Summer on the Moon

by Adrian Fogelin

  But just five days after Delia found her dream home, someone knocked loudly on the door of 4A.

  He and Damien were on the sofa spooning Marshmallow Fluff straight out of the jar. Mouths full, they looked at the door, then at each other. It was a little after three and Delia was still at work.

  “Express Mail,” barked a voice outside the door.

  “Just leave it,” Socko yelled back. He wasn’t opening up. Anybody could say “Express Mail.”

  “I need a signature.”

  Socko raised his eyebrows at Damien.

  His friend shook his head and dug his spoon into the fluff.

  “Who’s it from?” Socko called.

  “Some law firm,” said the voice.

  Law firm? mouthed Damien.

  “Which one?” Socko asked. Anyone could also say “law firm.”

  “Do you want the letter or not?”

  “Just a sec.” Socko put his fluff spoon down on the arm of the sofa and walked slowly to the door. Keeping the chain on, he opened it a crack. The front of a blue postal worker’s shirt filled the gap.

  “Can I sign for it?” asked Socko.

  “You got a hand?” A clipboard slid edgewise through the gap. “Line four.”

  Socko signed line four with the pen attached to the board, then passed the clipboard back. The mailman thrust a cardboard envelope at him. Staring at it, Socko closed the door. Between the blue eagle printed on it and the words “EXPRESS MAIL” in all capital letters, it looked pretty official.

  “Open it!” Damien jumped off the couch and sprinted over. “It’s gotta be about the house.”

  “It’s addressed to my mom.”

  “So? The house is our business too. Mine especially. I wanna know how long I have to live.”

  Socko slid his thumb under the flap and tore it open. Inside was another envelope—a thick one with an embossed return address. “Sweeney, Marcum, Jarvis, & Petty, Attorneys at Law.”

  Damien snatched the envelope and ripped it open. He pulled out a sheaf of folded papers. Clipped to the top sheet was a check. Damien let the other papers fall to the floor. He held the pale blue rectangle in both hands. “You are rich, man!” Resting his back against the door, he slid to the floor. As soon as his butt touched down, he twisted around and slapped the door with his palm. “Is this thing all-the-way locked?”

  Socko threw the extra bolts, and then slid down beside him. Reading the figure on the check for the first time, he thought he might pass out.

  “Look at all the zeroes!” Damien breathed. “With this I could live easy the rest of my life.” He surveyed his torn jeans and the baggy T-shirt left behind by one of his mother’s boyfriends. “First I’d buy me some nice threads, then a car …” He was grinning so big, Socko could see the Marshmallow Fluff between his teeth. “Don’t worry, my man. I’d buy you one too.”

  “Don’t drool on it!” The check was making Socko nervous, and the check in Damien’s hand was driving him right to the edge of crazy. “We gotta hide it good!”

  “I’m on it!” Damien scrambled to his feet.

  They looked everywhere, Socko trailing Damien as he waved the check around, but no place seemed really safe.

  “Genius idea!” Damien folded the check and stuck it under his Superman lid. “Super protection!”

  “No!” Socko jerked the hat off his friend’s head and caught the check before it fluttered to the floor.

  “Don’t get so jumpy! I’m just messin’ with you.”

  “Why’d you go and fold it?” Socko had zero experience with checks. Folding one seemed risky.

  “Wait—genius idea number two!” Damien plucked the check from Socko’s hand. “No one’ll look in here.” He stashed it in the oven, leaned casually against the oven door, and began to whistle.

  “What if someone accidentally bumps the dial and turns it on? Your butt is right next to it!” Socko grabbed his friend’s arm and jerked him away from the oven door.

  They tried to pry the back off Socko’s baby picture frame to sandwich the check between the photo and the board—but there was too much tape.

  Damien came up with genius idea number three. He pulled a box of Corn Chex cereal out of a cabinet and hid the valuable piece of paper inside. “Chex … check. Get it?”

  Socko was still uneasy. What if they accidentally ate the check? Okay, okay. That was stupid, and he didn’t have a better idea.

