by Steve Berman
The three made for the keg, and Corey lowered himself next to Emily. Lees noticed him on the floor and raised an eyebrow. Corey nodded toward the keg. Her eyes widened. “Shit,” she muttered.
“What?” Rich turned to look. “Who are they?”
“Homophobic assholes,” Corey said.
Emily let out a strangled noise.
“Em?” Corey touched his sister’s shoulder. She flinched away.
Lees knelt next to Emily. “Are you all right?”
She wasn’t. She hadn’t been the life of the party before, but now she was almost catatonic. Her back had stiffened and she’d pulled the hood of her sweatshirt down over her face. Before the meds, she used to do the same thing right before freaking out.
“I think we should go,” Rich said.
The three guys had taken over the keg and were spraying beer from the hose and spigot into each other’s mouths. They probably had started drinking hours ago. One of them, Jason, kept throwing glances in their direction.
When Corey stood up, to lead the way back to Lees’s car, Jason smirked and smacked one of the other guys.
“Oh, hell.” Corey gauged the distance from the porch to the corner of the house. They’d never make it to the car. They’d have to go through the house. He glanced at the back door at the other end of the porch.
Rich caught Corey’s glance toward the door. “If they turn back to the keg for a fill-up, head for the door.”
Corey smiled at Rich. That boy had just earned a good-night kiss if he wanted it.
He eased Emily to her feet. Lees sprang after them. They moved toward the door. Jason and his friends weren’t coming toward the porch. Maybe they didn’t want a fight. Or they weren’t so drunk to forget that football practice had already started for the year; the coach ran a clean team with a zero tolerance policy, so if the boys got caught fighting, they’d get benched.
Jason swiped the tap and started to fill his cup. As soon as his eyes were off them, Corey nodded at Rich. They hustled Emily and Lees across the back porch. Corey twisted the doorknob. The door opened about three inches, then stopped.
Fireworks crack-popped behind them. Jason let out a yelp. One of surprise, not pain. Corey and Rich threw themselves against the door. It scraped across the warped floorboards.
Corey pushed Emily and Lees through the opening, then squeezed through after them. Rich came in last, pushing the door closed after him. He locked the ancient slide bolt.
“If they figure out where we went, that will hold them for a few minutes.”
They stood in a room bare except for the rotted cabinet with an old iron hand pump rusting on top. Probably a kitchen. Opposite the back door was another door leading to a hallway.
“Here’s Johnny,” Rich said, leaning through.
Corey grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the door. “Let’s not be here if they get in.”
They filed out of the kitchen and into the hallway. The house was silent. Another hour and the party would trickle inside, two by groping two.
Lees closed the door behind them, cutting out any light from the fire.
“I can’t see anything,” Emily said.
Corey nudged her forward, very aware that he still held Rich’s hand. He felt warm and jittery. He would get his sister out of this. “Just follow the hall. The front door is at the far end.”
They crept forward. The air stank of a hundred years of mold. It felt heavy, like they had to swim through it instead of walk.
Corey’s eyes adjusted to the dark but not enough to make out more than the faint edges of the stair railing and the outlines of a door with a boarded window in front of them. They shuffled forward, all in a group.
At the foot of the stairs, Emily stopped. Corey bumped into her, then Rich bumped him. He tripped over some broken splinters of stair rail. Rich reached out to steady him, and his breath caught. Just a quick squeeze, he told himself. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Something’s wrong,” Emily said.
“The door’s right there,” Corey said. His palm started to sweat. Rich dropped his hand. He probably thinks I’m a gross pig, Corey thought. He wiped his hands on his jeans.
Emily inched forward. “Did you hear that? Like an echo?”
Corey listened. The house creaked around them. The sound of fireworks came from out back, more like popcorn than gunshots now. He shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Corey—”
“Stop being such a baby.” The words came out harder than he meant, but he didn’t have time for her brat act. “We have to get out of here or those guys are going to beat me to a bloody puddle.”
