Spud (2 page)

As he licks his cone again, his floppy brown hair bobs into his innocent looking
face. He’s not a bad guy, just got it rough, you know, at home? He has some poor
language, but he’s sincere.

“I just hate this heat,” I moan as I chew, not intending to sound like a baby. I
guess it’s just something to say, cuz who likes it? Yup, I’m changing the subject,
as each day we hear of more heat deaths, and I don’t feel like getting all depressed.
I mean, my Twix is even already half-melted! God! Even though there’s AC in here,
it’s still a damn sauna.

“When do we get a break from this? I totally think we need to get back to the pool
where all the girls are, or we’re gonna lose our touch.” But since the weather forecasts
don’t really look promising, I doubt that we’ll head there soon. It’s a block from
my house, but it
often gets crowded by little kids and their floaty rings and their
overprotective moms or ugly babysitters, so it kinda isn’t much fun for soon-to-be
sophomores like us.

“Haha. You mean my touch. You got no game, Cooper,” Spud teases. “But keep dreamin’.”

“Funny. You’ll see,” I defend, then occupy myself with making an airplane out of
a napkin.

Anyway, sometimes when we’re really brave and can sneak away from the parents for
a few hours, we head down the local I and M Canal road that connects to the next
town, about six miles, and we hang out at this park where we can access the Illinois
river, swim near the shore, and stay cool that way. Some of Spud’s braver, less bright
friends jump from the town’s bridge there and then swim to shore, as a way to prove
they’re cool or something, and to keep cool, too, but I’m not gonna try that. With
my luck, I’d get hit by a car, or once I hit the river, I’d end up getting sucked
under by the current.
Shivers!

However, hanging at the park and the river is much cooler than spending the day knocking
into Barbie floating toy things (whatever they are called) and worrying if some little
Billy or Tommy is gonna pee in the pool. Plus, the lifeguards are high school stuck-ups
who make us get out for breaks every hour or so, and the place always gets more populated
with little tykes than teens like us. Even more importantly, at least to Spud, there
ain’t a chance of sneaking a six pack into the public pool. Not that I’m a drinker
really, but it can be fun to hang with pals on a hot day, take a dip in the river,
and kick back a Miller Lite while puffing a Marlboro. The light kind only! Relax.
And with filters! That stuff is not for me, though, and more on that later. In town,
we’d never get away with that. Absolutely out of the question. But the pool does
offer the chatting up of the girls in bikinis. High school chicks who really rock
out. You win some, you
lose some.

The only thing is the parents don’t know we sneak off to the next town to swim or
hang out, and we’d surely face serious heat from them if they knew! It’s not that
we don’t respect them or whatever, it’s just, well, the peer pressure.

Wiping melted ice cream from his chin, Spud says, grinning and showing that dimple
in his left cheek that the girls seem to simply gush over, “Hey, what ya say we hit
up your place tonight? I don’t wanna spend a hot uncomfy eve with ma and the Jerry
dude.” He tosses his wrapper into the ash tray on the table and continues to glance
at his
Sports Animated
, still grinning, pointing to the hot picture of another almost-naked
chic in front of him.

He lives about three miles north of town with his mom and her boyfriend, Jerry, and
he is not real crazy about the farm life up there. Spud’s actually my cousin, as
his real dad has been married to my dad’s cousin. His real dad lives in Marseilles,
where we go to the park with the river and all. Spud pretty much grew up with his
dad and this step-mom, only recently going to live with his real mom because the
schools here are better. You know, one of those adult decision things. It sounds
confusing, but all that matters is we view each other as cousins and best friends.

So, Spud gets away from his lonely farm-ish house by riding his bike the three miles
into town to my place, especially in the summer, and my parents treat him like their
second son. My ma absolutely loves him; the pop’s a little weary, though, and my
little sister, Zoë, a year younger than us, doesn’t seem to always care much for
him. She knows he drinks and smokes, and she’s such a goody-two-shoes, it drives
her wacky that he hangs with me. I think. I could be wrong.

Plus, Zoë and I used to play Nintendo, Monopoly, basketball
and such, and since Spud
and I have gotten closer, I don’t hang with Zoë as much. I feel bad that I don’t
give her as much attention, but I gotta branch out. She’s got friends; she can do
girly things with them, right? She’ll just deal, as far as I’m concerned. Truly,
the more she bashes Spud, the more I want to avoid her anyway. Sometimes, she’ll
do a 180 and be all nice and giggly. Fickle. Girls.

