“You fell on it pretty hard.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. His first encounter with a wild animal and he’d killed it.
“Oh, gag!” Livvy slapped a hand over her nose and mouth. “Can dead things rot that fast?”
But for Socko the sudden putrid smell was good news—make that great news. He knew that to put off predators, opossums could emit a rotten smell.
“I know you didn’t mean to kill it, Socko, and it’s only a giant rat, but ten minutes ago it was alive,” Livvy said softly. “Sad. You think we should bury it?”
Socko saw a paw twitch. “Hey, watch this.” He held his open hands over the dead rat. “Rise!” he commanded.
The word had barely left his lips when the possum yawned and scrabbled to its feet. After giving its stiff fur a shake, it turned its back on the pile of dead trees and ambled slowly away into the scraped landscape.
“Socko! What—what just happened?” Livvy sounded suspicious.
He shrugged. “A miracle.”
He could tell she knew he had tricked her somehow, but she hadn’t figured it out yet.
“I don’t want to learn to skate anymore,” she said.
“Fine.” It had gotten too hot for skating in the pool anyway, and he hadn’t wanted to teach her to skate in the first place. They went back to his house, where Livvy told the General all about the “giant rat.”
The old man listened intently. “Sounds more like a possum to me.”
Socko reached into the refrigerator to grab the milk. “Yeah, it was.”
“Wait! It was an opossum, and you knew it all along?” Livvy asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“Socko! That was a mean trick! Thanks a lot for making me look stupid.”
“You were stupid. Who doesn’t know the difference between a rat and a possum?”
Livvy turned and flew out the front door, slamming it hard behind her.
Through the window, Socko and the General watched her surge across the street. “Definitely not a limp noodle,” said his great-grandfather.
Socko didn’t get it. If he’d tricked Damien, his friend would’ve said, “Good one!” and then gotten him back for it later. And who cared about looking stupid? He looked stupid all the time.
24
INVINCIBLE
When he woke up the next morning, Socko rolled off his cot and walked over to the window. It looked pretty quiet across the street.
Maybe no one was stirring at Livvy’s house, but the day had started a while ago at his. Delia was standing in the driveway dressed for work. Paper hat pinned to her hair, she was staring at the dirt in the yard, which had yet to show a hint of green.
Socko pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, shoved his feet into his sneakers, and snuck down the stairs.
“Boo!” rasped a creaky voice.
Socko clutched his chest. “Don’t do that!”
The General was already at the window, seated in his wheelchair. He was wearing his GI pajamas (today’s baggy boxers were splotched with American flags). “Delia Marie’s outside lecturing the grass seed,” the old man said. “Seeds need regular watering, not crazy talk. Tell her to buy herself a hose.”
But Socko planned to talk to her about Damien, not lawns. He pushed open the front door.
“And you just have to work a little harder!” his mother said, shaking a finger at the yard.
He closed the door behind him. “Mom? You do know you’re talking to dirt, right?”
Delia clenched her fists. “We traded everything so we could have a lawn. We had friends. I could walk to my job.” She held out an arm. “Get over here. I need a little sugar.”
Hoping no one across the street was watching, Socko trotted over to her. His mother’s arm hugged his waist. His arm draped her shoulders. “Hey, Mom, are you shrinking or something?”
“It sure feels that way.” The arm around his waist tightened. “Socko? I gotta tell you something.”
“Yeah?” The worry-sick feeling sat like a weight in his stomach.
“I walked by the old place yesterday,” she said. “I haven’t seen Junebug for a couple of days and I thought maybe Damien would talk to me if he was by himself. Lucky thing Mr. Marvin was in the lobby to let me in.”
“Guess he didn’t get evicted yet.” Socko wanted to slow the story down, afraid to hear the “something” Delia had to tell him.
She didn’t seem to be in a hurry either. “Can you believe it? He said there are new people in 4A.”
Socko felt strange, like someone else was wearing his clothes. And where could Damien go now when he needed to hide?
“The elevator was broke, of course. I had to climb the stairs—I sure don’t miss that.”
“Did you see Junebug?”
“No. Her aunt opened the door with the chain on—you know how she does. She said Junebug and Rapp had had a big fight, and now they were out somewhere making up. But she did have some good news. Junebug finished her nurse’s aide program, number two in her class!”
“Did she get a job?”
“Not yet. Her aunt said she’s filled out loads of applications, but so far nothing.”
“Then what was the point?” He stepped out from under his mother’s arm so he could see her face. “What about Damien?”
She rested her broad back against the car door and sighed. “I knocked and he came out—his mom and her boyfriend were home, yelling like usual. Boy, was that kid jumpy. He kept checking the hall, checking the stairwell door—all the time checking. I told him you want to talk to him. He said talking wouldn’t help.”
“Take me back home just once, Mom. I gotta see him!”
“I am not taking you back, and don’t even think of trying to get there on your own. A clean break is the only way.”
“He’s still my best friend!”
“Listen, he sent you something.” Delia opened the car door and reached into the glove compartment. “Here.” She turned around and flopped Damien’s Superman cap into his hand.
