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by Diane C. Mullen

  Something’s about to happen. Heart races.

  “A change of scenery would be good for you. Kat has a wonderful house on the beach of Lake Michigan. Lakeshore is a small town.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the perfect place for you to spend the summer. So you’re going.”

  “No!” Fight or flight.

  “I will not have another one of my sons running the streets, doing God-knows-what, as a criminal. You’re going, Liam. I won’t lose another child to a gang.”

  “I’m not in a gang!”

  “Then what was that the other day with those Los Crooks? You don’t think I saw his gun?”

  I didn’t know what to think. “That wasn’t a big deal,” I say.

  “No big deal? You have no idea, Liam.” She starts to cry. “No idea whatsoever.”

  “Mom.”

  “No. I will not let you turn out like your brother. He’s just like your …” She walks away.

  “Just like Dad?”

  She’s back in my room. “You’re leaving in two weeks.”

  “This isn’t fair!”

  I run. Out of the bedroom. The apartment. The JFKs.

  I run until I can’t breathe anymore.

  Rejoining My baseball “community”

  Hit the varsity team room. Home of the Saint Al Crusaders. Find my old locker. Empty. Smells like pee.

  Look all around. Can of Juice Green out of my backpack.

  CLIKCLAKCLIKCLAKCLIKCLAK.

  Look again.

  Now. PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST. Cover the front of the locker.

  St. B was here

  Empty the can. Wrecking the perfect boojie paint job.

  Listen.

  I exist.

  Unwinding on the roof

  Me. Tyrell. Sean. At the JFKs. Sitting in our Dumpster-dive lawn chairs. Twenty-six floors above the hood. Can touch the sky. Almost. Peaceful. Windows of the skyscrapers downtown light up the almost-dark sky. When I squint, the buildings look like Christmas trees.

  “Can’t believe school’s out in two weeks.” Tyrell lifts his arms up behind his head.

  “Not for me, dudes.” Sean throws a chunk of tar over the edge. “I have to do summer school.”

  “Again?” Tyrell laughs.

  “It’s not funny, loser. I can’t get algebra clear in my head.”

  Silence.

  “You guys see that new girl from Tower Four?” I whistle. “Amazing.”

  “Long black hair?” Tyrell smirks.

  “That’s the one.”

  Sean throws more tar. “Too bad her mom’s a crackhead.”

  BANGBANGBANG!

  The shots sound from right below us. Down on the street.

  BANG! BANG!

  “A thirty-eight?” Tyrell stands.

  “No,” Sean says. “Too fast. Maybe nine millimeter.”

  “You’re right. A Glock.” Tyrell nods. “Definitely a Glock.”

  They bump fists.

  Glock? If these guys only knew what’s been going on. Not saying a word. Too dangerous. Los Crooks have eyes all around. Can’t put my family in danger. Don’t want to worry my friends.

  “When’s Saint Al’s done, Liam?” Sean kicks my chair.

  “Next week. Hate that place.”

  “Who cares? Use them to get what you want.” Tyrell shrugs. “If you graduate from Saint Al’s, you can go to any college you want. Play the game, man.”

  “No. I couldn’t care less about Saint Al’s.” I stand up. “Just found out my mom’s sending me away for the summer.”

  “What do you mean? She can’t do that.” Sean spits. “Can she?”

  “Yeah. She can. She’s making me go to some crap town in Michigan.”

  “Damn, Liam.” Tyrell punches my arm. “That’s rough.”

  Don’t even want to punch him back.

  Pulling weeds

  Mom always says, “You all like to eat? Then you all have to help in the garden.”

  So here I am. JFK community garden. O’Malley family plot. Move a row closer to Mom. “You don’t have to send me to Michigan.” Worth a try.

  She ignores me.

  I don’t give up. “Then I guess I’ll have to miss my confirmation classes.”

  “Kieran’s didn’t start until fall.” She wipes dirt on her jeans. “October, I think. So you’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  Great.

  “I’ve got stuff to do. I’m signed up for the park baseball league. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

  “I pray that you will.” She crosses herself. “That you’ll make some big changes in your life.”

