Mr. Hollywood

When his dad picked him up after school, they had to stop at the grocery store. Dewey almost weighed enough now to sit in the front seat, but not quite, so he threw his bag in the front and climbed in back.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Dew.”

Dewey always went straight for his phone at that point, but his parents had a no-electronics rule in the car, unless it was a long car trip or traffic got particularly horrible. Still, it was always worth a shot. Sometimes it took them a while to notice.

“Hand it up, mister,” insisted his dad.

“I’ll put it away,” replied Dewey, grinning.

His dad turned on the radio and the game began. Some oldies song played that he would ask Dewey to identify.

“Um, the Beatles?” He always threw them out as his first guess. “Bob Dylan? Rolling Stones?”

“Dewey, Dewey! Don’t just guess wildly. Listen to the sound. They don’t all sound alike.”

“That’s what you think!”

Then, his dad turned the volume up and began to sing. “Tom Petty, man. Tom Petty.” Down rolled the window, and down Dewey slid in his seat and tried to disappear into the upholstery of the car.

Seriously, this was torture. He’d rather be home emptying the dishwasher or something.

They got to the store and didn’t have many items on their list so they stuck together. As they passed by the toilet paper aisle, it reminded Dewey about Colin, and he told his dad all about his new cause.

“Now that’s a cause I could really get behind,” chuckled Dewey’s dad. “Get it?! ‘Get behind?’”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Dewey smiled at his dad’s pun.

When they got to the produce department to get the avocados, Dewey’s dad greeted a tall kid with full lips and sleek dark hair whom Dewey didn’t recognize. The kid promptly turned about ten shades redder than the tomatoes.

“Hi, Mr. Fairchild. Er, hi. I mean—hi. What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Gabe. Shopping for a few items we forgot the other day. This is my son, Dewey. Dewey, this is Gabe. Gabe’s in my math class.”

Gabe began to turn around one of the oranges in the display with his fingertips. It slipped out of place, and then so did about eight others, which fell to the floor.

“Oh, shoot. Oops. I got that,” fumbled Gabe, picking up the oranges and attempting to stack them without knocking more down. Dewey’s dad helped him out.

“Well, see you tomorrow, Gabe. We’re making guacamole tonight. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Bye. See ya. My mom’s here somewhere. Okay. Yeah.”

“Geez,” Dewey laughed when they got out of earshot. “What a dope.”

“Aw. What a sweet kid,” smiled Dewey’s dad. “He’s not like that in class at all. Must have thrown him, seeing me in the store like that. Say, Dewey, I think your old dad is becoming some sort of celebrity.”

Dewey rolled his eyes.

They walked along and put a few more items in the cart.

“Say, Justin Bieber. Can I get a pack of toilet paper for Colin? Just for fun?”