Socko stared at it. “Why’s he giving this to me?” Without Damien’s head inside it looked flat, like it had been run over. “This hat makes him invincible.”
“I don’t know, he just said to give it to you. He’s wearing a new hat these days.”
The cap’s original blue had faded to gray. On the inside, printed on the sweatband in ballpoint pen, were the words “Propty of Damien Rivera. YOU TOUCH YOU DIE!”
“Damien never takes this hat off.”
His mother lifted the cap out of his hands. “Things change.” She reached up and tried to put the cap on his head, but he pulled away.
“If you don’t want to wear it, I could use a little invincibility!” She plopped the hat on her own head and pointed at the lawn. “Grow!”
Socko didn’t laugh. “Seeds need water, Mom. Buy a hose.”
“Okay, I’ll buy a hose.” She took the hat off again and rubbed her thumb slowly across the embroidered S. “We’re on our own here, Socko. You, me, and the old man.”
“I hate it here.”
“Maybe this isn’t the dream I hoped it would be, but it’s still way better than what we had. The Kludge is an ugly old place, a dead end, and I’m glad we’re out of there.” He didn’t answer. “Come on, Socko,” she begged. “I’m not getting much backup from the General, but you I count on.”
He looked away.
Something bumped his arm. “Go on, take this.” His mother was holding Damien’s hat out to him. “He wants you to have it.”
He was locked in an upstairs bathroom when he finally set the hat on his head. Nothing about it felt or looked right. He could see in the mirror that it sat too high—Damien sure had a small head. He flipped the cap off, adjusted the strap to its largest setting, and put it on. He pulled the bill way down on his forehead. This was the way Damien wore it.
It fit better now, but it was still Damien’s hat. Why had his friend sent it to him?
Maybe Damien didn’t nee
d it anymore. If he was hanging out with the Tarantulas, he probably thought he was invincible for real. But he had to know that with Rapp things could go bad fast. No, if Damien was wearing a Tarantula hat, he was just going along to get along.
Or maybe sending the hat was a message. But if it was, Socko couldn’t figure it out. Did it mean Damien needed help? If only he could talk to him.
He wandered back to his room, leaned on the windowsill, and stared at the house across the street.
As he watched, its front door opened. Livvy trudged across the street, her fists clenched.
The doorbell rang. “Socko?” the General yelled. “Your girlfriend’s here!”
Socko didn’t answer. In a few seconds he heard the front door open. “He’s in the john,” said the General. “I think he fell in.”
Socko was miming bashing his head into the wall when he heard Livvy sob. He stopped mid-bash. What was that all about? He eased himself down three steps, to the point where the staircase turned, and sat down. He couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear the conversation.
“They promised! They absolutely promised!”
“Who promised what?” asked the General.
“My parents! They promised I could always go to Haworth Prep, no matter what.”
“Circumstances change,” said the General. “I doubt they built Moon Ridge thinking they’d only sell one house. Unless I miss my guess, their business is in trouble.”
“That’s not it. They think public school will be good for me, a broadening experience.”
“Nothing wrong with public school.” The General wasn’t offering any sympathy.
“But I have to go back to Haworth. All my friends are there. And it’s ten times better than a public school.”
“We need a more up-to-date authority. Socko? Pick your butt up off that step and get down here.”
Socko jumped. How did the General know he was parked on the stairs?
Livvy was sitting on the floor with her back against the door when Socko came down. “Are you going to tell me how great public school is?” she asked.
“It’s not great, but it’s okay,” he said. “I’ve gone to public school all the way—and look at me!”
She was looking at him—more specifically, at his hat.
“So what do you want to know?” he asked before she could make a comment.
She squeezed the handkerchief that usually rode around in the General’s pocket—he must have passed it to her during the tearfest. Socko only hoped the old guy hadn’t used it first. “What’s public school like?” she asked.
“It’s like … school. You do stuff with words and numbers.”
She leaned forward. “Will they have algebra? I did pre-algebra last year.”
“I guess.” All the kids Socko knew at GC were still struggling with post-arithmetic.
“Do you think they’ll have a debating team?”
“We didn’t have one at my old school.” All “debates” at GC ended with two teachers pulling the debaters apart. “Does it matter?”
“I was team captain at Haworth.”
“I’ll bet you were,” said the General, folding his hands over his belly.
“What about school uniforms?”
“You wore a uniform? Is Haworth some kind of Catholic school?”
“No, just very traditional. At Haworth we wear plaid pleated skirts and white blouses with the school emblem embroidered on the pocket.” She ran a finger across her chest where the emblem would be, then blotted her eyes with the handkerchief. “Izzy and I were signed up for all the same classes this year.”
Socko put a hand on Damien’s Superman lid. “That’s tough.” Since Damien had been held back, they wouldn’t have been in any of the same classes. But he and his best friend would’ve still hung out together.
“Is Haworth one of those girls-only schools?” asked the General.
She nodded. “It’ll be kind of strange being in classes with guys.”
“Lucky for you Socko’s here to give you a little real-life practice. By the time you get to public school you’ll know what to expect.”
Livvy wadded up the handkerchief again. “That ball cap he’s wearing is putrid! Don’t tell me it’s public-school-boy typical.”
