Stick Read Online Free PDF Page B

complete pitch that was fierce, absolute. And beyond them stretched the twisted umbilical of smoke that corkscrewed away from the handpop as it ascended and then flared open like an eye, a swinging pendulum of phosphorus that dangled beneath a bat-shaped veil.
    It was amazing.
    The boys stood on the edge of the bank with their chins up, leaning into each other with arms hugging around their shoulders, as though they were watching something that could never be seen this way again.
    I rolled down my window and yelled, “Come on, you dumbshits. Someone’s got to have called the cops by now.”
    They turned and began moving back up toward the car, but it was like slow motion. Paul stuffed the gym towel into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Bosten climbed into the backseat and Paul sat up front next to me. The bag was open and I could still smell the odor of Paul’s sweat-soaked basketball stuff steaming out from between the teeth of the zipper.
    I rolled the magazine up and dropped it on top of his clothes. “Here.”
    â€œ Penthouse ?   What were you doing in here all by yourself             with this, Stickie?” Paul laughed and pushed my shoulder.
    â€œNothing.” I backed the car away from the beach bank. It jerked. I wasn’t a very good driver. “We need you to hide it for us for a day or so.”
    â€œYeah,” Bosten dopily affirmed from the backseat.
    I was having a hard time getting the gearshift up into first.
    â€œBut, Buck, you better goddamn give it back to us,” I said.
    Paul pushed his bag down onto the floor between his feet and opened his door.
    â€œWait,” he said. “My sock. My fucking sock. I                        left it on the beach.”
    I reached across him to grab his door, to try to stop Paul Buckley from getting out of the car. When I did, I popped the clutch and stalled out the engine.
    â€œYou are stupid, Buck.”
    He slipped away and ran down toward the beach.
    The UFO was sinking lower, dropping closer to the blackness of the Sound.
    Then Bosten pushed the seat forward and slid out after Paul.
    I sighed as I restarted the car.
    They were both completely stoned, and I couldn’t help worrying that we were going to end up in deep trouble.
    I sat there for what seemed like half an hour with the engine idling, nervously watching the rearview mirror for the flashing lights of police cars. I was certain they’d be coming for us. And all the while, the glow from the handpop dimmed away as it sank into the sea. Finally, I turned the motor off and went outside to look for my brother and his friend.
    I found them. They had fallen asleep on the wet ground of the bank, right next to Paul’s stinking sock.
    Bosten was lying on his back, a look of complete peace and contentment on his face; and Paul was sleeping with his head on Bosten’s shoulder, using it as a pillow. I wished I had a camera so I could take a picture to show them how stupid they both looked.
    I kicked Paul on his butt with the toe of my Converse.
    He inhaled sharply and sat up.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWake up, Buck.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou’re high. Get back in the car.”
    Then I kicked Bosten, too.
    â€œAnd don’t forget your goddamned sock.”
    And Paul argued groggily, “That was     one            of my only team socks, Stick. And what if some cop found it and realized that a Wilson basketball player had been involved in the UFO incident?            Did you ever think of that?
    Huh?”
    â€œWow,” I said. “You really are smart, Buck.”
    Most guys would think that was enough, that it was time to go home. But not Bosten and Paul. Their short nap invigorated them, and once we got back into the car they