It was barely light when Delia shook him awake. “Wyman can’t drive us. His kid’s sick!” Socko’s heart leapt. No transportation. Did that mean no move?
But when he stumbled out of bed, his mother was at the window staring down on the puke green roof of a scabby SUV with an open metal trailer hitched behind it. Wyman, the night manager at Phat Burger, must have brought it over after his shift.
“Surprise!” Delia said with a desperate smile. “I’m the driver!”
“Really? You?”
“Why not? Wyman came by about an hour ago and I drove it around the block a couple times. He showed me how to handle the trailer. I’ll be fine, right?”
Socko knew it was his job to reassure her, but this whole thing was her idea. He didn’t even want to go.
“I’ll do fine,” she said, answering her own question. “You think it’s too early to get Damien up to help us load?”
It was, but Socko couldn’t lug their stuff down to the trailer by himself, and Delia got short of breath whenever she had to lift anything. Besides, unless his mom changed her mind, this might be his last chance to hang with his friend.
Socko rapped the floor beside his bed with the broom handle. Thump, thump, thump.
In a minute, Socko heard the secret knock.
Damien slipped through the door wearing yesterday’s clothes and his hat of invincibility.
“You okay?” Socko asked.
“My mom’s gone again and my best friend is about to disappear. Why wouldn’t I be?” Damien’s hands beat a nervous rhythm on the back of a chair. “You have a leftover burger around? We’re down to a jar of relish and a six-pack at home.”
While Delia zapped him a burger, Damien sat down in front of the Moon Ridge Estates brochure, which lay open on the table. “So this is where you’ll be.” Resting his weight on his elbows, he studied the little map on the back.
“It’s not far. The Kludge is over here, Moon Ridge is here.” Delia traced the route with a finger. The microwave beeped. “Would you like fries with that, sir?”
Damien snatched the burger off the plate she held out. “I’ll take whatever you got. I’m eating for a lifetime.”
“Mom?” Socko was pleading.
His mother held up a hand before he could say more. “I’ll still be at the Phat, Damien. You get hungry, you come see me. And bring a book. We’ll work on your reading during my break.”
While Damien scarfed down fries, Socko and Delia loaded the dolly they’d borrowed from Mr. Marvin. Delia shoved it across the hall and into the elevator.
After Damien’s meal of a lifetime, the boys moved furniture. The loveseat they’d rescued from the curb went back where they’d found it; the trailer would only hold so much.
Even though they didn’t have that much stuff, it was hot and heavy work. Damien raided the refrigerator each time they made the round trip, taking advantage of the fact that Delia was camped out by the Suburban, guarding their stuff and saying long, teary good-byes to the neighbors she knew so well.
Getting the sofa down the stairs nearly killed them—it was too big for the elevator. It got away from them once, bumping down the steps until it smacked the wall on the second-floor landing.
“Gotta rest.” Damien fell onto the slanting sofa, one end three steps higher than the other. Noticing a stain on the sofa’s arm, he grinned. “Hey, I did that! You dared me to stomp a ketchup packet, remember?” He shook his head. “Good times, good times.”
“I’m only gonna be eleven miles away.”
“And how am I gonna get there? Fly?”
Damien’s mom had no car. Sometimes one of her boyfriends did, but they didn’t exactly line up to drive Damien places.
“I’ll come see you,” Socko said.
“You heard your mom. Once you’re outta here, you’re gone.” He rested his neck on the back of the sofa and stared at the gray plaster overhead. “Listen, if something, you know, serious happens to me, you gotta promise to come say good-bye.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen.” Socko’s throat felt thick.
When they forced the sofa out the front doors of the Kludge, they saw Rapp standing slouched against the outside wall, Meat beside him. Even though it was early afternoon, both looked like they’d just gotten up. Damien scuttled sideways, almost dropping his end of the sofa.
Delia stood at the curb by the Suburban, the dolly loaded with cartons beside her. She wiped her damp forehead with the back of her wrist, then rested her knuckles on her wide hips and stared at Rapp.
Whatever you’re thinking, Mom, don’t say it, Socko pled silently.
“Anything wrong, Mrs. S?” asked Rapp with mock politeness.
“Not for long,” she said. “In half an hour I won’t even be able to see you boys in my rearview mirror.”
Damien wilted against the couch they had just set down.
