by Tim Green
Cory checked the street for any sign of Dirty’s banged-up orange car. He had no reason to think those boys would be around, but self-preservation took over. He scanned the street. There were plenty of vehicles but no orange compacts. Cory breathed a sigh of relief and hustled out of the car. The comfortable sounds of arguing neighbors and the steady thump from the bass speaker of a party down the street filled the warm air. Still, he kept looking behind them as he followed his mom toward the porch.
Halfway there, his mom pulled up short.
Cory bumped into her and yelped.
His mom gasped. Cory’s insides squirmed like snakes. He peeked around her.
Standing in the dark doorway was the shape of a large man bent over the lock.
51
“What are you doing?” Cory’s mom sounded more angry than scared.
The man jumped and fumbled with something in his hands Cory couldn’t see.
“Ashley? I uh . . .” The man threw his hands up in surrender. “I think I dropped my reading glasses. Maybe on the couch when I programmed the remote? You weren’t home and I . . .”
He held out a hand to show her a driver’s license he’d been wedging into the door lock to jimmy it open. “Sorry.”
“Ohhh!” Cory’s mom clenched her hands and her arms shook before she took a calming breath. “Cory, this is Marvin. Marvin, Cory.”
Marvin stepped off the stoop into the dim light from the street lamp. He was well over six feet tall with short dark hair and the build of a weight lifter. He had big round cheeks and a broken smile as he extended a hand to shake. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Cory.”
Cory shook the man’s hand but looked at his mom.
“Marvin’s a teacher, Cory. High school biology.” His mom spoke like that explained everything, but it didn’t.
Cory had a million questions. How had they met? Why was he in their house programming the remote? Was he her boyfriend?
Cory knew by the way his mom was behaving and the way this big mope was acting that he was her boyfriend. She’d never had a serious boyfriend before. Cory knew it wasn’t because people hadn’t asked her. He’d even overheard her once tell a man from her work on the phone that she was a mother right now and didn’t have time for anything else.
Now, apparently, she did have time for something else.
Time for Marvin.
“Take me back.” The words leaped from Cory’s mouth like men jumping from a burning building.
“Cory? What?” His mom forced a laugh.
“I want to go home,” he said.
“Cory, this is your home.” His mother choked on her words.
Oh, she made it easy for him, as easy as breathing. “No, it’s not. It’s your home. You and Marvin.”
“Oh, boy.” Marvin’s shoulders slumped. “Ashley, I’m so sorry. I’m trying to finish up that online course and I couldn’t see the screen. I was . . . getting a headache. My glasses . . .”
“You knew I wanted to talk to Cory alone, before he met you!” His mom was shaken.
Cory was already walking toward the car.
52
Cory needed something to think about as the city flashed past and his mother sniffled next to him. She had tried to talk him out of it, but after fifteen minutes of him holding firm in the front seat, she’d finally started the motor and backed out into the street. Marvin had been long gone.
Cory had the window open. He flattened his hand and let it move up and down in the rush of warm air as he thought about Cheyenne. That seemed the best antidote to his mother’s tears, and it worked. He pictured that smile and the mane of blond hair and those long, tan legs. He wondered if she’d put her arm around him if he sat beside her at the fire. Just the thought of that sent shivers up his spine, and he really couldn’t think about his mom. She clearly had her own life now—Marvin—and, even though a small voice inside his head told him he wasn’t being reasonable or kind, he was too far down the road. All he had to do was remember the way that big mope Marvin looked at his mom.
They got off the highway and Cory’s mom pulled the car into a gas station. She stopped under the cone of blue-white light. “Cory, you can’t not talk to me.”
He sighed. “Mom, let it go. I’m fine and so are you. I’m not a kid anymore. You’ve got your life and I’ve got mine.”
He sounded way more grown-up and confident than he felt. He wasn’t entirely sure he had anything at HBS yet. So far, it was all talk. He hadn’t taken a snap. He was no closer to being a football star and having his own independent life than Gant’s jumping beans.
