What We Knew Read Online Free PDF Page B

won’t let me out later.”
    “We’re meeting at six,” Lisa said. Sucking her Popsicle, she glared at Larry, daring him to contradict her.
    “Six,” I echoed.
    It wasn’t always like that—so tense. Only when Larry tried to put the reins on Lisa. On normal days, I preferred being at their place. Friends’ families are always better than your own. Better food, better houses, better parents. I should’ve stayed for tacos. An hour later I was kicking myself for rushing home to clean the bathroom.
    “I don’t care if the toilet sparkles,” my mother said. “You’ve been out every night this week.”
    Scowling at the reconstituted onions on my burger, I used a ketchup packet to scrape the bun. Fast food again. My dad always liked the other burger place better. He used to sound like a commercial when he’d talk about the superior taste of flame-broiling. Flame-broiled fake meat is still fake meat. When I was a kid I loved the stuff, especially the chicken nuggets. When my dad had a meeting, my mom would bring home the twenty-piece to split, or else she’d make us fish sticks or potpies. Always something my dad didn’t mind missing. It was like a food holiday. Until that last year, when it got to be every day.
    “I thought we’d go for ice cream,” my mom said cheerily.
    “No thanks.” I bunched my wrappers, tossed them in the trash, and went to brush my teeth.
    Lisa was stupid. I’d take Larry over my mother any day. At least he was consistent. You knew what to expect and what he expected of you. My mother’s randomness made me crazy. She had no reason for keeping me home.
    I flopped on my bed—anger ringing in my chest—and turned on the TV. Everything was either stupid or half over. I was painting my toes black when my mother poked her head in the door.
    “Hey, Trace?” she said. “Adam’s here.”
    I capped the polish and heel-walked out to the living room to find Adam parked on the edge of our couch, checking his phone. He’d come straight from work. He wanted to know if I’d eaten.
    “My mother says I can’t go out,” I said, loud enough for her to hear me in the kitchen.
    Adam squeezed my shoulders and half smiled. “We can hang out here.”
    I glanced around our pathetic living room: sad plaid couch and corduroy recliner. The dinky television I had to squint to see. Every surface covered with pictures of Scott and me. If you spun around fast enough, you could watch us grow up. “That sounds fun,” I said flatly. “Hear that, Mom? Adam doesn’t mind hanging out here. He hasn’t had dinner, though. Can you make him something?”
    My mother dropped something heavy and huffed. “Just go,” she said wearily. “Please go.”
    The knot in my chest slackened. I could breathe again. I was glad I hadn’t called Lisa. She’d be waiting at the corner with Gabe. I skipped into the kitchen and cautiously kissed my mother’s cheek. “I love you,” I said. My mother shrugged. I felt like a jerk. Staying home wasn’t supposed to be punishment. She wanted to spend time with me. When I told her I’d be home early, she looked vaguely appreciative, so I didn’t tell her why: Lisa’s new curfew was ten.
    I felt even worse when we all stopped for cones.
    “You’re dripping.” Lisa laughed, lapping up half my sprinkles. It was my favorite time of day, with the sun low in the sky and the whole night ahead of us. Adam sucked down a vanilla-chocolate twist and ordered a chili dog. Gabe lumbered to the window for another cheeseburger. There was a dopey-giant quality about him that cracked me up, especially when he chased Adam into the street with the mustard dispenser and then hung his head in shame after the woman running the window yelled at him.
    “Who wants to hit the bowling alley on the way to Trent’s?” Gabe asked.
    The bowling alley wasn’t a bowling alley, just an alley behind a row of shops where Gabe likes to smoke a bowl. He’s not a pothead, but he usually has something on him.