during our baseball games, but that was it. He had his morning job at Home Depot; I worked afternoons at the driving range. As soon as Antonio was out of Leskov’s van, he headed to the back fence.
As I swept up golf balls in the John Deere, I’d see him with Garrett and the others. They’d be leaning against the fence or sitting on old plastic chairs just outside an abandoned toolshed. It looked like nothing—Antonio hanging out, telling stories, making other kids laugh. And that’s what it was most of the time. Nothing. But every once in a while a guy would wander back. Then everything would stop as he bought pills from Garrett. The guy would leave, and the stories would start again.
As the weeks rolled by, though, every once in a while became every hour and then every half-hour. Some of the guys were from Jet City. Others walked in off Aurora Avenue or rode in on bicycles. They’d work their way down Jet City’s gravel lanes to where Garrett and Antonio were hanging. There’d be talk and then an exchange. After a handclasp, the guy would pedal or walk away. About every tenth person was a female.
The first time a car drove in was on July 20. I know the exact date because we’d beaten Stanwood the day before. I was replaying the game in my head when a black Kia came in the side entrance of Jet City, drove slowly to the back fence, and pulled to a stop.
The driver’s window rolled down, and the exchange with Garrett was made. The window closed; the Kia backed up and then glided out of Jet City. The next day, two cars pulled in. The Tuesday after that, I counted four cars—and that was just while I was driving the John Deere.
When Antonio left for his job at Home Depot the next morning, I walked out of the trailer with him. He’d gotten me to agree not to say anything to Mom, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t speak my mind to him.
“What’s up?” he asked as we headed toward Aurora Avenue.
“G-Garrett.”
He rolled his eyes. “Suja again?”
“No. Not Suja. I c-can s-see what’s going on with m-my own eyes. You s-say it’s n-nothing, but G-Garrett is selling more and m-more.”
He blew out air. “Laz, Garrett is so smalltime that he doesn’t exist. He’s like a fly surrounded by jets at SeaTac. Nobody cares about a kid selling a few pills at Jet City.”
“I d-don’t g-get it. Why hang with h-him?”
His face clouded. “Look, you’re happy playing Ping-Pong at the community center with Leskov watching. But I’m not you. The walls just push in on me there. I feel like I’m going to suffocate. But when I’m at the fence with Garrett and Jasmine and the rest of them—I can breathe. I don’t sell; I don’t buy; I don’t use. I just hang out and tell stories with my friends. Have some laughs. So stop worrying about me.”