“Marvin is a good man.” His mom sounded desperate. She kept holding on to the wheel. “He’s been coming into the store for over a year and asking me out and I always said no because we were always busy.”
“Yeah, dragged down by a kid. I get it, Mom.” The words came out nastier than Cory expected.
Out in front of the Quik Mart, two men argued loudly about cigarettes.
“I . . . I don’t like being alone, Cory. I’m not used to it. Not all the time,” she said. “It was empty without you. So, we watched TV and had tacos one night.”
“I love tacos.”
“Cory, I didn’t want this whole HBS thing.” His mother spoke softly, but now beneath the words was something hard and sharp.
Cory made an O with his hand and looked at the moon through it. “Just take me back. I don’t want to miss the fire pit.”
She reached out and touched his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I love you, Cory.”
“Yeah,” he said, shifting his pretend telescope to the sign above the pump offering a thirty-two-ounce slushy for just ninety-nine cents. “Me too.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her to start the car and buzz away.
When they pulled into the Muillers’ circle, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Can I have a hug?”
“Sure, Mom.” He gave her a one-armed squeeze, pulling away when she held on too tight. To distract her, he said, “We’ve got a scrimmage next Saturday on the varsity field at ten.”
“I’ll be there,” she said. “Maybe we’ll have lunch afterward? And if you don’t have anything to do, could we take a rain check on the movie? They got Presumed Innocent for me. It’s old, but I know you’ll love it.”
“Maybe, Mom.” Cory got out and looked down at her through the open window.
The look on her face nearly broke him down. She was beautiful and sad and only a few weeks ago she was everything to him. He wondered if that was what it meant to grow up.
“Probably,” he said.
Her smile lit up the inside of the car. She nodded. “Good. Great. ‘Probably.’ I like that.”
Cory paused. “Are you going to see Marvin this week?”
She hesitated, then said, “Yes. He’s my friend.”
Cory shrugged. He knew it shouldn’t hurt him, but it did, and that somehow made him ashamed. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he turned to go, expecting her to call him back.
He felt more numb with each step he took because he needed her to be the one to speak, to call him back and sort it all out. When he reached the front door, he opened it and waited half a second before closing it behind him. He stood still, hoping and waiting. Through the thick wood, he heard her car wind up and zip away.
The house was mostly dark. He passed a TV room where the backs of Mr. and Mrs. Muiller’s heads tilted together above the edge of a couch as they watched an old black-and-white movie. Out back on the terrace, Cory smelled the smoke and heard the low hum of voices amid the crackle of burning wood. Beyond the pool a dark shape tossed a log into the fire pit, sending a fountain of sparks up into the trees. Jimbo’s laughter rang out from the fire.
Lights glowed along the walkway. Cory made his way around the pool and through an arch of vines out to the lawn in a clearing of tall trees. More than a dozen kids sat on the circle of benches around the fire. He could pick out the enormous shape
of Gant, holding a marshmallow on a stick that trembled over the flames. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the back of Cheyenne’s long mane. A boy with a hoodie sat dangerously close to her and even leaned so their shoulders were touching. It was probably Mike, but Cory didn’t care.
He hesitated, then touched Cheyenne’s shoulder.
When he did, both she and the boy spun around.
53
Mike jumped to his feet.
“Cory? Hi!” Cheyenne got up too and swept some hair from her face before breaking out in a big white smile.
Gant looked over from his place by the fire, saw Mike and Cory, and offered a worried look.
Cory’s stomach flipped. A charge of fear flew through his body. He expected Mike to drop into a martial arts stance.
Instead he flipped off his hood. “Hey, Cory. How you doing?”
Cory blinked. “I . . . uh . . .”
“Want a marshmallow stick? I was just going to roast one up. Happy to get you one, too.”
“I’ll take a marshmallow,” Cheyenne said.
“Uh, sure,” said Cory.
“Great.” Mike bounded off into the trees.
Cheyenne watched him go.
Cory said, “For real?”
Cheyenne laughed. “He’s not so bad, right?”
“I have no idea,” Cory said.
