A lion pride was circling a baby wildebeest when Socko heard the stairwell door hit the wall. The bang was followed by a groan.
“The Burger Queen is in the building.” Damien tipped his head back and shook the last few kernels into his mouth.
Socko vaulted off the sofa. He twisted dead bolts, dropped chains, and opened the door. “Yo, Mom.”
“Yo, Socko.” A wavy strand of black hair hung over one of his mother’s eyes. Hands full, Delia stuck out her lower lip and blew. The damp strand lifted, then settled back over her eye.
He tucked the hair behind her ear. “How was your day?”
“Super. A guy threw up on the counter and I had to clean it up—the girls said it was my job since I make the big bucks.”
Socko snorted. As day manager she made two dollars over minimum wage. He took the purse clutched to her side.
“And I had to get tough with Rapp. He thinks he’s entitled to sit in the booth all day.” She held out her arm. “Take this too. How can that elevator be broke again?”
As he lifted the plastic bag of supper from his mom’s wrist, he swore to himself, no more hurtling.
The arm remained outstretched. The fingers wiggled. “Report card?”
Socko put the purse and the Phat bag on the counter and went to his fallen pack. “Check out math last.”
She stared at the paper he put in her hand. “Math’s a C+. The rest, all Bs!” She smothered him in a hug that smelled like fries and the cheap rose perfume he’d given her last Christmas. “This place is not going to eat you alive,” she whispered fiercely. “My boy’s going to college!”
He hoped the words, hot in his ear, hadn’t been heard by his friend on the couch. Who from around here went to college?
Besides, the report card wasn’t that great. His mother only thought it was great because she’d never finished high school. He was wishing he had gotten at least one A for her when something crash-landed in the apartment below, followed by muffled yelling.
Delia rested her chin on Socko’s shoulder. “You wanna stay for supper?” she asked Damien.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“What’re we having?” Socko asked, kind of hoping his mom would let go.
He heard Damien cross the room to check out the contents of the Phat Burger bag.
“Specialty of the house,” Damien said. “Bun Busters.”
Delia gave Socko one last hard hug and turned him loose. “How was your report card, Damien?”
Damien grabbed a burger and shrugged. “Mrs. DeLuca liked me so much she’s gonna keep me in sixth another year.”
“What happened, Damien?” Delia took the Bun Buster out of Damien’s hands and put it on a plate. “You’re a smart kid!” She handed the plate back to him.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Socko said. When it came to giving out free advice about “getting an education,” his mother didn’t know when to quit. “I flunked second, remember?”
“I blame myself for that,” she said.
Socko and his mother had camped at a friend’s place most of that school year, sleeping on the floor. The only good thing was the apartment was near the Y, so he had learned to swim.
With a mother like Louise, Damien was bound to lose a year here and there. This was the second time he’d been held back—and he couldn’t even swim.
“I know it’s tough,” said Delia as the sound of yelling from the apartment below grew louder. “But you just have to work harder!”
“Why?” Damien asked. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “What are you talking about? Look at the president! His mom’s white, like yours. His dad’s black, like yours. You’re both skinny—both good looking.” She tried to catch his eye but he looked away.
“Bet he didn’t suck at reading.”
“Aw, baby …”
Socko could tell that his mom wanted to hug Damien, but the burger plate was in the way. Instead she rubbed his arms like she was trying to make his blood move faster. “You gonna do summer school?”
“Can’t. Summer school got cut. No money.”
“It’s canceled for real?” Socko was used to things being cut at home, but at school?
“You’re going to summer school,” Delia said firmly.
“I’m not kidding. There is no summer school.”
“Sure there is.” Delia flattened her palm against the front of her orange and brown smock. “You’re looking at her. Starting tomorrow, we work on your reading.” She turned Damien around and aimed him at the table. “Don’t you dare take a bite of that burger ‘til we’re all at the table. Socko, grab the napkins.”
“I still don’t get why we have to sit at the table and mess up three plates,” Damien complained.
“Because we’re better than this place,” Delia said. “We have class.”
Socko watched Damien wolf down the last bite of the last burger and suck the ketchup off his fingers. “We got the dishes, Mom,” he said.
“With paper plates we’d be done already,” Damien said, picking up a dish towel.
Delia settled into her taped-up lounge chair. While the boys did the dishes, she read a newspaper left on a table by a customer. Socko’s mother read anything and everything that came her way, even if it was just the back of a cereal box.
When the dishes were done, Socko drained the sink. Damien hung the damp dish towel on the handle of the oven and reclaimed the Superman cap Delia had made him take off at the table. “What now?” he asked.
Delia held up her favorite DVD, Dirty Dancing. “Movie?”
Damien turned away from Delia and faked a silent gag.
“Uh … no thanks, Mom. Think we’ll go up to the roof.”
His mother frowned. If it were up to her, Socko would never leave the apartment. She paid for cable she couldn’t afford so he’d stay inside. She picked at the tape on the arm of her chair. “You sure Rapp and those losers he calls his gang won’t be up there?”
“No, Mom. The roof’s ours.”
At least until Rapp decides it isn’t anymore, Socko added silently.