Date: Fri, 18 Nov 2005 22:56:05 -0800 (PST)
From: Robin Eagleson <robineagleson@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Luckiest Summer Part 6

The Luckiest Summer
Robin Eagleson
robineagleson@yahoo.com

Part Six

I woke up at eight the next morning, bright eyed and fully alert.  A quick
glance out in the hall told me Brad's door was still closed, but there were
noises coming from the kitchen.  I assumed it was his dad, and I didn't
really want to have to talk to him, so I bounded out of bed and closed my
door quietly.

I kept myself busy with Tyler's Xbox for a while.  It was like being inside
a movie store where every rental was free, as many games as he had.  At
nine I heard the garage door go off and a vehicle back out of the driveway.
I figured it was Brad's dad leaving for work.  I paused my game of Midtown
Madness 3 and tiptoed out into the living room.  The house seemed perfectly
silent, indicating my guess had been correct.  I ventured into the kitchen
to get something to drink; my throat was painfully dry.  Upon opening the
refrigerator, I was met by countless bottles of water and almost nothing
else in liquid form.  There was no soda whatsoever, and aside from a few
different kinds of juice, there really was nothing else of the thirst
quenching variety.  With no small amount of reluctance, I grabbed an
Aquafina and trudged back to Tyler's room, stepping over the pair of jean
shorts I had pulled off and left on the floor last night.

I got restless and flipped off the Xbox around ten, quietly stepping out
into the hall and slowly opening Brad's door.  He was still sleeping,
turned on his side, his pillow propped up against the headboard.  His left
arm was sticking out straight down his side, while his right arm was bent
inwards at the elbow, part of it disappearing underneath the pillow.  He
was almost too long for the tiny bed.  His bare feet were poking out from
under the bottom of the sheets, and dangling an inch or two over the edge
of the bed.  I watched him sleep for a minute, listening to his steady
breathing, and then grinned evilly.

I approached the bed and knelt down, tickling his feet.  He jerked them
back, just a quick lunge in his sleep, and unconsciously retreated them
back into the safety of the sheets.  I carefully positioned myself at the
foot of the bed and crawled slowly up to where our faces were almost
aligned, flicking his ear softly.  He mumbled and batted away it with his
free hand, but still didn't wake up.  I stifled a giggle and tried to come
up with another subtle way of waking him up.  Just as I started to think,
his cell phone went off beside him, playing music very loudly.  It startled
me, and I jumped backwards and fell, my bottom landing on his legs.

The music had successfully done what I couldn't manage, and Brad was now
sitting upright, probably wondering why there was an extra hundred pound
weight on his legs.  He frowned slightly when he saw me, and then with some
difficulty, leaned over to the desk and pulled his phone off it.

"Hello?" he grumbled, sounding very much like someone who had just been
woken up.  "I have to work until three.  Maybe we can go tonight, though."
He paused, and the other voice on the line, a distinctly female sounding
one, spoke for a few seconds.  "Well, call me later and we can decide,
then.  I just woke up, and I probably won't remember anything we talk about
now, anyway."  He hung up.

"Who was that?" I asked innocently, still sitting on his legs.

"No one," he answered.  "Why the hell are you sitting on me?"

"I was trying to wake you up," I admitted.  "Then your phone rang and
scared the shit out of me, so I fell backwards and landed on you."  He
looked at me as though I was crazy.

"Well, do you want to move?  You're right on my knees, and it's not very
comfortable."  I did as he asked.  He had requested I move, not get off the
bed altogether, so I wedged myself in between him and the wall and rested
my head on his now unoccupied pillow.  He was still sitting upright, the
sheets bundled up in his lap.  He wasn't wearing a shirt, so I watched his
bare chest move as he breathed.  His chest was very different from mine; he
actually had some definition and pectoral muscles, whereas mine was narrow
and ran in a straight, flat line.

"I had some water out of your refrigerator," I told him shyly.  "Is that
okay?"  He studied my face for a second, and then scowled at me.

"No.  You owe me fifty cents," he said, holding out his hand.  I blinked,
and he smiled.  "Yeah, it's fine.  Don't be so fucking polite.  You can
have anything you want."  He scratched his head, and I looked with
curiosity at the scraggly blond tufts of hair in his armpit.  It was the
only spot on his entire upper body that had any hair.  He looked over at
his alarm clock, saw it was a quarter after, and groaned.  "I have to get
ready for work," he said, throwing the sheets off him and standing up
beside the bed.  From my position, his crotch was at a direct eye level,
and I stared stupidly at the coiled up lump in his boxers, which he
adjusted quickly.  The lump lessened considerably, and I pulled my eyes
away from it.

