A Little Bit Pyro

5: Family Feud

Just then a Gray Ford F-350 chugs by with a guy driving, and two girls with him. Lucky. But then I see the nearly black hair waving out the open window in glossy loose curls, unnaturally shiny curls. My stomach churns at the sight of them.

Nobody else notices who the truck is carrying. Jay stops cursing just after the truck passes by, because the black Benz pulls out after them, following Millie, Erica, and Landon down the street.

The guy forgot to turn his headlights on. 

Chapter 5: Family Feud

The desire to follow Millie home strikes me, in case the Incredible Hulk is following her. Just to make sure she gets there safe. But I don’t want to come off as a stalker.  And if I knew where the girl lives, I might start doing daily drive-bys which would brand me as a creep for the rest of my life.

By the time we have the doors to my rebuilt Mustang shut, with all arms and legs inside the car, both Landon and huge dude are long gone, so following no longer an option anyway.

All the way home I have an almost-smile on my face as I relive the most successful interlude I’ve had with a girl since puberty hit.  That’s saying something, considering I only said two sentences, and she didn’t say anything back. And she did end up crying—harder than I’ve ever seen a girl cry—but for the first time I didn’t take off at the first sign of trouble.

That must be what this feeling—this lightness in my chest—is from. I’m proud of myself, for sticking it out, and taking a huge step forward in my understanding of girls. Well, understanding is too strong of a word. All I know is that I hugged a girl, who I brought to tears, and let her use my shirt as a snot rag. When she finished crying, she smiled and said thanks. Big improvement over hating me forever.  

Don’t ask me why it worked though. It makes no sense.

Maybe, armed with this knowledge, I can have another crack at Wendy. I’ll even bring tissues so she doesn’t have to ruin my clothes.

When I step into the house thoughts of tonight’s triumph are temporarily brushed aside. The kitchen light is on, and I know he’s in there waiting for me. I head upstairs instead, but Dad’s voice stops me on the third step.

“Leo, come in here.”

He’s leaning against the counter with two cookies in one hand, and milk in the other.

“How was your day?” he asks after a gulp of his skim milk.

I shrug then turn toward the fridge. Might as well knock off my midnight hunger pangs while I’m here.

“You’re late,” says dunking his cookie in the milk, like he’s got all day to talk.

I check my watch. Eleven thirty-four. I roll my eyes before turning to the contents of the fridge once again.

“Aren’t you in a hurry?” I ask, digging deeper, moving aside Tupperware containers of rice with beans, and an unidentifiable casserole.

“Yes, I am.  I’m also worried about my son, and right now that’s more important.” 

 I sigh with my back still to him, and continue searching through the crowded shelves, looking for something less than a week old, and appetizing.

“Your mother spoke with the principal today.”

He pauses, waiting for some kind of reaction from me, but I don’t give him one. I Forage with more concentration than necessary. He speaks again.

“Did you do it, Leo?”

I straighten my back and shake my head “no”, but dive back in when I see one of my favorite noodle and tomato based sauce concoctions. I push aside what used to be a ham sandwich to pull out the dish.