Socko was filling two bowls with Lucky Charms and worrying about the visit from Officer Fricke when he heard a knock on the front door. The cereal box slipped out of his hand, spraying brightly colored moons and stars across the kitchen floor. He stood frozen, cereal bits on the tops of his bare feet.
The wheelchair ticked across the tile floor. Socko heard the door open.
“What do you want?” asked the General, with his usual warmth and friendliness.
“Is … um … Socrates Starr home?” The girl’s voice was higher pitched than Socko remembered.
“Well, he’s not out parading at this time of the morning!”
Socko let out a relieved sigh. He was mad at her—but if the girl was at the door, the cop probably wasn’t.
“You must be his great-grandfather,” she said.
“That’s the rumor.”
“I’m Livvy Holmes, from across the street?”
Now she’s acting all polite, Socko thought. Bet she’s sticking out her hand for a neighborly shake.
“General Starr,” the old man rumbled.
“May I come in?”
Socko dropped to his knees. Crawling fast, he tried to herd the Lucky Charms into a pile.
“Socko?” the General bawled. “Your girlfriend’s here.”
His face on fire, Socko kept his eyes down when the girl came into the kitchen.
“Hi, Socko.”
“Thanks for ratting me out.” He didn’t look up at her, but he could see her brand-new sneakers—a different pair from yesterday. They’d cost a hundred bucks, easy. “You always bust guys for wearing the wrong T-shirt?”
Her bony knees hit the floor. “That’s not what happened!”
When he looked over, she was crawling along the baseboard in front of the sink, scooping up the last few pieces of cereal. She stared at the orange star and yellow moon in her hand. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I was telling my dad about you when he got the call from the real estate agent. He sort of put two and two together.”
“And got six. I notice you didn’t straighten him out.”
She sat back on her heels. “I tried, Socko. I really tried, but he just wouldn’t listen.”
The General stuck his head in the kitchen. “What’s on the breakfast menu? Ah, I see. Sugary Styrofoam. You care for a bowl, young lady?”
“Thanks!” Livvy looked strangely grateful for the opportunity to eat sugary Styrofoam.
Socko was dumping the last few bits of spilled cereal into the trash when he heard a cupboard door open. He turned. Livvy was reaching for a bowl, and beneath the edge of her shirt he could see the pale skin of her back. He swallowed hard. He was used to seeing lots of Junebug—she wore short tops too—but seeing this much of Livvy Holmes was different. “No cereal at home?”
Just as she’d done the day before, she hid behind her bangs. “I don’t want to eat cereal at home.”
There was probably nothing but health food at her house. What a brat.
She carried two bowls to the living room and handed one to the General, who grunted and began shoveling in the cereal. She retreated to the staircase and sat on the third step, scrunched up against the wall. Socko noticed how she stirred her cereal under to get it totally soggy before she started to eat. That was gross.
He ate on the sofa, his back to her. Bowls in their laps, they chewed without talking.
Then Socko felt his neck prickle. The girl had to be staring at him. He took a quick look—but it was a false alarm. She was studying the old man, tapping her lips with the back of her spoon. “Excuse me, sir,” she said quietly, “but are you in a wheelchair due to a war injury?”
The General turned his chair a couple of clicks in her direction. “I’m in this chair due to the fact I am older than dirt. God and me were kids together. Plus, I was stupid.”
“Stupid how?”
“Started smoking when I was eighteen. Quit at sixty-eight. That was what you might call closing the barn door after the horse got out!” He hacked, then spat into the dingy handkerchief he always carried in his pocket.
“My father smokes,” she said quietly.
“Yeah? Well, tell him he’s a fool.”
“I do. All the time.”
“Huh!” snorted the General, looking at Socko. “Spunky.”
“A spunky snitch,” Socko mumbled.
Livvy turned toward him fast, her blonde hair flaring. She delivered the hurt look girls were so good at.
Everyone went back to chewing in silence.
The General’s spoon clattered into his empty bowl. “Another sumptuous repast!” He held out the bowl.
As resident slave, it was Socko’s job to hop up and take it. He stayed put.
It was Livvy who jumped up, tossed her hair over her shoulders, and held out her hand.
“Thank you,” the General wheezed.
Thank you? Socko ditched his own bowl on the couch and strode out the front door. He had never gotten thank-you number one from the General. Let the spunky snitch hang out with the old guy; they deserved each other.
He grabbed his skateboard and launched. He didn’t have anywhere to go, so he buzzed Full Moon Circle, going around and around, thinking about Damien and about the cop who might be the next person to knock on his door.
After his fifth lap he was hot. He figured he’d stayed out long enough. The girl must have gone home by now.
He hung a right on Tranquility Way, but he hadn’t gone far before he heard the thump of a basketball. “Oh, crap.”
She faced away from him, her feet wide apart. The backs of her skinny legs were incredibly white. She bounced the basketball slowly and deliberately, her eyes on the hoop. This was his chance to slide into his house unseen, but he wanted to watch her take a shot. She tossed it up, two-handed, and …
Not even close. The ball hit the corner of the backboard and ricocheted sideways. It didn’t have much momentum, though. It hit the ground, did one soft bounce, then rolled into the street. Instead of going after it, Livvy folded her legs and sat down in the middle of the driveway.
Socko stopped the rolling ball with his foot. “You want this?”
“Not really.”
He picked up the ball and walked it up the driveway to her. “Here.”
“It’s getting worse,” she said.
“What? Your aim?”
She looked up at him. “No, the fighting. My parents fight all the time now.”
Livvy’s idea of a fight couldn’t come close to the battles between Damien’s mom and her boyfriends. “So, go somewhere else. Close a door. You have a bedroom, right?”
“It wouldn’t help! The walls are cardboard.”
“Your dad builds houses with cardboard walls? Nice.”
She didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm. Instead she hugged herself. “This morning’s fight was the worst. That’s part of why I showed up so early at your house.”
He stared at the hole in the toe of his left sneaker; it was definitely time to make an exit. He glanced over at his house, then sat down cross-legged on the pavement across from her. “Yow!” He quickly shifted his position so that just the seat of his shorts and the soles of his shoes touched the driveway. “Your legs must be asbestos.”
She almost smiled.
“So. What was the fight about?”
“Money. Mom acts like we’re broke.”
“Wish my family was broke the way your family’s broke. You own all these houses, right?”
“True.” She took a deep shaky breath and sat up a little straighter.
“Okay … so … problem solved.” He got to his feet.
She popped to her feet too. “You want to take a look at the vandalism? It’s somewhere near the clubhouse.”
“It’s on Quarter Moon. The cop told me,” he added when she looked at him funny.
She dusted off the butt of her shorts. “We’d better tell the General first.”
Wasn’t it his job to say that? “You getting tight with the old guy?”
“I like him. He’s nice.”
Nice? The word must have a different meaning in “the Heights.”