  When they finally heard Delia in the hall, they rushed the door and fumbled the locks open. “It came!” they said together.

  “My gosh … oh my gosh!” Delia triple-locked the door behind her before letting them retrieve the check from the cereal box.

  “Great god in heaven!” She kissed the check, and then tested the locks. “Put it back in the cereal!”

  Damien looked as if someone had slapped him. “You got the check, next you get the house. And after that—you’re gone.” He turned to Socko, like Socko could make it not happen.

  Ever since he’d told Damien about the offer, Socko had assured his friend he was working on his mom. And he was. He hadn’t made any progress, but until the check arrived Socko had really believed there was a chance to convince her. Now he knew there wasn’t. Not with all those zeroes.

  “I wish he didn’t know about the check,” Delia said after an unexpected knock from below had summoned Damien home.

  “Come on, Mom. He won’t steal it! He’s my best friend!”

  “No, but he’ll talk. You know the way that kid runs his mouth!”

  She was right. Even when he had nothing to talk about, Damien suffered from diarrhea of the mouth.

  Delia took the cereal box down and teased the check out and held it in both hands. “This is our new life, Socko.” She hid the check under the plastic tray in the silverware drawer, then picked up the papers scattered on the floor. “And this is what we have to do to live it.”

  She sat down at the table and put on the drugstore reading glasses she wore, not because she needed them but because she said they made her feel smarter. Peering over the tops of the glasses, she read the contract that outlined the General’s “terms and conditions” three times before signing.

  Socko didn’t sleep much that night. He woke up once from a brief stretch of unconsciousness and heard his mother humming. When he came out from behind the thirteen original colonies, Delia was standing at the window, silhouetted by the flickering blue from the neon sign across the street.

  “Mom?”

  “I moved the check again,” she whispered. “So don’t freak when you open that drawer and it’s gone.”

  “Where to?”

  “Don’t worry about it. You can’t spill what you don’t know.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t even trust me. This is too big.”

  7

  MESSAGE FOR THE BLIMP

  Socko and Damien were hanging around the apartment hiding out from Rapp just like they had for the last few days. But today was different. Today Delia was there too, driving them crazy singing about “house-buying day!”

  When they couldn’t stand it anymore, they decided to take a chance. “We gotta be safe by daylight on a busy street,” said Damien as they carried their skateboards into the elevator—it was temporarily working.

  They didn’t see Rapp until they skated around a corner and almost ran into him. He didn’t say a word, just narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at Damien.

  Stepping on the tail of his skateboard, Damien did a fast kick turn and jetted away. Socko did his own clumsy version of the maneuver and lit out after his friend.

  “It was like he was holding a gun!” Damien gasped when they were back in the elevator at the Kludge. He punched the button for his own floor. “I can’t take all the happy-happy at your place.”

  “Just in time,” said Delia as Socko walked in. She pointed at the side zipper on her black dress pants. “I could use a little help here.”

  He jerked the zipper pul
l but it didn’t budge. “You won’t even be able to breathe if I get this closed.”

  “Who needs to breathe? I’m buying a house!”

  Socko gave the zipper one last hard tug and it closed. “Mom, I’m begging you not to do this.”

  “Beg all you want. I’m doing this if it kills me.”

  “What if it kills Damien?”

  “Enough drama! Now, do I have everything?” She twanged a bra strap through her shirt. “I got the check right here.”

  “The check’s in your bra? Gross!”

  “Gross, maybe, but safe.”

  Not knowing where the check was hidden, Socko had spent the past week afraid he might accidentally destroy it. Now he almost wished he had.

  His mother went to the window to watch for the real estate agent’s car. Leah Albin was picking her up—along with the cashier’s check—and driving both to the closing. “You sure you don’t want to come?” Delia asked.

  “Positive.” Socko walked behind his hanging “wall” and threw himself down on his cot.

  “Wait ‘til you see the washer and dryer at the new place, the walkin pantry!”