"I don't want to go home," I complained.  "It'll be boring and empty
there."

"It'll be boring and empty here," he retorted, throwing open his closet to
search for a work shirt.  He came up with one and then rooted through his
dresser, hunting through his shorts.  "You can come to work with me if you
want, though," he said, selecting a dark pair of khakis.

"I can?" I asked, excited.

"Sure," he shrugged.  "It's only about a two-minute drive.  You can hang
out in the back room for a while.  We're almost never busy on Monday
afternoon, so you'd probably have it to yourself.  If you get bored you
could just walk home."

"Okay!" I agreed happily.  "I'll just wait here until you're ready to go,"
I said, pulling up the sheets and repositioning myself comfortably in the
middle of his bed.  I sunk into the large impression he'd made in the
mattress from the night before.

"You can take a shower too, if you want," he suggested.  "I'll be done in a
little bit," he added, leaving me with my thoughts.  I wondered how long it
had been since I'd last showered.  I definitely remembered taking one on
Friday before I went out with Nadia, but that had been the last one.  The
fact that I had gotten through yesterday without being nagged to take one
was an indication that Mom wasn't paying as much attention to those kinds
of things currently.  She usually made sure I took one at least every other
day.  Granted, she had other things on her mind yesterday.

I reached underneath the sheets and caressed myself through my boxers.
What had started as a semi quickly sprang to full size, and I slipped my
hand inside the waistband and started tugging on it slowly.  Once I'd
started, I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop.  I didn't want to get
anything on Brad's bed, so I kept my boxers on even as I worked.

As was the pattern lately, my session didn't last long.  I thought of Brad,
and the lump I had seen in his boxers, and his naked upper body with his
defined chest.  I thought of being in the shower with him, and being able
to see the bulge between his legs in the flesh instead of it being
concealed behind a thin layer of red fabric.  I was panting by the time I
finished, and immediately wished I had waited until my turn in the shower.
Now there was a sticky substance in my boxers that I would have to live
with until it dried.  I pulled at the fabric until my dick wasn't resting
directly in the mess, and then waited patiently for Brad to get out of the
shower.  I remembered what he'd told me the time he'd been in the shower
after it had taken him a while and giggled.  I wondered if he was doing
what I had just gotten done doing and touched myself again.  This time
there was no spark; it was too soon.

He reappeared after ten minutes, fully dressed (much to my disappointment)
and violently scrubbing his scalp with a towel.  His hair was getting
longer than it had been at the beginning of the summer.  It had been just a
shade longer than beard stubble back in the early days of June, but now it
was a little thicker.  I wondered if he was going to keep cutting it that
short or if he was going to grow it out.

"All yours," he said, pointing to the bathroom.  "If you want to take one,
that is."  I kicked the sheets off and got to my feet, again reminded of my
dirty deed by the cold wetness on the front of my boxers.  I hoped it
hadn't made too big of a spot on my crotch.  Either way, I definitely
needed a shower now.

"I'll be right back," I squeaked, darting out of the room before he had a
chance to notice I had shot off in my boxers.  I showered quickly and then
peeked back in his room.  He wasn't there, so I walked into the living
room, wearing only a towel around my waist.

"I can't take you anywhere like that," he smiled, seeing that I was still
wet and mostly naked from the shower.  He had settled into the couch and
was watching a morning edition of Sports Center.

"I wanted to know if I could use your gel again," I said, feeling
self-conscious now that he had turned to look at me.  My hand automatically
reached back to hold the towel in place even though I had tightened it
pretty well already.

"You can have it," he said.  "I told you I don't use it anymore.  Go
ahead."  Grinning, I skipped back to the bathroom and let the towel drop.
It was exciting to leave the door open while I dressed.  He would have to
turn around to see me, though, and he was pretty caught up in the TV, so I
didn't think it was going to happen.  I slid back into my soiled boxers,
cringing when I felt the wet spot against my crotch, although it had
already dried a little.  I found the deodorant he had told me I could have
the last time, swiped it in each respective pit, and then grabbed the gel.
I started to apply it to my hands, but then stopped.

