“What?” I ask without looking up, pencil shading a web.
“I’m bored,” he announces like it’s my job to rectify his predicament.
“So do something,” I offer.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go to QuikMart and get some pizzas.”
I never go anywhere with Cliff, but he sounds down. I found out from Johnny a few days ago that Cliff’s dad got into a fight in prison and there was a weapon involved. Which means his dad has new charges brought against him and an additional sentence. He won’t be a free man until Cliff is well into his thirties. Cliff didn’t take the news well and spiraled and has been a bigger jackass than normal. Ditching school, vandalism, drugs, shoplifting—he’s teetering about a hair’s breadth above rock bottom.
I’m sitting on my sleeping bag with my back resting against my propped-up pillow, legs outstretched.
He steps in and kicks my socked foot with his boot. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get my attention. “C’mon, Toby.”
My eyes move to his dirty boots on my sleeping bag. “Boots off my bed,” I command and he steps back onto the linoleum. “I don’t have extra money this week.” I don’t. Joey needed diapers yesterday.
“I do.” I know he’s lying because his lips are moving.
I keep drawing and he takes my silence as disbelief.
“I do. My grandma sent me some this week for my birthday.” He’s really selling it.
I set my pencil down and look up at him, tilting my head so he knows I’m not buying it. “Your birthday is months away,” I challenge.
“She’s old, she forgets.” He pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket as proof.
I sigh and rub my eyes because they’re sore; dim lighting and deep concentration are a bad combination. Against my better judgment, I set my pad of paper and pencil on the shelf next to me and grab my shoes. “Wait for me downstairs. I need to use the bathroom before we go.”
Obeying the request by heading directly to the front door tells me he’s desperate to get out of the house. I pull a thermal on over my T-shirt and grab my sweatshirt off the hook on the wall before I step out and padlock the door behind me. I try to talk myself out of this field trip while I pee. It doesn’t work, and minutes later we’re stepping through the door of QuikMart. Cliff walks to the refrigerated section with the soda and grabs a root beer, while I walk to the frozen section and pull out a Canadian bacon Party Pizza. It’s the cheapest pizza they have and it’s on sale again. Bonus. Cliff walks up next to me and I hold the door open while he decides. After an agonizingly long internal debate between cheese and sausage—I know it’s happening because he touches each of them at least six times—his hand finally commits to the sausage. When we turn to walk toward the counter, I notice my least favorite QuikMart employee is working. The guy always gives me a hard time and I’d rather not have to deal with him today, so I tell Cliff, “I’ll wait for you outside, this guy’s a dick.”
Cliff takes my pizza and says, “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute. I’m gonna grab a candy bar too.”
The second Cliff meets me on the sidewalk, chaos erupts, and it becomes glaringly clear why I should always say no to Cliff.
“Stop!” QuikMart Dick yells.
At the same time, Cliff yells, “Run!”
I hesitate, but only for a split second before I find myself running next to him like an idiot. “What did you do?” I ask as adrenaline courses through my veins.
“Stole a pack of cigarettes,” he says, his short, thick legs struggling, and failing, to keep up with me.
QuikMart Dick is gaining on us and when he shouts, “Stop or I’ll shoot,” I look over my shoulder.
“He has a gun, Cliff. What the hell?”I’m panicked now. QuikMart Dick is sketchy at best, and seeing him wielding a gun brings me no comfort. “Give me the cigarettes,” I command.
“What?” Cliff puffs out. He’s fading, the kid isn’t built for physical activity.
“Give me the damn cigarettes,” I grit out. “Now,” I add because we don’t have much time.
I’m ahead of him, but he slips the pack out of his coat pocket and into my sweatshirt pocket with the precision of a seasoned pickpocket, and when it’s secure, I stop in my tracks and put my hands up over my head.
“What are you doing?” Cliff pants and stops a few strides past me, doubling over with his hands on his knees.
“Shut up, Cliff. For once in your life,just shut the fuck up.” I’m whispering, but he knows I’m seething and he’s never seen me like this, so he does.
QuikMart Dick is on us in no time. “I finally caught you, you little punk,” he says to Cliff. He’s waving the gun around like he’s qualified to do so. I know the QuikMart has been robbed several times and that’s why they have a gun, but that doesn’t mean that Dick knows how to handle it safely.
“Hey, Dirty Harry, you caught us. Now put the gun down.” I hate guns and the sight of it is making me nauseous.
