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  “I’m not trying to butt in or whatever …” Darren hesitated.

  “But ….” Neecey rolled her eyes.

  “It’s just, if the little dude earnestly thought you were jeopardizing your person or whatever, like he said, then you can’t majorly ream him for what he did. Dude junior just showed some extra vigilance and follow-through is all, like a badass younger bro’s supposed to.”

  “How would you know what a younger brother is supposed to do, Darren? You’re an only child. And why are you like sticking up for him? Didn’t you hear—”

  “Chill, Neece. I totally heard what he said, but I’m like sticking up for him anyway.”

  “But why?” Neecey asked, looking genuinely baffled.

  “Because the little dude’s either all on his own or you and your moms got him so blanketed that he can’t like move and shit, so like who else is gonna do it?”

  I guess Neecey wasn’t expecting Darren to say that—shit, neither was I—because a lot of the tension seemed to drain out of her and she didn’t say anything in return.

  “I’m just saying there’s like another way to look at it that doesn’t chop the little dude down so much, is all. And for the record,” Darren addressed me while standing up, “I know you been grudging on me since I took your old bike, and that you’re totally against me seeing your sis because of it. I’m full-on sorry about that, little dude, because things should be way more copacetic between you and me. But I’m not wiggin’ on you for what you said and shit. Earnestly. It was a most wicked story you told, and I was way into hearing it.”

  Fucking Darren. He was making it harder and harder for me to keep hating him.

  “Where are you going?” Neecey asked as Darren made for the door.

  “I gotta check on the damage the crew is wreaking on the homestead. But I can grab a fresh meat patch for the little dude’s eye jammy while I’m out there if you want.”

  It was about then that I finally noticed the raw juices streaming down my face. “I don’t know where the hot dog got to,” I informed Neecey, “but he’s right. This thing is pretty much thawed. I’m not sure it’s doing much good, though, so don’t bother.”

  “You know you need to put steak on a black eye so it’ll heal, Genie,” Neecey nagged.

  “Yeah, but this is a hamburger, not a steak.”

  “That’s chopped Black Angus sirloin you got on your mug, little dude,” Darren cut in, “the only thing my pops’ll grill. And sirloin is total steak, trust me.”

  “But it’s made into a hamburger,” I said, “so it might not work the right way.”

  “Genie, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Neecey proclaimed. “Darren’s getting you another one and you’re gonna wear it whether you want to or not.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Darren’s departure had left Neecey and me alone, all to ourselves, which was the absolute last place I wanted to be. Yeah, I’d fucked up royally this time, and with the way her eyes were burning holes in my face from across the room, it didn’t look like she was going to pass on the opportunity to tell me all about it. I couldn’t say I blamed her, but that wasn’t gonna make what was coming my way any easier to take, and any second now she was going to let me have it.

  So I got ready for it. But it didn’t come. Instead, she sat down next to me on the sofa and put her arm around my shoulder. Then she said, “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?” I didn’t know where she was going with this, and that made me nervous.

  “Just do it.”

  I did.

  “Eyes closed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now, I want you to do me a favor.”

  “What?” I gulped.

  “I want you to clear your mind and try to imagine what it’s like for me to have a brother like you.”

  I couldn’t be sure where she’d learned that trick, but it was one of the nastiest she’d ever pulled on me, and I hadn’t been expecting it. A brother like you. Yeah, I’d heard her whining about what it was like so many times that I knew the litany by heart: how she’d been forced to babysit me for the past three years; how we were chained together at the hip, so she could hardly go anywhere or do anything without bringing me along; how she had to look out for me and clean up after me and make sure I had something to eat for dinner and that I brushed my teeth before I went to bed; and especially how mom held her responsible for me when she was at work, so when I got into trouble or a fight, Neecey always got yelled at and grounded, too. I knew all that, just like I knew I was draining every second of joy out of her otherwise carefree adolescence. But for some reason it stuck with me this time—a brother like you—and I had to swallow hard to keep from choking up.