"Brad," I called.  He grunted a reply.  "Will you help me with this again
and do it like last time?" I asked, trying to sound innocent even though I
wasn't exactly fitting that description in my request.  I was pretty sure I
could do it fine without his help, but he really was good at it.  And I
liked it when he touched me.

"For Christ's sake, Zach, it's not hard," he complained, but he came
anyway.  Then he was in the doorway, leaning against the frame and taking
me in.  "I'll show you one more time," he said.  "After that you should be
able to do it on your own."  I beamed inwardly as he stood right behind me,
taking the gel and rubbing it in his palms.  I settled back against his
chest and tilted my head back so he would have a vantage view of my hair.
His hands were enormous and covered the entire surface of my scalp, but his
fingers were graceful nonetheless.  It felt so nice to have him scrubbing
my head that I wanted to close my eyes, but I liked watching him do it in
the mirror more.  He was working on the front now, tousling it carefully to
stand up straighter than the rest, his shirt pressing up against my bare
skin.  I could smell cologne on him, but it wasn't the kind he usually
wore.

"Thanks," I grinned when he was done and it looked just as good as it had
the last time.  I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to keep from
smiling.  "Can I wear some of your cologne again?" I asked, looking back up
at him hopefully.

"You don't need cologne today," he said, shaking his head.  "That's only
for special occasions.  If I start letting you use it all the time you're
going to cost me a lot of money."  I was disappointed, but I shrugged it
off.  "Hurry up and get dressed," he ordered me, turning to go back to the
living room.  "We need to be gone in five minutes."

I stayed in the bathroom and stared at my reflection for another minute,
and then scampered to Tyler's room to grab my jean shorts.  I stepped into
them, buttoned them, and then put my belt on.  I spent another few minutes
trying to find my shirt before I realized it was still in the bathroom.
Just as Brad called out that he was leaving without me, I found it and
threw it on, racing out into the garage after him.

I made him put in the Ben Folds CD with "The Luckiest" on it even though
the drive was short.  This time I listened to the words more closely and
began to feel I had something in common with the singer.  He sounded about
as thankful that he'd met whoever it was he was singing about (his wife,
maybe) as I was about meeting Brad.  I turned to look at Brad as the car
filled up with the piano notes, giving him a helplessly smitten stare
before he caught me and I turned away quickly.  We pulled into the shopping
center and parked crookedly in a space right by the door of the building he
worked inside.  It was just a local pizzeria, and of modest size.

We went in the front door together and he pushed me towards the back, which
held a smattering of tables but was filled mostly with arcade games, a pool
table, and a big screen TV.  He returned a few seconds later with a cup and
told me I could get as many drinks as I wanted, and then disappeared for a
while in the kitchen.  I sat down at a long table that could have seated
ten people and looked up at the giant TV.  It was on Comedy Central, which
suited me just fine.

I sat there for about half an hour before the bell rang for the first time
and a customer walked in.  Out of curiosity I got up and wandered out into
the front, where Brad and another worker were stocking the buffet while
another guy took the customer's money.  The customer was an elderly
gentleman of substantial size, and it looked like he'd have no trouble
putting a dent in the buffet all by himself.  Brad saw I'd come out to the
front and motioned for me to go back.

"I need quarters," I whined.  "I can't watch TV all day!"

"I have a ton in my car," he said, throwing me his keys.  They jingled as
they flew through the air and landed in my open hands.  "In a few hours the
buffet will be over and I'll come back there with you," he added before
going back to the kitchen area.  On my way outside to get the quarters
another pair of customers walked in, this time a middle-aged couple.  I
frowned, hoping they sat in the front instead of somewhere in the back
where they would keep me from having it to myself.  When I'd grabbed a
handful of quarters and started to return inside, though, another handful
of people were at the entrance, including a gaggle of small children.  So
much for getting the run of the place.

I spent the next hour trying to avoid the customers, going through all the
games and about five glasses of Root Beer.  By a little after one, the
place had emptied out again and the back was empty except for me and a
bunch of dishes.  I had just run out of quarters, so I sat perched on a bar
stool, slurping another glass of Root Beer and watching TV.  Somewhere
along the way it had gotten changed to CNN, so I swiveled around in circles
to entertain myself.

One of the workers came back to clear a table and gave me a strange look.
He looked younger than Brad, and considerably smaller.  I waved at him as I
continued to spin around in circles, the gallon of Root Beer playing a
large role in my restlessness.  Just as the first kid disappeared into the
front with his pile of dishes, Brad came back to help and saw me spinning.