For a moment, the air around “the boys” seemed to crackle. Then Rapp waved off the insult. “The way I see it,” he said, like he was talking to Meat, “they’re just taking out the trash.”
Socko turned away but felt their eyes watching as he and Damien talked about how to load the couch. Damien tapped the S on his hat. “Super strength, don’t fail me now.”
Together they lifted one end and rested it on the tailgate. They picked up the other end and shoved. Nothing happened.
Delia hitched up the waist of her sweatpants, then turned and pressed her back against the end of the sofa.
“No, Mom!” Junebug’s blood pressure cuff always registered high on Delia.
“I am not going to be beat by a couch.” Her rubber flip-flops gripped the pavement. “One … two … three.”
The sofa stuttered across the metal grate of the trailer floor and hit the back wall. Delia’s eyes were closed, her arms limp. “I’m fine,” she panted, as if reading Socko’s mind.
“We’ll do the rest, Mom.” While Delia sat in the driver’s seat, directing them through the open window, Socko and Damien piled the boxes and other pieces of furniture around the couch. When the kitchen table had been wedged in and everything bungeed, they raised the tailgate.
“Go back upstairs, boys. Take one last look. Make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
Apartment 4A looked sad with nothing in it but the radiators, the stains on the ceiling, and a few gouges in the floor.
Socko pushed the window open and leaned out, studying the gray cursive letters of Donatelli’s unlit sign. The jittery light from the convenience store sign would be eleven miles away when he lay in bed tonight. Feeling sad and stupid, he gave the demented clown on the ceiling over his corner of the room a quick wave. “See ya around.”
Damien picked up the worn-out broom Delia had left standing in the corner and thumped the floor three times with the handle. “Guess I won’t hear that anymore.” Holding the broom like a spear, he hurled it out the open window.
Socko rushed after Damien to see where it would land.
It flipped, then plummeted into the scrawny hedge in front of the building. Damien leaned his back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position.
“I got something for you,” Socko said, joining Damien on the floor. He hooked the string around his neck with a finger and lifted it over his head. “Here.” He dropped the key string over Damien’s head. “It’ll give you a place to go.”
Blaaaaat … Down in the street Delia leaned on the car horn.
“Yeah, yeah,” Socko said under his breath, shoving to his feet. He listened to the click as he closed the door behind him for the last time. “Gotta do one more thing,” he said, pointing at the door to Junebug’s apartment.
He knocked, but her aunt answered. Socko caught a whiff of litter box and frying chicken.
“Junebug’s at the nursing home cutting old people’s toenails.”
“She’s gotta go to school to do that?” said Damien under his breath.
Socko was kind of relieved Junebug wasn’t home. “Just tell her good-bye for me … and thanks.”
Junebug’s aunt pushed the door shut.
“After you,” said Damien as the elevator door opened.
“No, after you.”
Damien grabbed his arm and they stepped in together. They rode the elevator to the top and then straight down, taking one last hurtle before walking out the front door of the Kludge.
Neither one of them looked at Rapp.
“Move it, Socko!” Delia leaned across the seat and opened the car door. “We have to pick up the General at the airport at 3:30!”
But Socko had stalled out. “This isn’t right.”
Damien gave Socko the shove that propelled him through the open door of the Suburban. “Do it, Socko. Get it over with.” Damien closed the door behind him. “I’ll be okay.”
Delia spread a Phat bag with a map penciled on it in Socko’s lap. “You’re the navigator.” But Socko barely noticed. Damien was on the other side of the closed door, his fists in his pockets, his gaze on the sidewalk.
Socko rolled the window down and held up his palm. “See ya later—seriously.” Damien’s hand came out of his pocket. Forearm to forearm, they locked hands.
When Delia touched the gas pedal, their hands were jerked apart. The Suburban jackrabbited forward and took a crazy tilt as two tires climbed the curb. Looking back, Socko saw that the trailer’s tires were still on the road, squealing along the curb.
Damien called after them through cupped hands. “You’re gonna die, man!”
Delia jerked the steering wheel left. Whump, the tires bounced down off the curb. Socko hung out the window. “I’ll call you!”
Wind whipping his hair, Socko kept his friend in sight for as long as he could. He held onto the window frame with one hand and waved with the other. Damien didn’t wave back. Instead he stood, fingers riveted to the S on his hat. But Damien was shrinking fast.
Although they were further away, Rapp and Meat seemed to shrink much more slowly.