom asked.
    â€œTold who to stop what?”
    â€œBudgie. To stop being mean.”
    â€œYes. No. Not exactly,” I said. “Even when I do tell him to stop he doesn’t.”
    Mom put her hand on my arm and looked me in the eyes. She frowned.
    â€œI’m sorry your friend is such a jerk, sweetie.”
    â€œMe too.”
    * * *
    It was weird, though, because that afternoon at his house Budgie wasn’t a jerk at all. Actually, it was just like it used to be. We played video games and drew some pictures for the Strong Guy and Fast Guy comic we were going to make. We even talked about plans for the castle. Budgie thought there should be piranhas in the moat and I thought crocodiles would be better so we invented a creature called a piranhadile and figured we’d stock the moat with a few of those bad boys.
    We started up Derek and Budgie’s Secret Secret Club again and made up a tricky new handshake that took five minutes to do. Then we hung a blanket from the top bunk so it made a fort of the bottom one. We got inside and held the new club’s first official meeting where Budgie told me that one time he peed himself at school and tried to hide it by splashing water on his pants and telling everyone the water fountain was broken and had squirted him. I told him about the play and how I had to embrace Violet and how it actually wasn’t as bad as I had thought it was going to be. I had been hanging on to that one and it felt good to finally tell someone. We sat quiet for a minute.
    â€œSo are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” Budgie finally asked.
    â€œNo. I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe.”
    â€œDo you think you’ll get married?”
    â€œProbably. Yeah.”
    â€œY’wanna know something else weird?” I asked.
    â€œSure,” said Budgie.
    â€œOn Fridays her hair smells like apples.”
    â€œWhat does it smell like on other days?”
    â€œI don’t know. Not apples.”
    â€œI don’t know what’s weirder,” Budgie said. “The fact that her hair only smells like apples on Fridays or that you’ve taken the time to figure that out.”
    We talked about other stuff too for a while—the land-speed capabilities of zombies as affected by stage of decay, for example—and by the time Mom came to pick me up I didn’t want to leave.
    â€œMrs. Lamb, can Derek sleep over?”
    â€œYeah, Mom, can I?”
    â€œSome other time.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œWhat would you sleep in? You don’t even have a toothbrush.”
    â€œI’ll use my finger! Please?”
    â€œYeah, and he can borrow some of my pajamas,” said Budgie.
    â€œIt’s not a good idea,” Mom said. “Not tonight. Not on such short notice. I’m sure Budgie’s mom—”
    â€œShe doesn’t care,” said Budgie.
    â€œI suppose it would be okay,” said Budgie’s mom.
    â€œYou’re so nice to offer, Helen, but I don’t want to impose any more than I already have. Another time, maybe?”
    Budgie’s mom just stood there with her arms crossed looking at us. She was kinda smiling but not really.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œDerek, say thank you,” Mom