"I can change it back to Comedy Central if you want," he suggested with a
smile.

"Or you can give me some more quarters," I giggled, holding out my hand
expectantly.

"You had to have gone through at least five dollars of them already," he
said, not looking surprised that I had used them all.  "Here, get change,"
he sighed, handing me a few more one dollar bills.

"Thanks, I'll pay you back," I said, snatching the bills out of his hand
and running over to the change machine.  I was starting to build up quite a
tab, one that I continually forgot to pay.  Right now I had too much sugar
in my bloodstream to feel guilty, though.  I quickly used two of the
quarters on yet another game of pinball, which I was horrible at.

By two the dishes were cleared, the buffet was put away, and all the
workers were gone except for Brad, who was supposed to stay until three and
the night crew came in to finish the evening.  Brad finally came back to
check on me, holding a box of pizza in one hand and a drink in the other.
He set them down at a booth and called me over.

"I made half of it with just cheese," he said as I sat down and began to
salivate.  I was going to beg him to make me something the second I saw
him, but apparently he had read my mind.

"I've had seven Root Beers," I told him for no reason at all, a hyper
upwards lilt in my tone as I slid into the booth beside him instead of
across from him.

"Seven," he said dryly, ignoring my odd choice of seating.  "How nice.  You
are the epitome of healthy living."

"What?" I asked, inhaling the first slice of cheese.  He didn't answer, and
I didn't expect him to.  I kicked him under the table and grinned, unable
to keep from being silly.  "Can we go swimming when you get off?" I asked
hopefully, loudly smacking on my pizza.

"I can't," he said.  "I'm meeting someone."

"Who?" I demanded, pinching his arm when he chose to take a bite of his
pizza instead of answering me.  I opened my mouth wider as I chewed my
pizza so he would have to watch me eat it.  I had succeeded in grossing him
out because he reached out and turned my head away from him.  "Who?" I
asked again, pushing his hand away and smearing the pizza sauce on my
fingers on his arm.  He frowned and wiped it off.

"A girl," he finally answered.  "It's none of your business who I'm seeing.
We can swim later this week, maybe."

"What girl?" I asked, taking a sip through my straw.

"Her name's Sara," he said finally.  "You met her once."

"The girl at Pizza Hut?" I asked, stuffing another piece of cheese pizza in
my mouth.  "You guys are going out now?"

"No," he said quickly.  "Well, kind of.  I don't know, we've seen each
other a couple of times.  So not really," he shrugged.

"Have you held hands?" I asked with a grin, wondering if he'd gotten as far
with her as I'd gotten with Nadia.

"No," he admitted.  "Holding hands isn't on my list of priorities, though,
if you know what I mean."

"What do you mean?" I asked, eyeing him cautiously as I finished chewing on
my second slice.  "You mean like, kissing her?"

"Sure," he chuckled.  "That's my ultimate goal, Zach.  Once I get that kiss
I move on the next one.  What else is there to do with a girl besides
kiss?"  He had a very ironic look on his face, and I was pretty sure he was
making fun of me for suggesting a kiss as being on his list of priorities.

"Are you being funny again?" I asked him, never sure when he was serious or
not.

"Forget it," he said, taking a firm bite of his pizza.  He ate much more
carefully than I did, and with much more precision.  I just picked up my
slice and swallowed, and it often resulted in a mess.  Brad ate calmly and
with more care, but just as efficiently.  "We're not talking about this
anymore."

"Why not?" I asked, giving him another soft kick under the table, hoping it
would persuade him to tell me what he meant.  He ignored it, and my
question altogether.  I was about to kick him again when he nudged me out
of the booth and left for the front.  I wondered what he was doing until
the channel changed, and then I realized he had gone to get the remote.  He
had put it on the History Channel, which in my experience could either be
relatively interesting or endlessly boring, depending on the topic they
were featuring.  Today it was a look back at some of history's most
prominent serial killers, which was very exciting.

When he came back, he flipped off the overhead lights that hung down from
the ceiling over every booth, making the room almost like a movie theater.
I got up so he could have his spot against the wall back, and then nestled
in beside him, draining the last of my Root Beer.  I looked over at Brad,
who was now facing my profile directly, having rested his back against the
wall and extended his legs as far as they could go across the seat.  I
looked down and saw his dirty American Eagle Game-Day Trainers just inches
away from my jean shorts.

