Adam Selzer Read Online Free PDF Page B

locusts.
    The games usually ended around ten o’clock, so when ten-thirty rolled around I had my dad give me a ride to the party.
    “This isn’t going to be too crazy a party, is it, Leon?” he asked. “We’re not going to have to pick you up at the police station, are we?”
    “It’s a pizza place, Dad, not a bar,” I said. “I’ve been here before and never gotten in any trouble.” This was only partially true; a couple of times my friends and I had gotten rowdy enough that they’d asked us to leave. This was one of those things my parents just didn’t need to know.
    “Still, it’s a hangout,” he said. “A lot of times places like that have trouble with, you know…gangs and stuff.”
    I laughed. “You worry too much, Dad. There aren’t any gangs in Cornersville.”
    Cornersville Trace, which is the official name of our town on all of the maps, though everyone just calls it Cornersville, is a pretty small place. It’s big enough to have a mall and everything, but it’s just a regular suburb of a fairly small city, not the kind of place where there’s a whole lot of gang violence. There are always a handful of kids who seem to
think
they’re in gangs, but as far as I can tell, all they ever do is stand around outside the 7-Eleven trying to look tough by giving the finger to people who drive by. If they ever meet a real gang member, I’m pretty sure they’ll pee themselves.
    As a matter of fact, the worst problems Cornersville really ever has are high schoolers drinking and younger kids adding graffiti to the walls in drainage ditches. But my parents and all their friends are constantly afraid; my dad has even gone so far as to try to invent a security system for the house. The day he installed it, I accidentally opened the door without using the special key he’d given me and was greeted by a siren. The alarm also did something to alert the police, who showed up ten minutes later. Dad explained to them what had happened, and they explained to him that they’d feel a lot better if he just bought a security system instead of building his own, something I’d been trying to tell him the whole time. He listened to them, though.
    We pulled into the parking lot, and as I was unbuckling my seat belt, he said, “Now, you know what to do if someone offers you drugs, right?”
    “Say ‘Thank you very much,’” I said. “Even if it’s a kind of drug I already have.”
    He gave me a glare. “It’s just because we love you, Leon.”
    “I know, Dad. See ya!”
    I climbed out and shut the door. According to recent findings, the classic “It’s just because we love you” excuse has been in use by parents since the Iron Age, and it’s still expected to be the end of the conversation. It doesn’t work both ways, though. If I explained that I lied about my middle name because I love them and don’t want people to think that they were a couple of kooks who should be sent to parenting skills classes, I’m pretty sure it would get me grounded.
    I stepped into Fat Johnny’s and saw that it was already full of people from school. A couple of the would-be gang-bangers were playing one of the shootout video games, and Jamie Jenson was cheating at Skee-Ball, standing right at the end of the ramp and putting the balls directly into the fifty hole. Practically every table was full, mostly with people I recognized. I spotted Brian Carlson, the pyro, and Edie Scaduto, the communist, sitting on the same side of a booth, cuddling, which left the other half of the booth open. I took the liberty of sitting there.
    “You guys got here fast,” I said.
    “We snuck out at halftime,” said Brian, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face. “The Monks were getting creamed.”
    “They always get creamed,” I said. “I didn’t have to show up to see that.”
    “Smart man,” said Brian.
    “I approve of football,” said Edie. “It’s working-class.” She was wearing a black turtleneck that matched her