  “I can do it here.”

  “No.”

  “Mom.”

  “Stop, Liam. You need to be away from here. It’s not safe for you. Especially hanging out with Kieran’s gang.”

  “C’mon. I don’t bang. Already told you that. I only did one tag for Irish Mafia.”

  “And that one tag almost got you shot.”

  Yeah. Stupid to trust Kieran. “I don’t want to tag for gangs. I want to be a graffiti writer.”

  “Why would you put yourself in any danger because of graffiti? Maybe you should try to figure out why it’s so important that you’re willing to waste your life over it.”

  “Waste my life?”

  Graffiti is my only way to show that I even have a life.

  Yelling interrupts our game of pepper

  Me. Tyrell. Sean.

  “Heyyy!” Getting louder. “Yo! LIAM!”

  Look around. Where’s it coming from?

  “Irish Mafia’s strolling this way,” Sean warns. “Kieran, Tommy, another guy.”

  One of them falls. Loud laughter follows.

  “Great.” Tyrell lowers his voice. “I was hoping a bunch of drunk fools would show up here today.”

  “LIAM O’MAAALLEY! I’m looking for my bro. You here, man?”

  “Crap.” I look down at my fingernails.

  “Liam!” Kieran sways.

  Stare. Want to run.

  Bangers stand in front of us. All three wearing green-and-white Boston Celtics jerseys. Shamrock tattoos on their left biceps.

  Kieran steps closer. “I’ve been looking for you, bro.” His breath stinks.

  I remember that smell. “What do you want?”

  “Need to talk to you.” Points at Tyrell and Sean. “Alone.”

  “You heard him, kids.” Tommy makes a fist. “Step off.”

  “No problem, dude.” Sean throws up the hand sign for Irish Mafia.

  Tyrell looks at me. “We’ve got your back, Liam.”

  Nod. “See you later.”

  “We need another taaaaaag, St. B.” Kieran puts his arm over my shoulder.

  Guy hands a bottle to Kieran. Irish whiskey. He takes a drink. Passes it on.

  Tommy shoves it toward me. “Here, take a swig.” Shamrock on the label.

  Shake my head.

  Kieran laughs. “Go ahead, take a drink, ya little girl.”

  Chest tightens. Exactly what Dad said to Kieran. I was five. Kieran was nine. He didn’t want to. Dad said, “Take a damn drink, ya little girl.” Kieran did as he was told. He started coughing and crying. Dad laughed. Made him drink more. Kieran and I promised each other that we’d never drink like him. We always promised. Even after Dad left.

  “No, Kieran.”

  “Then don’t take a drink, bro.” He laughs. “Means more for me.”

  “I mean no, don’t ask me to do any more tags for your gang.”

  “Who’s in charge here, K-O?” Tommy jabs his knuckle into Kieran’s tattoo. “Rep Irish Mafia. Teach this boy a lesson.”

  Kieran stares.

  “C’mon, man.” Tommy shoves him. “Step up or step off, K-O.”

  Kieran gets up in my face. “I’m not asking. I’m telling, junior.”

  “Hey,” park security yells. He’s walking this way. “Couple of kids told me there’s some trouble over here.”

  Thank God. A secur
ity guy’s actually in the park for once.

  “No problem, man.” Kieran backs off. “Just having a conversation with my brother.”

  “Not anymore.” Security won’t let Kieran mess with me.

  I walk around Irish Mafia. “I’m leaving.”

  Getting kicked to the curb

  Welcome to Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport.

  Mom swerves the church’s turd-brown minivan into an open space. Departure area. The little kids are in the back seat. They ramble on about the airport. Patrick sits in the way back.

  Signs warn: “No stopping allowed. If you see suspicious activity, call 911.” Suspicious activity? See something? Say something? Yeah, right. That makes you a punk where I come from.

  “Please, please, please. Can we please go into the airport?” Fiona begs.

  Declan joins in. “Please, please, please. Liam wants us to, Mommy.”

  “We can’t.” She’s pulling things out of her purse. “We don’t have time.”