“Yup,” said the General. “Along with stinky sneakers and sweaty T-shirts.”
Livvy sniffed. “I have so much to look forward to …”
Socko saw her lips tremble. She stood up quickly and opened the door.
“Glad we could cheer you up!” said the General as the door closed behind her.
They watched Livvy cross the street, but she only made it as far as her own driveway, where she began shooting hoops. She threw the ball hard, like she was mad. It didn’t improve her aim any.
Socko ate breakfast with his great-grandfather, then looked out the window again. She was still there.
“You could sneak past her, maybe,” said the General.
Socko was getting used to the old man reading his mind. “It wouldn’t work.”
“Chicken.”
She whirled around the moment she heard his front door open.
“Just going for a walk,” he said.
“I’ll come with you.” She set the ball down in the driveway. “I’m tired of not hitting the hoop.”
They walked in silence until they reached a barely developed part of the subdivision.
Basements had been dug, the displaced dirt heaped in crumbling mounds. Socko had assumed the soil at Moon Ridge was pure sand, but just inches below the surface it turned to brick red clay. Having been excavated first, the sand was at the bottom of the piles. The exterior of each mound was pure clay.
In a rain, these mounds would turn slick as heck. Add a large square of cardboard and they’d be decent sledding hills.
Damien would have seen the possibilities immediately. Livvy didn’t even seem to notice the mounds, let alone their potential. “It’s getting hot out here,” she complained.
He was about to turn for home when he happened to look past a fence at the end of the cul-de-sac. “Hey, I see green!”
She shaded her eyes. “That’s Lorelei Meadows. My dad worked on that subdivision a few years ago.”
Socko sprinted to the fence, stepped up on the bottom rail, and threw a leg over.
Livvy followed him slowly. “What are you doing?”
“Checking it out. Is it illegal or something?” He dropped to the other side of the fence, landing soundlessly on a thick carpet of grass.
“Illegal, no. Pointless, yes.” She boosted herself up onto the fence. “Hey, wait for me!”
25
THE PERP
Socko dropped to one knee and brushed his palm across the dense blades of grass.
“You look like a pilgrim.” Livvy perched on top of the fence, legs swinging.
“It’s not like this where I come from,” he said, sitting back on his heels. The road and houses and sidewalks were nearly identical to the ones in Moon Ridge, but here the blank spaces in between had been colored in with the green of lawns and trees, dotted with the bright pixels of flowers. He was looking at his own neighborhood three or four years down the road—the Moon Ridge Estates his mother had imagined when she stared at the brochure.
He crossed the narrow strip of grass and hit a sidewalk, which he followed past a house with a sundial on its lawn. Livvy hopped down off the fence and ran after him.
The next house had a bed of purple flowers planted in front. Individual flowers were dropping and lifting like piano keys played by an invisible hand.
“It’s just bees,” Livvy said.
“Just bees? Eight out of every ten bites of food you put in your mouth was made possible by bees.”
“Thank you, O magnificent bees!” Livvy lifted her palms and bowed from the waist. “I get it that everything is green, but this is so completely ordinary.” She lifted her arms and let them fall. “I mean, what’s here? Some lawns, a few flowers, trees s
o little they need sticks to hold them up. We had real trees in the Heights … grandfather oaks.”
So it wasn’t the Amazon rain forest—or even the Heights. It was still way better than what Socko was used to.
From behind a nearby house he heard the whoop and splash of kids in a pool. Judging by their voices, the swimmers were probably older—high schoolers, maybe? Curious, he headed toward the noisy house—and that’s when he saw it. Lying in the grass, one wheel resting on a coil of garden hose, was a cherry red and black ripstick.
He pointed it out to Livvy. “I saw a board just like that by one of the houses in Moon Ridge.”
“Really? Maybe kids from here are coming over to Moon Ridge to check out the dirt!”
Ignoring her joke, he ventured up to the driveway, then stopped.
“Socko? What is it?”
He stared into the dark cave of the house’s open garage, letting his eyes adjust. A new SUV was parked on one side. On the other wall were shelves. He sidled a little closer to the house, stopping near a tall bush halfway up the driveway. “Look at that.”
Livvy peered into the garage too. “Look at what? We’re in somebody’s yard, Socko.”
“See those paint cans lined up on that shelf? Take a look at the empty spot closest to the door.”
Livvy squinted, then her eyes opened wide. “Ohmygosh!”
Although the interior of the garage was in deep shadow, sunlight hit the end of the last shelf. Even from the sidewalk it was easy to see that the low wooden shelf was stained with dark, rusty rings too small to be made by cans of house paint.
A door at the back of the garage swung open and a tan, sun-blond guy in wet Hawaiian-print trunks came in from the backyard. He was fifteen, sixteen, easy. As he sauntered over to a refrigerator near the garage’s large open front door, Socko and Livvy ducked behind the bush.
“Go on, Socko,” Livvy whispered. “Confront him!”
“I don’t know …”
“Come on. You’re tough. You’ve seen a guy shot through the heart, point-blank. And you’re way taller than he is.”
Summer on the Moon Page 14
