Bullet Point Read Online Free PDF

the house was dark. Wyatt slowed down, almost turned into the driveway, but instead kept going, not from fear of Rusty’s little automatic, or fear of anything, really: he just didn’t want to go there. He drove down Main Street, all closed up for the night, gradually began to feel more like himself. His cell phone rang. He saw his mom’s number on the screen and didn’t answer.
    Wyatt ended up parked outside the Mannions’ farmhouse. An upstairs window opened and Mrs. Mannion looked out. A minute or so later, Dub came outside, wearing a ski jacket and pajama bottoms. He opened the passenger-side door and slid in.
    “Hey,” he said.
    “Hey.”
    “I’m real sorry about that Bridger thing. I didn’t have a clue about them only having one spot.”
    “Didn’t think you did.”
    “My old man’s so fucking organized.”
    “That’s good.”
    “I don’t even want to go anymore.”
    “That just proves you’re dumb.”
    “You go. You take the position. You’re better anyway. I can’t hit the curveball for shit, and that means I’ll wash out sooner than later.”
    “Shut up.”
    Dub glanced over. “Hey,” he said. “What’s with your face?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Don’t look like nothing.”
    Wyatt took a deep breath and shivered all of a sudden, even though he was no longer cold.
    “C’mon inside,” Dub said. “It’s cold.”
    “Nah.”
    “I’m freezing my ass off.”
    “Then go.”
    “Nope,” said Dub, sitting back, like he was actually getting comfortable.
    Dub was very stubborn, always had been. They ended up going into the Mannions’ house together.

5
    MRS. MANNION, wearing a quilted pink robe, her round face glistening with some sort of clear cream, made hot chocolate. They sat around the Mannions’ kitchen table—Wyatt, Dub, Mrs. Mannion. It was warm in the Mannions’ house, much warmer than home, and Wyatt felt no drafts; his place was full of drafts.
    “Hot chocolate okay?” said Mrs. Mannion.
    Dub grunted.
    Wyatt said, “Yeah, thanks.”
    “Not too hot?”
    “No,” Wyatt said. “Just right.”
    “So,” said Mrs. Mannion, “first thing would be a call to your mom, right?”
    Wyatt shook his head.
    “She’ll be worried,” said Mrs. Mannion. “You know that.”
    Wyatt knew, but he didn’t admit it out loud.
    “Can’t he stay here for the night?” Dub said.
    “Of course. Longer if he wants. But he still needs to call his mom.”
    “She’ll be asleep,” Wyatt said.
    “No she won’t,” said Mrs. Mannion. “Proves you’ve got a lot to learn about mothers.” Wyatt gazed into his hot chocolate, thinking: Rusty will answer for sure. “Tell you what,” Mrs. Mannion said. “I’ll call.”
    “Aw, Mom,” said Dub.
    “Don’t ‘Aw, Mom’ me.” Mrs. Mannion reached for the phone and dialed. Rusty had the kind of voice that carried through the phone speaker, and Wyatt clearly heard: “Yeah?” Mrs. Mannion stuck her jaw out a little. “Linda, please. It’s Judy Mannion.” A second or two went by and then Mrs. Mannion said, “Linda? Wyatt’s over here. He’s fine.” She listened for a few moments and said, “Good idea.” Then she hung up and turned to Wyatt. “Your mom’s coming over.”
    “Why?”
    “Why? What kind of a question is that?”
    “I’m going to bed,” Dub said.
     
    Mrs. Mannion washed the mugs and stood them upside down in the drying rack. “I’ll be pushing off, too,” she said. “Invite your mom inside when she gets here.”
    But when Wyatt saw the headlights coming, he went out to the driveway to meet her. His mom drove an old Cherokee—old and wrecked, rusted out and burning oil, but not yet quite paid off. Wyatt got in the passenger side and sat down. Linda’s face was puffy from crying, and she was no crier.
    “I’m staying at Dub’s,” Wyatt said.
    His mom nodded. “Okay, I understand. I just wanted tomake sure you were all right.”
    “Yeah, I’m all right.”
    “No, you’re not,” said his mom. “Look at