FRIENDS
After Booker left, Justin felt so weird that he flaked out on the couch for about an hour and did exactly nothing. The others must have felt the same way, because all of them lay around the Martin living room like yesterday’s party balloons after half the air has leaked out.
When Lily and Luther had to go home, Chip waved goodbye listlessly. Kate flipped through the cut-up fashion and movie magazines for a few minutes, then got up and put them all in the recycle bin under some old newspapers.
“Why’d you do that?” Justin asked. “I thought you said—”
“So nobody will ever go through them and ask why words have been cut out.” Kate sat down on the floor and leaned her head against the sofa. “Besides, I’m getting too old for that junk. It’s all make-believe.”
Justin grinned. “Thought you’d never notice.”
Kate looked over at Chip, who was sprawled out on his stomach cutting a large piece of paper into tiny bits.
“Quit that,” she said. “You’re making a mess.”
Justin reached over and snapped the elastic on the back of Chip’s shorts. “You better wash up, buddy. Dad’ll be here to get you soon.”
“Dad doesn’t care if I’m washed.”
“No, but Mom does.”
Chip closed his eyes and put his head on the floor.
Kate went out and came back with a washcloth. She knelt down on the floor next to Chip. “Sit up,” she said. “I’ll wash your face.”
“You will not!” Chip jerked away from her. “I can wash my own face!” He got to his feet and stomped off to the bathroom.
“Hands, too,” Kate called after him.
“Dummy!” Chip shouted. “How can I wash my face without washing my hands?”
Kate used the washcloth to wash her own hands. “Chip’s right, you know. Dad hardly notices him.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have all that much in common.” As Justin spoke, it occurred to him that Dad and Kate didn’t have much in common either.
“Do you like the movies Dad picks?” Kate asked.
“Sometimes. Do you?”
Kate shrugged. “It’s something to talk about.”
Justin had a lot more than movies to talk about with his dad, and he wished he’d said some of the things on his mind when they were out together the night before. Instead, he’d let Charlie do most of the talking. He’d said he was leaving for Arizona in just ten days, and he’d gone on and on about the famous drivers who’d be competing. Justin hadn’t said much. He’d just nodded to show Charlie he was interested because, well, because he was interested. But he hadn’t said what he knew Charlie wanted to hear, which was, Can I go with you, Dad? How could he when he hadn’t made up his mind?
A car horn sounded. “He’s here!” Chip yelled.
Justin pried himself off the couch and walked out with his brother.
“Hi, son,” Charlie said enthusiastically.
Justin winced. Dad should have said “sons,” but it seemed as if he hadn’t even noticed there were two of them.
Chip climbed into the seat and said, “Hi, Dad.”
Charlie reached over and ruffled Chip’s hair, but his eyes were still on Justin. “How you doing?”
“Guess what?” Chip leaned in front of Charlie to get his attention. “Justin and Mom are going to Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” Charlie looked startled. “When?”
“This coming-up weekend,” Justin said. “I won’t be here Friday, so I was wondering if Chip and I could trade nights—he’ll go with you next Friday, and I’ll see you Sunday evening. I’ll be back by then.”
“Whose idea was this Atlanta trip?” Charlie demanded.
“Uh, I don’t know. Mom’s, I guess.”
Charlie’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “Don’t suppose it has anything to do with Booker Wilson?”
“Well, yeah. He’s the one who invited us.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Justin wished he had thought of something else to say. Or not said anything. Because there it was again, that irritation Charlie had shown before when he’d seen Mom talking to Booker.
“You know next weekend’s the last one before I head for Arizona,” Charlie said in a huffy voice.
Justin had seen his dad serious before, like when he was working on the engine of that race car. But he had never seen him look and sound like this. The way Charlie’s jaw was working, it was obvious that he was angry. Even though Justin hadn’t done anything, he felt as if it was his fault.
“That’s why I wanted us to get together on Sunday,” he mumbled, not looking up. “Because it’s your last night.”
“I’m not sure I can make it on Sunday,” Charlie snapped, in a tone that said he wouldn’t make it.
Justin felt trapped, and a little angry himself. Why should it matter to his dad which night, as long as they had some time together? Jamming his fists into his pockets, he said stubbornly, “I really want to go to Atlanta.”
Then Justin thought about Charlie leaving and not seeing him again for who-knows-how-long, and the anger melted into a kind of aching. “You wouldn’t go without saying goodbye, would you, Dad?”
Chip practically climbed into Charlie’s lap. “I can go on Friday night,” he said. “Will you take me to the movies?”
Charlie finally took notice of him. “Sure, Chipper.” He revved the engine, louder than necessary, Justin thought.
“See you Sunday?” Justin asked over the roar of the motor.
“Probably.” Charlie turned his head away as he backed out of the drive. Justin couldn’t see his face, so he couldn’t tell whether “probably” meant yes or no.
With no school and no baseball practice that week, Justin had plenty of time to study before the trip to Atlanta. As soon as Chip and Kate went off to do whatever they felt like doing—which was usually something down at the Wilsons’—he sat down at his desk and pulled his books out of his backpack. He had gotten a C on his most recent math test, which wasn’t great, but at least it wasn’t a disaster.
Unfortunately his performance on the baseball diamond was still a problem. Coach Donovan had accused him several times of not giving it his best. Justin was trying, but he knew Coach was right. If tryouts were today, there were a dozen guys who would probably be picked over him.
If I get kicked off the team, Justin thought, school is the last place I want to be. Maybe life would be easier if I went to live with Dad.
The phone rang. Justin hurried into the kitchen and picked up. It was Brad, speaking in the hoarse whisper he always used when his mom was somewhere nearby. His words came so fast they were a blur.
“Slow down!” Justin told him. “Or speak up! I can’t make out—”
Then Justin caught the relief and excitement in Brad’s voice and the words “… back on Monday!”
“The suspension’s over? They’re going to let you come back?”
“Yeah! Old Bowels was against it, but Mr. White said okay.”
“Hey, that’s great!” Justin exclaimed, but his friend wasn’t listening.
Running his voice over Justin’s, Brad said, “See you next Monday!” and slammed down the phone.
Justin knew that Brad’s mother was still punishing him, suspension or no suspension, by cutting him off from any contact with his friends. In Justin’s opinion that was pretty stupid, because Brad was a shy kid who had very few friends anyway.
Justin went back to his desk and closed his book, giving up on math for the moment. Outside of Brad, who were his friends? Although Justin kidded around with the older guys on the team, he couldn’t really call them friends yet. They were holding back, waiting to see if he was going to make it. If he did, they’d accept him, but if he bombed, they would make his life miserable.
Justin didn’t exactly count his sister as a friend, although Kate could act like one when she felt like it. Chip, being his brother, wasn’t a friend either, but Justin could see that he might become one when he got older. Maybe the same was true of Luther and Lily.
Funny, Justin mused, how being in trouble together and cooperating to solve problems had made the age difference seem less important. Before, if he thought of the younger kids at all, he considered them brats, copycats, and tagalongs. But when he was trying to deal with the Little Billy problem, the younger ones had come up with good ideas, and they had done okay when the pressure was on.
Friends or not, he had trusted them and vice versa, the way, well—the way friends do.