  I get out. Sit down on my Crusaders baseball duffel bag. Look around. People hug. Cry. Shake hands good-bye. Is anyone else being sent away for the summer?

  Fiona presses her forehead against the window. “Come on. Let’s see the inside.”

  Third time I’ve been here. Once when we flew to Disney World with Kat. The other when we flew to Southie for Uncle Danny’s funeral. I was six. Mom was pregnant with Fiona. Dad told us, “I hated that son of a bitch.” He stayed home.

  “Yeah, so Liam’s not lonely,” Declan says.

  “Not right now.” Mom leans under the dashboard. “I’m trying to find something,”

  Airport rent-a-cop stares at me. This area is for curbside loading and unloading only.

  “Hey, what’s that cop doing?” Fiona points.

  “Police officer,” Mom corrects her. “Liam, are you sure I didn’t give you that envelope?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Cop slaps the side of the minivan. Mom’s head flies up and hits the rearview mirror. “This is for drop-off only, ma’am. Keep it moving.”

  “Liam, check your duffel bag.”

  “No envelope, Mom.”

  “Let’s go into the airport! Let’s go into the airport!” Fiona and Declan are chanting now. Jumping on the seat. Minivan’s bouncing up and down like the lowriders around our hood.

  “JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH.” Mom glares at the little kids. “Knock it off, you two. I can’t even hear myself think. Shite.”

  Silence.

  Then Fiona whistles. “That’s a bad word, Mom.”

  “Uh-oh.” Declan crosses himself. “Mrs. A. said that it makes baby Jesus cry in heaven when someone uses the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “Great.” Fiona puts her hands on her head. “Now you might have to go to hell when you die.”

  Declan starts to cry. “I don’t want you to go to hell, Mommy.”

  “I’m not going to hell. I didn’t use the Lord’s name in vain. Zip your lips.”

  They do.

  “Found it.” Mom jumps out of the minivan. Runs around to me. “Give this to Kat when you get to the airport. It’s your medical papers, a copy of your birth certificate …”

  “Okay.”

  “She’s meeting you at the luggage area.”

  “I know.”

  “You remember what she looks like?”

  “I guess.”

  “Are you sure? It’s been a few years.”

  “Yes.”

  Fiona pounds on the window. Making faces. Declan looks at me. Tears on his cheeks.

  “Okay.” Mom wipes the sweat off her face. “You’ve got everything, right?”

  “This isn’t fair.”

  “I cannot do this right now. We’ve already talked about all of this.”

  “Actually, Mom, we didn’t talk about all of this. YOU told me what your plan was for MY summer.”

  “Let’s go.” Cop lifts his walkie-talkie. “This is your last warning, lady.”

  Want to scream. Why don’t you go to south Minneapolis, where you’re actually needed, you piece of crap? Go to my hood, where there’s always “suspicious activity.”

  “Okay. We’ve got to go.” Mom’s hugging me. “I love you, Liam.”

  “Really?” Don’t send me away. Please.

  “Send us some postcards,” Fiona says. Declan presses his face against the window. Patrick stares straight ahead.

  Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “This will be a good thing.”

  Feel like a balloon that all the air just went out of.

  She gets back in the minivan. Grinds it into gear. Leans toward the passenger window. “See you in three months, Liam.”

  Shite. I give a pathetic wave to the little kids.

  Repeating Saint Brendan’s words

  I say them in my head.

  I fear that I shall journey alone, that the way will be dark; I fear the unknown land, the presence my King and the sentence of my judge.

  Chose Saint Brendan as my saint for First Communion. He was Irish. He loved the water. He questioned God. I’ve had his holy medal around my neck since I was seven. Never take it off.

  Now I fear the unknown. “Saint Brendan, pray for me.”

  Flying to Lakeshore, michigan

  Turbulence most of the way. Figures. Sketch in my blackbook. Try not to think about Minneapolis. Design some new letter styles that are like that very cool masterpiece in the alley.

  Gliding over a huge lake. More like an ocean. Nothing but water down there.

