Unspeakable Things(61)
Dad stood his ground, quiet.
Goblin must have sensed the same thing he had in the liquor store, because he made that identical cuk-cuk-cuk of a sound in the back of his throat, like something small was knocking to get out of his voice box. He spat a wad of snoose before sliding back inside his car and slamming the door.
He didn’t do the civilized backup onto the belly of the driveway so he could leave facing forward. Instead, he chunked down the gearshift on his steering wheel, slamming it into reverse, and tore out so hot that I smelled burning rubber.
“I have a phone call to make,” Dad said to Mom, “and then we’ll leave for Duluth.”
CHAPTER 39
Frank biked over the hill of my driveway like the sun rising. It’s dorky, but that’s how happy I felt. I had a friend coming to my house to see me and only me. Even when Lynn and I were hanging out, she hardly came over, but here was Frank cruising toward my house like he wanted to be here.
I pumped my hand waving at him, not even bothering to hide how excited I was.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Hurry up, Frank!” I yelled. “These birthday invitations aren’t going to make themselves!”
That was the ruse I’d used to get his mom to let him bike with me two days in a row, that I’d needed help making invitations for my party on Friday. I didn’t know if Frank was still sore about yesterday, but he’d agreed to come once his mom okayed it.
My birthday party would be held at Lake Corona Park. Besides the one-story metal slide that deposited you right into the deep water, the park had a dock and a raft with two diving levels. Mom said it’d be fine to hold my party there, but we hadn’t discussed invitations, and then I’d forgotten to ask before they skipped town. I decided to make my own and then bike them directly to everyone’s mailboxes. I’d invite exactly the same people as had been at Lynn’s party, plus Frank and minus Andrea because no way could I bike to Kimball.
Frank held his hands toward the sky and coasted down the second half of the driveway. The morning sun glinted off his glorious BMX. He whooped as he flew down, his longish hair flying straight behind him. When it was almost too late to stop, he braked, screeching up loose rocks onto my legs. His cheeks were ruddy and his smile ferocious.
“How about them apples?” he asked, out of breath.
“Those are nice apples,” I agreed. “Now come on into the living room so we can get started.”
He let his bike drop onto the edge of Mom’s flower bed. I’d have said something, but it was only on the rock perimeter. Meander rubbed against one of his legs and Bimbo the other. He stopped to pet both. “I’m already working.”
“Petting kitties?”
“Naw.” He stood and shielded his eyes from the sun, pointing toward his farm, which we could see blinks of through the tree line. “I’m starting tomorrow in the field. My dad said he’ll pay me three dollars an hour to pick rocks.”
“That’s three times what I make for babysitting for half the work!”
His chin drew back into his neck. “You ever pick rocks? They’re heavy.”
“Whatever.” I was mathing it as I walked into the house, Frank on my heels. In ten hours, I could make $30. One week, $150! “Do you think he needs more help?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
I could tell he didn’t much care about my finances. “If you help me get a job picking rocks, I’ll let you join my kitty clinic.”
“Does it pay?”
“Not a red cent.” I led him into the dining room. “Hey, sorry about yesterday, about getting you in trouble with Goblin.”
“It’s fine.” Frank nodded as if that settled it. He pointed at the dining room table, where I’d laid out the art materials. “You’re going to make the invitations from scratch?”
“We are. Starting with one for you.” I beamed as I held up a white sheet of paper. “What do you want it to say?”
“When’s your party again?”
“Friday.” I’d told him when I called him this morning.
He slid his hands into the rear pockets of his cutoffs. “Nuh-uh. No can do. I have to work.”
His words were casual, but my cheeks burned. I’d actually already made an invitation for him. It was hidden under the pile of construction paper so I could surprise him with it like magic. “Friday’s my actual birthday.”
“That’s cool,” he said, dropping into a chair. “Save me some cake.”
I sat next to him. I’d laid out glitter, glue, sequins, yarn, a hole puncher, and the construction paper. We began cutting out colored circles, hearts, squares, whatever seemed fun. I wrote the party information on the inside, and Frank glued on the decorations.
This close, I noticed he had eyes like a girl, with long lashes. I liked the warmth of him next to me. We leaned into each other, swapping silly knock-knock jokes. We grew so comfortable that Frank told me about his friends back in Rochester and how much he missed them. I spilled about Sephie acting weird since December and that I was going to be a writer when I grew up. He announced he was going to join the United States Air Force. I bragged about the Apple IIe computer I’d learned programming on last fall, and he topped me by telling me about the Oregon Trail game his old school had.