could calm him down and get him settled. "Remember how Pandazilla created Aquahorse?" I asked. It was this totally silly memory. We'd been playing together in the backyard and this gigantic stuffed panda—we named it Pandazilla because it was the bad guy for our army toys and superheroes—picked up a horse to throw it at something and instead Jesse tripped and the horse went flying into the wading pool. Jesse was four and this was, like, the height of comedy for him. The horse was taking a bath, we decided, and then we decided that the horse loved the water and we named it Aquahorse. I could always count on that stupid memory to make him laugh.
It worked again this time. "The horse took a bath," he said, sniffling a little bit.
"Yeah, that's right." And pretty soon he was doing all right and I helped him wipe up his tears with the edge of his shirt and we went off to play.
Later that night, when we were home and tucked in bed, I asked Mom why Dad had told us the story about the dead girl.
"Dad just likes for you to know these things. It's important to him."
"Why?"
A troubled look flitted over Mom's face for just a second. Looking back, that was probably my first clue that she was going to leave him.
Us.
"It's just important to him," she said, in a tone of voice that added,
Beats the hell out of me, too.
That story—that day—always pops into my brain whenever I come to SAMMPark, which is actually a lot these days because the park is the Council's official outside-of-school meeting place. It's big enough that we can always find someplace to sneak off to when we need to discuss whatever mayhem we're going to concoct next.
Flip picks me up in his beat-up old orange coupe. We're the last to arrive; everyone else is already at the park. He keeps up a running stream of commentary about the ceremony at the school and all of the great ideas he'd had to disrupt it.
"But out of respect for a fellow Fool, I held back," he admits, then waits for me to fall all over myself thanking him. I'm not in the mood, though, so I just sit there.
"We should do something with the key," he says after a moment, pretending that the silence never happened. "I mean, there's got to be
something
we can do with it, right?"
I think about the key. It's actually on my key chain now, because ... Well, because it's a
key,
right? Not much else to do with it. And besides...
"If we do something with the key, they'll know it was me."
Flip's eyebrows shoot up. "Very true, Fool Kross! Very true. Nicely done. Good show."
Just then, we pass the big sign that reads, KEEP BROOKDALE BEAUTIFUL ! I bite my lip because Flip is about to say...
"You know the problem with that sign, Kross? It pre—"
"'It presupposes that Brookdale was beautiful to begin with.'"
"Guess I say that a lot, huh?"
Only, like, every freakin' time we drive past it.
"The truth must be spoken." He steers into the parking lot at SAMMPark. "Let us disembark!"
Just inside the entrance is the statue of Susan Ann Marchetti. As he does every time he comes to the park, Flip saunters over to it and slaps it on the ass. "Hey, there, Susie baby!" he calls out. "Lookin' good, sweet thang!"
I hate it when he does that.
"So hot for someone made out of cold stone," he says on his way back to me. "I would have hit that, Kross. I really would have."
I almost tell him that he
wishes
he could have hit that. That Fam only hangs out with him because she's a freshman and she likes having a boyfriend who can drive. But there's no point to it. I mean, Flip once told me that he
knows
Fam is only his girlfriend because it's convenient. He doesn't care. He just likes having someone who hangs on his every word.
But I don't say anything because Flip'll just come back with something I have no answer for. So instead, we head further into the park for the party.
When I say the Council's having a party, you have to realize that a Council party is just the six of us hanging out at SAMMPark until it's
It worked again this time. "The horse took a bath," he said, sniffling a little bit.
"Yeah, that's right." And pretty soon he was doing all right and I helped him wipe up his tears with the edge of his shirt and we went off to play.
Later that night, when we were home and tucked in bed, I asked Mom why Dad had told us the story about the dead girl.
"Dad just likes for you to know these things. It's important to him."
"Why?"
A troubled look flitted over Mom's face for just a second. Looking back, that was probably my first clue that she was going to leave him.
Us.
"It's just important to him," she said, in a tone of voice that added,
Beats the hell out of me, too.
That story—that day—always pops into my brain whenever I come to SAMMPark, which is actually a lot these days because the park is the Council's official outside-of-school meeting place. It's big enough that we can always find someplace to sneak off to when we need to discuss whatever mayhem we're going to concoct next.
Flip picks me up in his beat-up old orange coupe. We're the last to arrive; everyone else is already at the park. He keeps up a running stream of commentary about the ceremony at the school and all of the great ideas he'd had to disrupt it.
"But out of respect for a fellow Fool, I held back," he admits, then waits for me to fall all over myself thanking him. I'm not in the mood, though, so I just sit there.
"We should do something with the key," he says after a moment, pretending that the silence never happened. "I mean, there's got to be
something
we can do with it, right?"
I think about the key. It's actually on my key chain now, because ... Well, because it's a
key,
right? Not much else to do with it. And besides...
"If we do something with the key, they'll know it was me."
Flip's eyebrows shoot up. "Very true, Fool Kross! Very true. Nicely done. Good show."
Just then, we pass the big sign that reads, KEEP BROOKDALE BEAUTIFUL ! I bite my lip because Flip is about to say...
"You know the problem with that sign, Kross? It pre—"
"'It presupposes that Brookdale was beautiful to begin with.'"
"Guess I say that a lot, huh?"
Only, like, every freakin' time we drive past it.
"The truth must be spoken." He steers into the parking lot at SAMMPark. "Let us disembark!"
Just inside the entrance is the statue of Susan Ann Marchetti. As he does every time he comes to the park, Flip saunters over to it and slaps it on the ass. "Hey, there, Susie baby!" he calls out. "Lookin' good, sweet thang!"
I hate it when he does that.
"So hot for someone made out of cold stone," he says on his way back to me. "I would have hit that, Kross. I really would have."
I almost tell him that he
wishes
he could have hit that. That Fam only hangs out with him because she's a freshman and she likes having a boyfriend who can drive. But there's no point to it. I mean, Flip once told me that he
knows
Fam is only his girlfriend because it's convenient. He doesn't care. He just likes having someone who hangs on his every word.
But I don't say anything because Flip'll just come back with something I have no answer for. So instead, we head further into the park for the party.
When I say the Council's having a party, you have to realize that a Council party is just the six of us hanging out at SAMMPark until it's
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