"Do you want me to move to the other side?" I offered.  "Too bad!" I
grinned when he nodded, sticking my tongue out at him.  "You shouldn't be
sitting that way in a booth anyway," I pointed out before getting up to
refill my drink.  Naturally, he had stretched his legs out all the way when
I'd gotten up, but I was prepared.  I set my drink down and took my seat
anyway, settling myself with some difficulty on his legs, and then
repositioning myself so I was facing the same direction he was.  I scooted
back until I was almost in his lap, which was kind of uncomfortable but not
altogether unsatisfying.  He grunted when I had finally stopped squirming
around, but otherwise didn't complain.  His right arm was pinned underneath
the table, so he had to reach his left arm around me to grab his drink.
When he set it back I let my head fall all the way back until I could feel
it pressing into his chest, the top of my head digging into his chin.  Now
I was comfortable.

We stayed put that way for the next twenty minutes as we learned about
serial killers in the dark.  Occasionally Brad would take a bite of his
pizza or a drink of water and I feel his mouth working just above my head.
After a while I had an idea and started holding his water up above my head
in front of his mouth every once in a while so he could drink out of the
straw.  He laughed the first time, but after a few times it became a
routine and I started trying to guess when he was thirsty enough for a
drink.  I must have been pretty accurate, because he never once turned me
down when I held up the glass for him.  For a blissful moment he even
wrapped his left arm around my chest, encircling the entire width of it and
resting his hand on my right shoulder.  I put my chin on his arm and froze
in that position, afraid if I moved even an inch he would pull his arm back
and the moment would be lost.  Then the phone rang and ruined everything.
I had to get off him so he could answer it.  It was several minutes before
he returned, and I knew the odds of me sitting on his lap again were slim.
He flipped the lights back on, grabbed the mostly empty pizza box, and took
the glasses away, too.

"Jeff will be here soon," he explained.  "That's the night manager.  He
doesn't let anyone take free food, so if this stuff's out when he gets here
I'll be in trouble."  He disappeared for another couple of minutes before
finally returning, taking a seat in the booth, but across from me.  My
sugar high had worn off now, and I wasn't nearly as playful.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Almost three.  We'll be leaving pretty soon.  Are you glad you came?"

"Uh huh," I nodded.

"Well, come up whenever you want.  They've started scheduling me for this
shift on Monday through Friday now, so if you're bored come by and hang
out," he said.  I got up to use the bathroom and pissed out all the Root
Beer I'd swallowed.  By the time I got out Brad was gone, so I walked back
to the front to see if I could find him.  He was in the kitchen talking a
guy in his thirties.

"Alright, man, I'm leaving.  I'll see you later," he said to the guy as
soon as he saw me.  He grabbed a pen, glanced at the clock, wrote something
down, and then came out to the front.  He put his arm on my shoulders and
guided me out the front door, where he proceeded to drive sixty in a forty
mile an hour zone, coming to a screech outside my house.

"Thanks for all the quarters and stuff," I mumbled, always finding it
difficult to thank him for the many favors he did me.  "And the pizza," I
added.

"It's cool," he said, giving me a smile.  "You're a good kid, Zach.  I'm
glad I met you."  He pulled back sharply into his driveway as soon as he
said it and continued backing in all the way inside the garage while I
watched him in the driveway.  I smiled in the direction of his house,
shielding my eyes from the sun, the lyrics from "The Luckiest" playing in
my head.  I needed to steal that CD from him.  I went inside in a good
mood.

Mom had left a note for me on the kitchen table, telling me to call her at
work if I heard from Jesse in any way.  I took that as a grave sign that
she still hadn't heard anything from her.  She was working on a streak of
two days now, which was certainly not an ordinary development.  There was
also a message on the answering machine from Dad for me, telling me he
would be by to pick me up at six tonight.  I couldn't decide whether or not
that was a good thing, but either way I didn't want to hang around inside
so I grabbed my racket and went outside to practice my backhand.


When Dad came by to pick me up he sat down inside with Mom for a few
minutes and they talked about Jesse.  They didn't tell me to leave them
alone, but they went into the dining room and talked quietly enough to
where I couldn't hear much.  I tried to compensate by turning the TV volume
lower (it was on CNN so I didn't care that I couldn't hear it), but they
weren't close enough.  I found myself hoping they could settle their
differences just for the sake of making sure Jesse did come back home
eventually.  A few times I distinctly heard the word "police" mentioned and
wondered if they were planning on getting them involved.