“People can change, Cory.” She glanced at the spot where Mike had gone. “I explained to him how it had to be, and he promised he’d be good. Funny that you showed up, though. Good for him. I didn’t know if he could really do it.”
Cory looked over at the spot where Mike had disappeared and now popped back into view holding up two long sticks like a victorious warrior. “Got ’em!”
Chester bounded back and handed Cory a stick before turning toward the fire. “Parker, you got the marshmallow bag? C’mon, buddy. Save some for Cory and me. Haha.”
Cory had a hard time processing it all. Was Mike actually handing him a marshmallow?
“Uh, thanks.” Cory took it and poked it through with the narrow end of his stick, then remembered his own manners and turned to Cheyenne. “Can I make you one?”
She laughed. “Well, I think he’s making me one, but I ran a lot today, so why not have two? Sure, Cory. Thanks.”
Cory felt as silly as a duck on ice.
He put two marshmallows on his stick, watching Mike from the corner of his eye as the stick wavered over the orange flames. Cory hadn’t roasted marshmallows before, so he tried to rotate them around the way Mike was doing. Jimbo popped a roasted marshmallow of his own into his mouth, chewed, and watched Cory with a curious expression. When Mike’s began to smoke and turn golden brown, Cory thrust his own too near the coals and they burst into flames.
Jimbo’s laugh was muffled by a mouthful of melted marshmallow.
Parker stepped up from his seat on a bench, took the flaming stick from Cory, and blew the burning candy out like a birthday candle. “Gotta start over. You got too close to the heat.”
“Here, Cory. Have mine. I can do another.” Mike Chester pushed a golden marshmallow off the stick and into Cory’s hand before Cory could say a word. Without pausing, Mike turned to Cheyenne and gave her the other one. Then he dug two more out of the bag, skewered them, and began to roast.
Cheyenne beamed up at Mike before turning to Cory. “Have it, Cory. It’s good. Like this.” She popped the whole thing into her mouth and chewed, smiling.
Cory did the same, and the warm, sweet candy exploded through its crispy brown skin, filling his mouth with a hint of smoke that only made the marshmallow more delicious. “Wow.”
Gant had disappeared, but now he was back with two cans of Sprite. “Want one?”
“Sure.” Cory cracked the can and sat down on the other side of Cheyenne, leaving Mike’s spot alone in a gesture of peace. Gant sat on Cory’s other side and sipped his own soda. The flames flickered in Gant’s dark eyes as he stared.
“Some life, huh?” Gant spoke low so that only Cory could hear him. “Being rich like these kids?”
Cory leaned toward Gant and kept his voice even lower. “Do you think this whole thing with Mike Chester is for real?”
Jimbo threw another log on the fire. Everyone gasped or laughed as a thousand orange dots of light swam toward the sky.
Cheyenne’s voice rang out pleasantly. “Careful, Jimbo!”
Gant turned his dark, glittering eyes on Cory. “Mike being nice is as real as that cloud of sparks, bro.”
Cory looked back at the peaceful glow of the fire. “What sparks?”
Gant said, “Exactly.”
54
Cory sat around the fire until the last person had gone home. He could barely keep his eyes open as Cheyenne touched his arm and said good night, but once in bed, he had a hard time falling asleep. He thought about calling his mom, but cringed at the thought that Marvin might be there. If he was, Cory didn’t want to know about it. Instead, he dialed Liam, knowing that the only phone in his house was in the kitchen, which was right across the hall from Liam’s bedroom.
It rang three times and Cory was about to hang up when a rough voice answered the phone.
“Yeah?”
Cory gulped at the sound of Finn’s voice, but a jolt of panic and fear wouldn’t allow him to hang up. “Uh . . . it’s Cory. Is Liam there?”
“Yeah.”
Cory heard rustling and a double thunk as the phone bounced off the floor, then a distant voice. “Hey, fathead. It’s your girlfriend.”
More rustling could be heard before Liam got on. “Hey, Cory! That was fun today. I am so pumped up to get well. I really think Mr. Muiller would have us both live there, don’t you? He seemed like he liked the idea.”