  Tuning her out, Socko stared up at the stained ceiling. When they’d moved in, he’d been sure the stain over his bed was blood that had seeped through from the apartment above. His mom had assured him it came from a plumbing leak. She’d pointed out that it looked like a clown. After encountering the word “demented” on a vocabulary list, he’d always called the stain “the demented clown.”

  In a couple more days he’d never see the demented clown again. It wasn’t just his best friend he’d be leaving behind, it was his home, his neighborhood—his life.

  Delia’s tube of lipstick opened with a pop. She was probably slathering it on, staring out the window. “You’re going to like our new place, Socko. No more squishing together for us! You, me, and the General each get a real bedroom, with one extra left over.”

  Socko bolted upright on his cot. “An extra bedroom?” He rolled off the cot, rattling the thirteen original colonies as he barged out from behind them. “Genius idea, Mom!” In his excitement he borrowed Damien’s favorite phrase—but it was a genius idea. “Damien can come with us. Louise won’t care.”

  His mother never lost eye contact with the street. “There are a lot of people in this building who deserve to get out, like Junebug and Mr. Marvin—he’s about to be evicted, you know. But there are only two people here I can save. You and me.”

  Delia stuck her head out the window and waved both arms. “Be right down!”

  Socko followed her out of their apartment and into the elevator. “Can we at least talk about it?” His mother stared at the floor numbers as the elevator dropped. “Mom?” The door opened.

  She hurried out of the elevator with Socko right behind. “Sorry, Socko, I can’t do it!” She shoved open the front door of the apartment building with her hip.

  Rapp was leaning against the outside wall smoking. Socko should have paid more attention when Rapp cut his eyes their way, but convincing his mother about Damien was all that mattered at that moment.

  He stood on the sidewalk watching her wobble across the cracked concrete in her high heels. “Tell me you’ll at least think about it.”

  She climbed in the car, then waved at him through the window as the car pulled away.

  Socko smelled the smoke from Rapp’s cigarette first. When he turned, the gang leader was so close it made his skin prickle.

  “Got a little job for you,” Rapp said, but his eyes never left the shiny car rolling slowly away. “Where’s she going?”

  “My mom’s buying a house—so—we’ll be out of here soon.” Socko threw the news about the house in Rapp’s path, hoping he might forget about the little job he wanted him to do.

  Rapp’s head swiveled like a hawk’s. “You lie.”

  The alertness in Rapp’s voice scared Socko. Never look a predator in the eye. He stared at the cigarette butt Rapp had just dropped on the sidewalk. In addition to the smoldering butt, he could see Rapp’s combat boots, each tied with a different color lace, and the turned-up cuff of his left pant leg. Gangsta handbook, he thought. He almost smiled, but his lips felt numb.

  “I said …” The right combat boot lunged toward him and in a flash, a fist held the front of his T-shirt twisted tight against his chest. “… you lie.”

  “No, for real! My great-grandfather’s buying it for us.” When Socko tried to meet Rapp’s gaze to prove he was sincere, he inhaled sharply. Riddled with the dead craters of a million acne scars, Rapp’s face looked like the surface of the losing planet in some intergalactic war.

  “What’re you lookin’ at?” The T-shirt twisted another half turn.

  “Nothing.” Socko turned his head, and over Rapp’s hard-muscled shoulder he saw Damien peering through the glass door of the Kludge.

  Terrified, he wanted his friend to come out and help him—but he knew if Damien showed his face, Rapp would kill him … twice. Damien must have figured that out too. A second later he vanished back inside the building.

  The hand on his shirt jerked hard. “So, you and the Blimp are going uptown. Fine. But first you do something for me.”

  “Could you get someone else? We’re getting ready to move, and, you know, my mom needs help.” Socko could only talk back to Rapp because he was avoiding his eyes, watching the gold cross twist on its chain.

  “You can deliver this message while you put all your sorry-ass crap in boxes. Tell your momma to stay outta my business with Junebug. Junebug’s mine ‘til I say she ain’t.”

  Socko’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Yeah, okay.”