Emily rounded on him. “That’s right, Corey. Everything’s about you.”
And here was the freak-out. At least they’d get it over with before Corey got his face broken. “Who else would it be about? I’ve been ducking a game of Smear the Queer with those guys for two years.”
“And being your baby sister is so easy.” She gestured toward the back of the house. “Listening to the comments assholes like that make about you is so much fun.”
Corey’s mouth opened. Even when she’d still talked to him, they’d kept their distance at school. They moved in different circles. Her with popular party kids, and him with Lees.
“I don’t need you to protect me.” He meant that he could take care of himself. Only, it came out like he didn’t need her…which, in a way, was exactly what he’d been telling himself for that past three months.
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. I won’t.” She turned and marched toward the door. She only took a few steps before Corey saw why she’d heard an echo. There was a hole the size of a truck tire right in the middle of the hall.
“Emily!”
It was too late. Her foot caught the lip of the hole. If she hadn’t been angry, she might have been able to hop forward. But she’d put her foot down too hard. Her arms slammed into the floor as she caught herself before going all the way through.
Corey lunged forward, but Rich caught his arm and pulled him back. “You don’t need to fall, too.” He nodded toward the floor.
“You don’t know how stable the rest of it is.” Corey took a deep breath. “Emily? Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m not okay. I’m hanging by my armpits in a hole!”
Corey would have laughed if it wouldn’t have made him look like a jackass. If Em was acting like a brat, chances were she wasn’t hurt too bad. Gran was still going to kill him, but she wouldn’t kill him too dead.
Rich pulled out his lighter. Corey looked at it, then up at Rich’s face. “You had that the whole time?”
Rich gave him a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry. Everything happened so fast.” He lit it and held it up.
Now that he could see the hole, he couldn’t believe they’d missed it. Well, Em hadn’t.
Lees rolled her eyes. “You guys are useless.” She scooted around the hole and lay flat on the floor. She clamped her hands over Emily’s wrists and pulled. Emily shifted maybe a half inch. The floor creaked. Lees scowled up at Corey and Rich. “You think you two could give me a hand instead of standing there like a couple of idiots?”
“I saw a door that might go to the basement,” Rich said. “We can try to push her up…or catch her.” He held up the lighter. A door was set at the back of the stairs.
“We’ll get you, Em,” Corey called. He smacked Rich on the shoulder and headed for the door. As soon as Corey opened the door, the moldy smell multiplied by a factor of ten. He coughed. Definitely the basement.
“That reeks,” Rich said. “And those stairs could be just as rotten as the floor.”
Corey eased himself onto the first step. “It seems solid enough.”
Rich tensed, handing Corey the lighter.
“What?” Corey said.
He turned toward the kitchen. “I haven’t heard the back door explode into kindling.”
Where was the asshole brigade? “Maybe they didn’t see where w
e went. I’ll worry about that when I’ve saved my little sister from breaking her neck.”
Rich shrugged and started to follow Corey down the steps.
Corey held up a hand. “Maybe you should wait until I’m all the way down.” Corey tested each step with his foot, feeling them bow beneath his weight.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs in one piece, he motioned Rich to follow but he didn’t wait. “Em, I’m coming!” He made his way to the spot where he thought Emily should be. He held up the lighter. He saw the hole, but Emily’s legs were gone. “Emily!”
Her face appeared in the hole. “What?”
“What happened?”
“I climbed up. In case you haven’t noticed, Corey, I’m not actually a baby.”
“You better hurry,” said Lees from above. “Those guys are out by my car.”
Corey ran for the steps and ran smack into Rich. They fell in a tangle of arms and legs with Corey on top. The darkness settled around them. Before Corey could push up, Rich’s lips brushed against his. He tasted like mint gum.
For a second, Corey relaxed. He stopped thinking about Emily and the guys outside. He stopped thinking about leaving.
It only lasted a second.