  “Tell me something, Genie.”

  “W-what,” I croaked.

  “Where are you supposed to be?”

  She’d changed directions on me, and I was having trouble following. “What?”

  “It’s an easy question. Where are you supposed to be?”

  “Home.”

  “Right. And who’s supposed to be watching you?”

  “No one. I’m supposed to be watching myself.”

  “Okay, so tell me, genius, if you’re supposed to be home watching yourself, then how are you going to explain that gnarly shiner of yours to mom?”

  Cold shivers of panic ripped all the way through me, because I hadn’t thought of that yet, and I had no idea how I’d pull it off.

  “Stop frowning, Genie, it makes you look simple.” Neecey sighed heavily and continued, “I so can’t even try to help you this time. Mom’s going to slaughter you, completely slaughter you, and if I try to get involved I’ll be stuck babysitting you until I graduate, and there’s nothing I can do about like any of it.”

  The gravity of it was sinking in fast; I’d hung us both. “So what are we going to tell her?” I asked.

  “We aren’t going to tell her anything, Genie—you are. You broke your promise to mom, not me, so you’re going to have to like face her all by yourself.”

  I nodded. But just because I knew I’d have to face mom alone didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.

  “You took the whole fucking cake this time, Genie,” she went on. “You realize that, don’t you?”

  I guess I had.

  “And you’re a totally untrusting piece of shit—you know that, too, right?”

  I declined to respond.

  “A dope-smuggling slut? Is that what you really think of me? And you even accused me of reading your journal? You know, sometimes you really suck.”

  “But if you didn’t read it,” I braved the waters, “then how did you know about Stacy?”

  “I met Stacy at the pool with Cynthia this summer, nimrod, and she totally asked me about you, so I just put like two and two together.”

  Okay, I felt stupid for not having thought of that, because Cynthia lived at Sunnybrook, too, and took Neecey to the pool there all the time. But at least it made me hold off on asking her whether she’d ratted me out to mom—it seemed her list of charges against me was long enough already.

  Neecey dropped her chin and exhaled harshly, but tried to be calmer when she spoke again. “Sure, mom and I are totally curious about what you write in your journal because you’ve been like all dedicated for nearly a year now, but your counselor said we’re not even supposed to like ask you about it until you come to us and tell us you’re ready to share, which we figure will be like never.”

  “That’s not true, Neecey,” I tried to protest, “I will—”

  “No you won’t, Genie, because you’re completely warped and think nobody really cares about you and that everybody’s out to get you.”

  That stung more than it should have, and the lump in my throat started to tighten again when the door creaked open and a blast of music and light flooded the room. Darren peeked his head around the door and for a second I was almost glad to see him.

  “Dudes, one burger bandage, coming up.” He smiled.r />
  Neecey stood up from the sofa, walked over to Darren, and retrieved it from him. Then she came over to me, removed the towel and the lump of soggy meat from my face, and fastened a fresh, ice-cold chopped sirloin patty in its place.

  “There,” she said. “With a little luck, you won’t look exactly like the Elephant Man for the next two weeks. You totally don’t deserve my help, though, or Darren’s either.” Neecey paused—a little too maliciously, I thought. “You have something you want to say to him, don’t you, Genie?”

  She’d just pushed a fresh hot plate of crow under my nose and it was time for me to dig in. I stood up and looked straight at Darren with my free eye. I knew I didn’t have any choice in the matter, so I bit the bullet and said, “Thanks, D, you know for—”

  He put his hand up, waving me off. “No sweat, little dude. I promised your sis I’d look out for you and you gave me a prime chance to come through. So we’re square.” Then he flipped his hair back and said, “Check it, Neece, the crew cranked up the after party and it’s totally choice. How ’bout we go kick it and get the little dude some eats? He’s gotta be full-on ravenous.”

  “I don’t know, Darren, I’m so totally pissed at him.”