  The fist that was latched to the front of his shirt gave him a shake. “Hey! Eyes here!” When Socko looked up, Rapp pronged the first and second fingers on his free hand and pointed first at his own eyes, then at Socko’s, almost jabbing them. “Tell her I ain’t playin’. Tell her she better leave Junebug alone.”

  Rapp let go and pushed Socko away with stiff fingers. Apparently losing interest, he studied the gray face of the apartment building. As Rapp cracked his knuckles one at a time, Socko saw a tattooed spider on the pale web of skin between his thumb and index finger.

  Socko edged toward the building.

  “Freeze! You don’t go ‘til I say go.” Rapp swung an arm out like he was going to smack him. Instead he gave Socko’s cheek a light slap. “Go.” He let Socko take one step. “Stop. Repeat my message for the Blimp.”

  All Socko had to do was parrot back what Rapp had said. Was that so hard? But in his head he saw Junebug rescuing Damien—something he’d been too chicken to do himself.

  His voice came out high and shrill, like a little kid’s. “Why don’t you just leave Junebug alone?”

  Delia reached over and grasped Socko’s chin. “You’re sure you can see okay?” She turned his battered eye toward the light.

  “Yes, Mom.” He wrapped another dish in newspaper and handed it to Damien, who added it to the box they were packing.

  She released his chin, then stood straight. “Now hear this!” she announced, as if demanding the whole apartment building’s attention. “My son has taken his last punch. As of tomorrow we start our new life. As of tomorrow, Delia and Socko Starr are outta here!”

  She picked up a stack of newspaper and thrust it at Socko. “Here. Wrap that platter good. I don’t want it to break.”

  Damien shoved his fists into his pockets. “You have a box big enough to pack me in?”

  Delia shook her head sadly.

  “Please, you gotta get me out of here! I’m a homicide waiting to happen!”

  Socko stuck the wrapped platter into a box. “Please!” Damien pressed his hands together like he was praying. “Rapp’s gotta know I went and got Junebug to break up the fight.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Socko to wonder why Junebug had showed up just in time to save him. Rapp would figure it out fast. Damien’s panic was contagious. “Let Damien hide out with us for a few days,
Mom! Louise wouldn’t care.”

  “Care?” Damien looked desperate. “She wouldn’t even notice.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Damien, but I just can’t bring you along! It’s part of the deal with my grandfather. I don’t dare do anything that might mess things up.”

  “Please, Mrs. S, I’m beggin’!” Damien’s bony knees hit the floor. “I have to get out of here!”

  Delia wrung her hands. “I can’t. I just can’t. Do good in school, Damien. You’ll get yourself out of here.”

  Damien choked out a ragged breath. “Like I’ll live that long!”

  Socko dropped to his knees beside Damien. “Mom? Please?” Delia’s “someday” advice didn’t help. At the Kludge, “right now” was all there was—and right now could be over in a heartbeat.

  Tears in her eyes, Delia turned away and started pulling dish towels out of a drawer.

  8

  REARVIEW MIRROR

  It was barely light when Delia shook him awake. “Wyman can’t drive us. His kid’s sick!” Socko’s heart leapt. No transportation. Did that mean no move?

  But when he stumbled out of bed, his mother was at the window staring down on the puke green roof of a scabby SUV with an open metal trailer hitched behind it. Wyman, the night manager at Phat Burger, must have brought it over after his shift.

  “Surprise!” Delia said with a desperate smile. “I’m the driver!”

  “Really? You?”

  “Why not? Wyman came by about an hour ago and I drove it around the block a couple times. He showed me how to handle the trailer. I’ll be fine, right?”

  Socko knew it was his job to reassure her, but this whole thing was her idea. He didn’t even want to go.

  “I’ll do fine,” she said, answering her own question. “You think it’s too early to get Damien up to help us load?”

  It was, but Socko couldn’t lug their stuff down to the trailer by himself, and Delia got short of breath whenever she had to lift anything. Besides, unless his mom changed her mind, this might be his last chance to hang with his friend.

  Socko rapped the floor beside his bed with the broom handle. Thump, thump, thump.