Corey pulled away.
Rich’s breath whuffed out. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” said Corey.
“It’s just a kiss.”
Just a kiss, thought Corey. Just? He’d read all the stories. A kiss always meant something. They brought girls back to life. They turned frogs into princes. They made heroes forget.
“We’re not picking out china patterns. I’m just kissing a cute boy.”
Just, again. The kiss freaked Corey out, and Rich’s way-too-cool reaction to it kind of hurt. He didn’t expect Prince Charming to sweep him up on a white horse or anything, but he’d wanted his first kiss to be special.
Rich backed away. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The stairs creaked as he climbed up to the first floor. Corey sat in the dark. It smelled like the inside of last summer’s cooler, but it was a lot better than going upstairs. He put his head in his hands. What had he been thinking? Just brush off his best friend? His family? All because he didn’t like living here.
“Hey, Corey?” Lees called down through the hole. “You might want to come up here.”
Corey picked his way up the stairs as fast as he could. Lees, Rich, and Emily huddled around the door’s window. Lees had cleared a small hole near one corner and was looking out.
Something crashed against the door, and all three jumped back. “Beer bottle?” Corey said.
Lees glanced at him. “The Three Stooges are on the front porch. I think they popped my front tire with a hunting knife.”
Rich wouldn’t look at Corey. Emily did, though.
“They want to kill me,” she said. Another beer bottle hit the door. She flinched.
Corey stared at her. “You?”
She stared right back. “I was at a party graduation night.”
Not mine, Corey thought.
“I’d had a couple of beers. Jason and his goons stumbled in, already plastered. Jason said, ‘Hey look, it’s the fag’s sister.’ I told him to shut up, but he kept calling you a fag. It pissed me off, so I punched him.” Her hand curled into a fist, as if fondly remembering the act.
Corey looked down. The spokes from the stair rail lay on the floor next to his feet. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I couldn’t just stand there and listen to that shit.”
“It’s not fair, I know. Things will be better when I’m not around.”
She wiped her hand across her face. “You’re my brother, Corey.”
“You sure haven’t acted like it for the last three months.”
There it was…the real reason he wanted out of this place so badly. He could take people pretending he was just like everyone else. He could even take the occasional run-ins with jerks like Jason. What he couldn’t take was his sister acting like a stranger.
“Come out, little girl,” someone—Corey guessed Jason—called in a singsong. “Let’s see how you do in a fair fight.”
Emily looked down at her feet. “So you’re going to leave?” Her voice wobbled, and the sound stabbed straight into Corey’s gut because that’s exactly what he had planned.
He’d called it “moving on,” but it was really running away. But not anymore.
She’d punched a guy for him. He almost laughed. Who needed a knight on a horse when his baby sister was around? And there were Rich and Lees, peeking out the window at the very guy. They probably could have just walked around the house…especially Rich. But they didn’t. They stuck with him.
Something heavy hit the door. The lock held, but the old wood around it split. Lees, Emily, and Rich picked their way around the hole. Another couple of hits like that and the thugs would be inside.
Corey stepped back and almost tripped over the stair rail spokes. Something hit the door again. This time, Corey could see the door outlined in light. Someone’s pointed their headlights at the front of the house, he thought.
He picked up one of the stair rail spokes. It was heavy, oak maybe, about the length of a baseball bat. He gave it an experimental swing. He hadn’t been in a lot of fights, but he figured it would be worth something.
“How far away are you parked?” he asked Rich.
Rich picked up another one of the posts. “Just at the end of the drive.”
“You mind giving us a lift?”
Emily picked up her own makeshift club. Lees bent to get one, but Rich stopped her. He held out his keys and motioned toward the back of the house. “You go around back and head for the car.”
Emily took the keys. She turned to go, but Corey grabbed her elbow.
“We are going to have a long talk when this is over.” He had to tell her how much she meant to him, that he wouldn’t just abandon her.
