Jake was grumpy. He had managed to push himself for another fifteen minutes in his evening run, but it hadn’t come easy. He felt like a fish out of water, gasping for air. His mom was sitting at the table, reading the paper, when he came in. “Hey, Jake. Did you see the construction at the corner?”
“No. What corner?”
“They’re putting up a new restaurant. On the corner of our street and Swift. It’s going to be called Sl-ice.”
“Why are you saying Sl-ice?”
“That’s the way it’s written. See?”
Jake looked at the ad she held in her hand. Opening soon. Sl’ice. Your Pizza and Ice Cream Perfectorium.
“S-ounds g-ood, don’t you think? I doubt they’ll offer as many pizza toppings as Dad does, but as long as they have butterscotch ripple, we should be okay in the ice-cream department.”
So that’s what Simon had been talking about. He had called just before Jake went out, mentioning a new pizza place, but Jake had cut him off. He’d been in a hurry.
“Wanna go when it opens up?” Simon had asked.
“Umm, I’m pretty busy these days,” Jake had answered. “And I’m pretty careful about what I eat too.”
“Oh, okay.”
Jake would explain to Simon next time he saw him. He sure didn’t feel like pizza or ice cream now. He had a headache, and his knees hurt. “Ah, Mom, I’m going to take a shower and then go to bed, okay?” Jake made his way to the stairs but stopped with his foot on the bottom step. He heard music coming from Luke’s room. “Ugh. He plays that guitar all the time,” grumbled Jake. “Who can get any sleep around here?”
His mother looked at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “What’s the matter, Jake?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Jake plodded upstairs. His mother followed, but when she got to the top, she went the other way down the hallway to Luke’s room. Soon it was quiet. Thanks, Mom, Jake thought. He dropped his jacket on his bed. It made a crinkling noise. He pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket. Last week’s spelling test. Thirteen out of twenty-five. Oh yeah. Yikes. He’d been so busy, he’d forgotten to review for it. He didn’t think Mrs. Bradley could keep him out of city-league running because of his grades, but his mother just might. He knew he’d better be ready for this week’s test. He practiced the words as he stood under the warm spray of the shower. Flight, f-l-i-g-h-t. Journey, j-o-u-r-n-e-y. Accident, a-c-c-i-d-e-n-t. Friendship, f-r-e-i-n-d-s-h-i-p. Or was it f-r-i-e-n-d-s-h-i-p? He was tired. Did it really matter?