“Yeah, I do.” Cory felt himself being washed away in Liam’s excitement. “There’s another room right next to mine and you could have this one with all this Saints garbage.”
“Garbage?” Liam faked shock.
They both laughed.
“They are so rich, right?” Liam said. “You think Mr. Muiller inherited it, or you think he made it himself?”
“Himself,” Cory said, proud of his patron and thinking of the conversation he’d overheard about buying up apartment buildings. “The guy is super smart.”
“Except for his security code, right?” Liam laughed. “I mean, how smart is that? Four four four four? Four fours! It’s their doggone street address. C’mon, a circus monkey could come up with a better code.”
Cory lowered his voice. “Maybe Mrs. Muiller came up with it.”
Liam made chimp noises. “Oo-oo-oo-oo! Four four four four! Oo-oo! I got four thousand four hundred and forty-four diamonds, too. Oo-oo-oo!”
They both burst out laughing again.
A witchlike shriek in the background cut them off. “Liam! Get off that phone! You’re supposed to be sleepin’!”
“Gotta go, Cory. I’ll talk to you soon.” Liam clunked down the phone, leaving Cory in dark silence.
Cory chuckled to himself and snapped shut his phone with a sigh. He wondered how Liam could have such a great attitude living with two monsters. It made Cory feel lucky, and he decided the next time he saw Marvin he wasn’t going to be so mean.
55
It rained all day Sunday. Cory did some homework, read his book, and played a little Xbox with Jimbo in the game room, but most of the time they were planted alongside Mr. Muiller, watching NFL games on the big screen. Cheyenne was out with friends. Maybe it was the gloomy day or the poor night of sleep or Cheyenne being gone, but Cory felt a nagging loneliness all day, even though he wasn’t alone. He kept thinking about the last rainy day with his mom. It had felt so nice, just the two of them watching movies from the couch, her hand scratching his head from time to time. The patter against the windows and roof were a comfort on that day. Now, it just felt wet.
The next day in school, the spark of friendship between Mike and Cory continued to glow. When Cory rounded a corner in the hallway before scien
ce class and saw Cheyenne and Mike leaning up against the same locker together, talking and smiling, he knew exactly what was happening.
“It’s a rope-a-dope, Gant,” Cory told his friend. “Don’t stare.”
“It’s not against the law to look,” Gant said. “Cor, she’s a nuclear bomb.”
“Just stay cool.” Cory nudged his giant friend to the other side of the hallway so the two of them could pass with plenty of traffic in between them and Cheyenne.
“Hey, Cory! Gant!” Mike had spotted them and he waved. “What’s up, guys?”
“Just science class,” Cory said, putting on a smile. “Hey, Cheyenne.”
“Hey, Cory. Hey, Gant. What’s up, boys?”
Cory swallowed and silently urged Gant to keep going.
Gant leaned down as they went. “What’s a rope-a-dope?”
“Muhammad Ali? That rope-a-dope?” Cory saw nothing in Gant’s eyes.
“You gotta watch some History Channel, Gant.”
Gant shrugged. They entered their science class and sat down.
“When Ali fought George Foreman for the title,” Cory said. “He came out and just let Foreman pound him. He kept his back to the rope and covered up. He let Foreman go wild, throwing punch after punch after punch.”
“So, Mike Chester is letting you punch his lights out? That’s what you’re saying? I don’t get that,” Gant said.
“No, no.” Cory shook his head. “After Foreman was dog-tired from throwing all those punches, which weren’t really hurting Ali, Ali came out and destroyed Foreman. Mike is taking punches right now like he’s on the ropes and ready to go down, but he’s not. I don’t trust him.”
“Hey, the guy roasted you a marshmallow. That was sweet.” Gant laughed, then got serious as their teacher strolled in.
“Yeah, well let’s see how things go at practice,” Cory said, “when he has to start splitting reps with me. Maybe Coach P even puts me on the first team?”
“He is?” Gant wrinkled his brow.
“I don’t know. You never know. I’m trying. I’m Coach McMahan’s guy, right?” Cory sat up straight. “I’m gonna float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”