Wicked Cruel Read Online Free PDF

A total jerk. Stay out of my face.”
    He stands up and brushes off his knees, then gives me that stupid, challenging smile that I hate. He can go from crying to laughing in about a tenth of a second. “Let’s hang out for the afternoon,” he says. “You got any money?”
    “I wouldn’t hang out with you for a million dollars,” I say. I start walking again, throwing the dusty remains of my Twizzlers into the brush.
    That was a few months after the thing in gym class when his forehead hit the chairs. Right before the Bainers moved out of state.
    Spike yowls suddenly and runs downstairs. I look over at the computer screen and catch a glimpse of Bainer’s face. Just a split second, but it’s him, glaring at me before the screen goes blank.
    I hit the space bar and the screen lights up, but it’s just my desktop—not Bainer. But he was there, right? He was.
    Or maybe I’m imagining things, just a vivid memory playing tricks on me.
    One thing’s for sure. I’m not staying in this house alone.
    *   *   *
    The Shamrock is off Railroad Square, half a block in from Main Street, and Dad says it’s one of the quieter downtown bars. That’s because it’s mostly older people; not enough action for the college crowd, I suppose. I’ve never been in any of the bars, of course, but you hear stories.
    It’s raining very lightly, but it’s still fairly warm. There are small piles of dirty snow here and there, but most of it’s melted away. The streets are quiet. The alley you take to the Shamrock is dark, but there’s plenty of light coming from Main.
    I can see Uncle David sitting at the bar with a mug of beer, but he’s turned away from the front window, talking to somebody on the next bar stool. I take a seat on a bench under the awning and wait for him to come out. Could be a while.
    A police car goes by on Main with its lights flashing but no siren. An older man in a green Celtics cap walks a black Labrador past. Soon two scruffy guys who might be students come walking up.
    “Hey,” one of them says to me as he reaches for the door. “You get kicked out?” He laughs.
    “Could you tell my uncle to come out here?” I ask.
    “Sure. Which one is he?”
    “He’s sitting at the bar. Argyle sweater-vest. Ponytail.”
    “Shouldn’t be hard to find.”
    David comes out a few minutes later and lights a cigarette. “What’s up, Jordan?” he asks.
    “Just wondered if you’d be coming home soon.”
    “Pretty soon.” He looks back through the window. “They asked me to play another set and I just got a fresh beer.… I’ll be home by midnight.”
    “Okay.”
    “Maybe sooner,” he says. He digs into his pocket and pullsout a couple of dollar bills. “The Citgo’s open, right? Get yourself a candy bar. Tomorrow’s Saturday; you can stay up tonight. Watch TV till I get home, okay?”
    “I guess.” I grab the bills. He takes a drag on his cigarette and flicks the rest of it toward the gutter, then goes back into the bar.
    I start thinking about where I can kill a few hours till he gets home and still keep my eye on Main Street in case he leaves the bar early. Brewbakers Coffee Shop stays open until midnight on weekends. I can get a hot chocolate and sit by the big front window. With the two dollars David gave me and some of my own, I should be able to pay my way and not get told to leave.
    There are two guys at a table near the back of the very narrow café, huddled over a laptop. The only other customer is a balding man in a black Star Wars T-shirt that’s too small for him. He also has a laptop, and the coffee he’s drinking is in a paper Dunkin’ Donuts cup.
    The skinny college kid behind the counter looks bored and sullen when I walk in, but he perks up when I come over. “Help ya?” he asks. His shirt says Cheshire Notch Cross-Country.
    “Could I get a hot chocolate? For here.”
    He nods and turns to make it. It’s kind of dark in here. Folky rock music is playing from somewhere, but I