Finally Dad came back out to get me, and we left.  I wasn't in the
slightest bit hungry this time even though Mom hadn't fed me because of the
pizza I'd eaten at three, but thankfully Dad wasn't hungry either so we
just saw a movie instead.  It was getting to the point where I'd seen
pretty much everything that was out right now, but I didn't mind.  There
were worse ways to pass time.  After the movie Dad drove us around and I
knew we were to going to get around to one of our serious discussions
again.  I was immune to them after the first few times, and they no longer
made me uncomfortable.

"Don't worry about your sister," he told me, sounding confident.  He looked
better than he had a week ago.  He still looked thinner than he used to be,
but he was freshly shaven and his hair looked as though it had been cut.
He ran his fingers through it right on schedule, a habit I had been cutting
down on lately.  I think I had been making a subconscious effort to stop
emulating his mannerisms since the separation.

"You think she'll come home soon?" I asked, looking out my window as the
buildings flew by.

"Of course she will.  She's just gone on some road trip with her boyfriend,
I'm sure.  That's what seventeen-year-olds do.  It's all part of a late
teenage rebellion.  You're a few years away from that," he said, poking me
in the ribs.  These days I didn't like to be touched by anyone other than
Brad, especially there, but I didn't say anything or recoil from the touch;
I simply ignored it.

"I hope so," I said softly.  "Because Mom is a mess."

"She's doing fine under the circumstances," he said, looking startled that
I would be such a harsh judge.  "She has a lot to balance right now, you
know.  She's got to work all day and then worry about all the bills and the
house work.  You should be helping her out more."

"I help!" I said defensively.  "I mow the lawn."

"You mowed the lawn when I still lived there."

"I unload the dishwasher sometimes."

"You should unload it every time.  You should be taking out the trash, too.
And it wouldn't kill you to vacuum every now and then, would it?"  He lit a
cigarette and I groaned inwardly.  When were they going to stop this?

"Why should I have to do everything?  Jesse doesn't do anything.  She
doesn't even come home, and she isn't getting yelled at."

"I'm not yelling at you," Dad said as he blew out his first puff of smoke
and flicked the ashes out the open window.  "And believe me, Jesse isn't
going to get off easy.  She's in serious trouble."

I looked moodily out my window, avoiding eye contact.  I hadn't expected a
lecture from Dad about helping Mom out more when I wasn't the problem in
the first place.  As far as I was concerned, Mom and Dad were to blame for
creating this situation firstly, and then after that Jesse was the next in
line because she was taking it all so poorly and causing even more havoc by
going through this late teenage rebellion as Dad called it.

"Anyway, your mom and I have been talking about a few things," he started
slowly.  My heart leapt; were they already considering getting back
together?  "It's completely up to you, but it might save her a lot of
stress if you would stay with me a few nights of the week, just for the
rest of the summer.  After that we'll work something out, and I'm sure I'll
get a house eventually."  This was not what I had been hoping to hear; this
was much worse.

"Mom doesn't want me at the house?" I asked quietly, a little hurt.

"That's not it at all, Zach," he said quickly.  "It was my idea.  She's
under a lot of pressure right now, and I offered to take you off her hands
for a few days of the week.  I'd like to see you more, anyway, and it would
give her some time to herself."

"I don't want to," I mumbled, noticing Dad's pained expression out of the
corner of my eye.  I felt bad momentarily, but then decided it wasn't my
job to worry about everyone else's feelings.  I was only a kid.  All I was
supposed to worry about was my own feelings.  I crossed my arms over my
chest and pouted.

"I said you didn't have to," Dad said gently.  "But I'd love to see more of
you, and I think it would help your mom out a lot.  Just for the rest of
the summer," he added softly.  "Think about it, okay?"

I said nothing.  I didn't want to think about it.  I wanted to be able to
see Brad every day, not just a few times a week.  In truth I was fully
aware Brad was too busy to see me every day anyway, but if I wasn't even
home half of the week we'd barely see each other at all, and after the
summer he'd be gone forever.  I might never see him again.  There was no
way I'd agree to this.  I stole a glance back at Dad and watched him flick
more ashes out the window.  He looked really unhappy, and as much as I had
tried not to, I started to feel bad all over again.  He dropped me off a
few minutes later and gave me a half-hearted hug I returned feebly.  Jesse
was nowhere in sight.