“Great,” she said with a grin.
Corey turned to Lees. “Stay out of the light.”
She nodded.
They slipped back down the hall. Corey heard the back door creak open. At least they’d be safe.
Rich flashed him a half smile. “This is one hell of a first date.”
Corey lifted his post, hiding a grin. Maybe he hadn’t completely blown it. “So, take a couple of swings, then run?”
Rich laughed. “Oh hell, yeah. Don’t leave me behind.”
“I won’t.”
He couldn’t even if it had been just a kiss. Sometimes you stood and fought. Sometimes you ran. Either way, there were some people you knew you could stick with.
Most Likely
Steve Berman
Gray sky, gray surf, dim house with gray floorboards—summer should be golden, not dismal, thought Roque as he peered out the window of the darkened rental at the empty beach. The scenery would be ideal viewed as a black-and-white photograph, but experienced live it was a disappointment. Sheets of rain fell upon the sand and the air inside felt like gelatin, thick with moisture. Beads of sweat made his tank top cling to his skin on his back and sides. His swim trunks were dry.
Lying on the couch, one foot kicking pillows, the other wedged beneath the surviving upholstery, his younger sister, Leonia, moaned because the power was out, so no television, no telephone. Nothing that modern man had invented worked. Except the toilet. Not that Roque minded peeing outdoors, even in the pouring rain. “I’m bored,” she called out.
“Read a book, Leo,” Roque said without turning away from the view of the beach. Could the white froth of the churning waves mesmerize away a dull afternoon? Doubtful.
She lifted up the cold washcloth spread over her forehead. “Three days after school ended and you want me to read something? Raro.”
“Then get ready for cosmetology school.” It was a cruel blow, Roque knew. Back in their old neighborhood in North Jersey, girls didn’t go to college but did hair. And gossip. Maple Shade offe
red new opportunities. Leo wasn’t dumb. Just sixteen, so annoying beyond belief.
“I can’t even call my friends!”
Her cell phone had been charging when a surge struck the house. Or the house next door. However electricity liked to travel. It fried her phone and everything else attached to that outlet. She then borrowed Roque’s phone last night—without asking!—and drained it near death after ninety-some minutes of bitching to her friends back in Patterson.
He left the room because otherwise he’d start yelling at her, which would only annoy their parents, who’d blame him. Now that he was eighteen and out of high school, he had to be an “adult.” When did someone hand him a pamphlet on How to Be a Grown-Up? Did that mean he should fret over money, like his mother, who had already bitten her fingernails down to the bloody quick because their vacation at Sea Isle City was a disaster thanks to ever-present storm clouds? Or should he be like his father and Uncle Manny and drink glass after glass of beer and lemonade until he couldn’t see what cards he was dealt, so he started to lose hand after hand of Texas Hold ’em?
He went to the bedroom—shared with Leo, unfortunately—and unzipped his backpack. He was the one in the family who liked to read. Thank you, Lita Sancia, he thought. Her eyes were bad, so when she had baby-sat Roque she’d asked him to read to her. He could never refuse her, especially knowing how she would praise him for being “such a smart boy” and then offer him a piece of hard candy she’d hidden in a pocket.
As he began pulling out dog-eared paperbacks, his fingers found something hard and heavy and slick at the bottom of his backpack. His high school yearbook. He didn’t remember packing it…and shrugged off the mystery.
He flipped through it to find the page with his senior photo. He had spent a week agonizing over how to style his hair and taken to the salon three pages torn out of GQ. His best friend Charles always got a close shave. As the stylist hovered behind him in the chair, like a massive mosquito complete with buzzing from her razor, Roque chose a razored crop.
He smiled down at his photo, then frowned at the writing beneath. His own handwriting in his favorite purple ink. Gregg, I’ll miss seeing you every day in class. And thinking about you every night in bed. I wanted to ask you out but could never find the nerve. Xoxox Roque. He rubbed the ink. It smudged a little.