  “Ah-ight, I totally get it, the little dude pissed you off severely and you’re still sore at him. But it’s like you got all the time you need to be pissed and sore tomorrow. Right now there’s a total fiesta goin’ on, and the little dude’s my guest, so I’m obliged to show him some hospitality and shit.”

  Neecey folded her arms across her chest while she mulled it over. “All right,” she finally said to Darren, “I guess he’s allowed to eat.” Then she pointed at me and said, “But don’t think you’re getting off easy, Genie, because I am so not done with you.”

  Funny, I’d never thought she was.

  “Hear that, little dude?” Darren beamed. “Official party reprieve, effective most pronto.”

  Fucking Darren. I’d always pegged him as the villain, but here he was, saving my ass again.

  The three of us walked out of the back den and into the kitchen, where the crew and a handful of girls were drinking and dancing and laughing and having what looked like an awesome time. Darren called for everyone’s attention and introduced me to them as the new paperweight champion of the world, and they all whooped and whistled and cheered. Then he sat me at the breakfast bar in the center of the kitchen and gave me a hamburger, a cooked one, with cheese and a toasted bun and ketchup and everything, and after I’d scarfed that down, he got me another. Then Squat came over and handed me half a cup of foamy beer, and just like that it was official—I was partying for the very first time in my life, and not minding it at all.

  Darren had cranked the stereo and was dancing around with Burger and Squat—popping and whopping and moon-walking on the kitchen’s white tile floor in socks they’d fetched from upstairs—and once in a while Squat would shout “D-break!” and they’d go into this crazy kick-boxing routine right on rhythm. They were lauding Darren’s triumph over Tommy Sharpe, all three of them, reenacting it to song—bragging and boasting and having a blast—and they were funny as hell to watch. Through my right eye, the one that wasn’t covered, I just glimpsed Roni sneaking into the den with a blonde in a tight red dress that left little about her figure to speculation, closing the door behind them. Chakha and Cynthia were still in their swimsuits, and every few minutes they darted into the kitchen or back outside, like Captain Caveman after one of the Teen Angels. They were both sopping wet, giggling, and blushing the whole time. I didn’t see Lyle, because he was outside at the barbecue pit manning the grill, but I saw the short, curvy brunette and the wispy redhead who were supplying him with various meats and fixings from the refrigerator and freezer. And Sticky, the pipe-cleaner klepto, had his dark hair slicked back and was wearing mirrored sunglasses, long white coveralls with a zipper down the front that was open to his waist, and about half a wheelbarrow of fake gold chains across his bird chest. He was drinking keg beer from a bucket-sized brandy snifter and entertaining not one, or two, but three dark-haired honeys with Elvis impersonations, flipping up his collar, saying, “Hey, baby, don’t make the King smack ass,” and tossing fake karate moves into the air so they all fell out laughing.

  I was mostly watching, taking in the sights and sounds of it all, and mowing down whatever edible thing chanced within my reach. I had to give it to him, Lyle could hook the grub up with the best of them, and if this was all the crew was really up to, it wasn’t anywhere near as despicable as I’d thought. Yeah, a teenage party like this was probably every parent’s worst nightmare, but it seemed Darren and the crew were just out for good times, and that they’d gotten pretty skilled at getting them.

  After a little while, Sticky sidled up next to me at the breakfast bar and said, “You totally should’ve seen yourself pillaging Razor’s nut-sack, little dude, like all berserk and out of nowhere. You’re hardcore sinister, for real.”

  Darren came around the other side of me and said, “Totally. You’ve kicked a teacher’s ass and fronted a deuce of high-school football players all by yourself—and you haven’t even started seventh grade yet. Once we get the word out, you’re gonna be the most feared kid in the history of junior high.”

  “You’re gonna be a legend, little dude,” Burger agreed from behind the refrigerator door. “Total legend.”