  Lake Michigan.

  So many shades of blue. Sometimes light. Sometimes dark. Always changing.

  The loudspeaker turns on. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now flying over the western shore of northern Michigan. The captain has turned the seat belt signs back on. We are in our final descent and will be landing shortly.”

  Northern Michigan? Lots of trees and sand. No big city. No skyscrapers. No project towers. Nothing but huge empty spaces.

  All summer.

  Big sand cliffs. Big beach. Small town.

  Crap.

  Arriving for my summer getaway

  Baggage claim. Woman holds a sign with O’Malley written on the front. She’s about my size.

  Katherine Sullivan. Mom’s best friend. My guardian for the entire summer.

  She’s smiling my way. Just like I remember. I smile back.

  No.

  Straighten my mouth. Back to my street scowl. Don’t want her to know I’m nervous. Show no weakness, O’Malley.

  She’s walking toward me in a cool, inspired sort of way. Purposeful. Scuffed brown cowboy boots.

  “Welcome to Michigan, Liam.” Hugs me like she means it.

  “Thanks.”

  She looks at me. “I knew it was you straightaway, even though it’s been a while. What, two or three years at least?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I kind of cheated. Your mom sent me a photo.”

  “She likes to send those.” I’m an idiot. Quit talking.

  “Your eyes are older.”

  Shrug.

  “So you had a good flight?”

  “Yeah. It was fine.”

  “How about Lake Michigan?”

  “Looks like an ocean.”

  “I love the big lake. It’s the main reason I live here.” The luggage carousel clunks and begins moving. “So, you’ve got a suitcase or something, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got baggage.”

  Riding shotgun

  Kat’s gray Range Rover is old. But cool. No bumpers, but there’s a sticker on the back that reads Start seeing sculpture.

  Driving past forests. Farms. Trailer houses with junk in their front yards. Cars up on cement blocks. Reminds me of home.

  “About five more minutes until we get to my house.” Kat smiles.

  “Okay.” Things look nicer the closer we get to town. Completely opposite of home, where the hood can be junky and the burbs are taken care of.

  “Look straight ah
ead,” she says.

  I see a huge white concrete post in the shape of a lighthouse. Welcome to Lakeshore! is painted down the front in red letters.

  “Oh.” I’m going to be here for the whole summer? My stomach feels like a bowl of rice all clumped together. Thanks a lot, Mom.

  “So this is the east end of downtown.” Kat points.

  “Nice,” I lie, because it looks boring. I want to go home.

  “I’ll drive slowly so you can get a good look.”

  No need. “Sure.” Could hit a baseball from one end to the other.

  Charter fishing place. Moped rental. Restaurants that serve burgers and fries. Fudge store. Bars. Kayak rental. Icecream place. Stores selling sweatshirts with lighthouses on the front. Lakeshore Town Hall. Old church with a tall steeple. Taller than everything else. Hardware store. Movie theater. Shows only Sunday through Thursday at eight? Great. What do people even do on the weekends here?

  “Lake Michigan’s straight ahead. And there’s the lighthouse.” She points again.

  “Oh.” Lighthouse. Of course.

  “A beam of light from the lighthouse shines in the windows of my house when there’s fog or a storm.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Anyway. I live three blocks over, on the beach.”

  “The beach?”

  Turning onto a narrow street

  Blowing sand swirls around. We pull into the yard. Well, onto the yard. Not a parking lot. Not a concrete driveway. Hard-packed dirt with no grass. Kat parks the Rover.

  She sighs. “Home sweet home.”

  “Hmmm.” To her, maybe.

  “Been here for the last twelve years,” she says. “I moved here from New York. I needed to get out of the city. I lived in bigger cities my whole life. From growing up in Southie, in the projects with your mom, to New Haven, Connecticut, for art school, to NYC, to this little town. It suits me.”

  She talks a lot. “Oh.”

  Get out of the Rover. Try to take everything in. Yellow house with three floors. Five apartments in the JFKs would fit into Kat’s house. Mom and the little kids would like this. Patrick, too.

  Not me. It’s not home.