  I didn’t know if they were right about that and I didn’t really care. I’d never done anything to try to be popular, and I didn’t think I wanted to be, especially on the back of some watered-down bullshit like that. But if kids passed the story around and gave me less trouble because of it, then I knew I probably wouldn’t bother correcting them. That was one thing I could definitely use more of—less trouble—and letting people believe what they wanted to believe didn’t seem like the worst way to get it.

  I had to admit it, being at the after party and getting congratulated by everybody was a lot of fun, and I was having a good time. But I still felt out of place. Maybe it was because I still didn’t know what had happened with the sign or who had really done it, or because I’d proven beyond all reasonable doubt that I was the worst fucking detective the world had ever seen. Shit, Marlowe would not have appreciated my skills the tiniest little bit, and now that I thought about it, neither would my client. So maybe it felt like something was off because I’d been wrong about most everything and everyone over the past few days, and probably much longer than that. Or maybe because I realized I’d not only humiliated my sister in front of her friends by throwing another fit in public, but I’d embarrassed myself, too. Or maybe I was just having trouble accepting that people around here were being friendly to me, because they’d never been that way before. Then again, I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I was in no position to judge. Maybe I wasn’t out of place. Maybe nothing was off. Maybe all of it was just in my head.

  I’d lost track of Neecey for a while but caught sight of her as she was coming inside from the deck, telling Darren it was almost eleven-thirty and that they had to get me home. When I heard that, I stood up from my stool at the breakfast bar, finished the few dollops of froth left in my beer, and removed the chopped sirloin patty from my eye. Darren set off to round up Sticky and get the show on the road, and I headed for the bathroom to wash my face. Just as I got to the door, I felt a small, cold hand slip into mine. Yeah, I was taken by surprise because I thought she’d be long gone by now, and because I couldn’t bring myself to look at her yet because of what I’d done. But she leaned her head against my shoulder and just stayed where she was, holding my hand.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  No, I didn’t understand Stacy. I couldn’t figure out what she’d be thanking me for, or the way her mind worked, and I knew right then it would probably take me ages to grasp the littlest bit of it. But I was happy that she was standing beside me, and I was willing to take my time.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Either Sticky was drunk or he was a rotten dr
iver or he was paying too much attention to the tape deck instead of the road, because we were going too fast, veering and swerving all over the place, but he somehow managed to keep “We Are the Champions” by Queen blasting on a continuous loop throughout the entire ride. Besides Sticky, it was Darren, Neecey, Cynthia, Chakha, Stacy, and me, and the top was off Sticky’s Jeep and we were crammed together and the music was blaring and we were all singing along at the top of our lungs, as if we’d taken the party with us instead of having left it. Sticky was in the driver’s seat, Darren was in the passenger seat with Neecey in his lap, and to my left, Chakha’s and Cynthia’s arms and legs were so tangled up that it was hard to tell who was sitting on whom. You didn’t have to be Dr. Ruth to know that I’d never be Manning the Lookout again. No fucking way. But with Stacy sitting on my lap, it was kind of difficult for me to she’d a tear at its passing.

  The plan was to drop Stacy off, then me, then the others would return to Darren’s for a little while, although I didn’t ask what for, and then they’d all get in the Jeep again later and drop Neecey and Cynthia at Cynthia’s place, where they were staying tonight. It seemed like too much driving and too many trips and too much backtracking, but I had Stacy’s butt cheeks bouncing around on my thighs and we were all belting out “No time for losers, ’cause we are the chaaaaamp-yons” as loud as we could, so I just sat back and sponged it all in while it lasted.

  We pulled up in front of Stacy’s apartment, and she hopped off me, over the side of the Jeep, and onto the pavement, practically before we’d even stopped. I still hadn’t said anything to her since we’d met up in the kitchen, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just kind of sat there, twiddling my thumbs. Sticky looked over his shoulder from the driver’s seat, lifted his sunglasses, and said, “Little dude, you have to like walk her to the door, or she’ll think you got no chivalry and whatnot,” and he nodded his chin at me to get out. So that’s what I did.