“Cool,” I reply to Spud’s comment. “Ma will likely grill out, and we can maybe hit
up the video store for a flick or a Nintendo game.” Yep, I’ve
still
got the old,
original system. You know, with the first Super Mario Brothers. The original Zelda.
Gotta love it. Hours of old-school fun.

“When we get back to yer place, I’ll call my ma and tell her I’m staying with ya.
I think Uncle Ned’s having a party tomorrow night, so maybe I can stay until yer
pops takes us there, then I’ll crash at Ned’s for a night or so.” His grin is gone,
and he’s looking for more hot pictures. Candi keeps glaring at us, surely ready for
us to leave.

This is where I should explain Spud’s name. Uncle Ned is my dad’s brother, and his
wife is the sister of Spud’s step-mom. Ned’s the one responsible for nicknames for
all the nieces and nephews in the clan. I really don’t know why he insisted on embarrassing
us from birth. Anyway, Spud is the name Dan got at birth because he looked like a
potato, I guess, and the name stuck. Zoë’s nickname is Halfpint, because she’s a
tiny thing and reminded my uncle of the little daughter from
Little House on the
Prairie
, and mine is Buck. I don’t know why. There’re more cousins with more nicknames,
too.

I hate hate hate my nickname, and only Ned uses mine. The rest of the aunts and uncles
call all of us by our nicknames, except me. Everyone else calls me Jack or Jackson,
but we kids don’t call each other by nicknames; it sounds kinda gay. For some reason,
though, Spud’s name stuck, and he’s the only one who is always called by his
nickname.
Even by teachers!

The only time, besides with Ned, that I’m ever called Buck is when Zoë and I are
joking around, and she calls me that. I laugh then, because we both think it’s retarded.
Buck… it’s like a dog, really, especially if, like me, you are a fan of
Married…With
Children
. The dog’s name is Buck. He is this family pet whose voice you can hear
as he mocks his pretty idiotic owners. That’s why it’s so dumb to be called that,
but it’s okay for Ned. He’s cool, so I let it slide.

“All right, let’s get outa here. Look who just walked in.” Spud’s whispering as he
closes his magazine and looks down. I turn around to see a smirking Mike Hanson and
his angelic girlfriend, Deena, heading toward the pop coolers at the side of the
store, fanning themselves from the heat and breathing in relief at the feel of the
AC.

I’ve had the biggest crush on the blonde, blue-eyed Deena forever! Star cheerleader,
smart, sweet, with one of those dimples in her chin. This is the summer I want to
win her over. I’ve known her since kindergarten, but I never ever had the nerve to
get on that level with her. We played on the same Pee Wee League ball teams, attended
the same Halloween parties and Valentine’s dances, but not together. She’s been in
a number of my classes for years, but I could never get the guts to talk anything
more than casual. You know, borrow a pencil, joke about a substitute teacher, comment
on her wacky Halloween costume the year she dressed as Marge Simpson. That hair!
Okay, well!

Spud and Mike hate each other, and if we stay, there’s gonna be trouble. If Spud
gets in a fight, he won’t get to stay at my place. These two are from completely
different worlds.

“Yeah, okay,” I agree, not thrilled, as we get up, peeling our sweaty-sticking legs
from the leather booth. Mike has seen us and makes his way over, sauntering like
some bad-ass in a western film.
Damn.

“So, it’s the Cooper cousins.” He stares at me, then Spud. “What kind of happy hour
are you twerps up to? Where’s yer little guitar, Spud potato? Thought Hell’d freeze
over before you’d ever wander about without your cowboy boots and guitar together.
Don’t ya wanna croon us all a song?” Laughing at his own dumb comment, he takes a
seat and starts flipping through the magazine. Mike’s an ass. Spud is a guitar player,
a skill he got from his dad, especially with country songs, and I think Mike’s just
jealous.

“Flap off, freak,” Spud mumbles and he steps on Mike’s sandal-wearing foot as he
heads toward the door. Ouch, with those boots? Had to hurt! Spud’s not a chicken
and can kick some ass, but he can’t get in trouble and knows where to draw the line,
well, sometimes. But, oh, with just flip flops on Mike’s feet?

“Ouch, watch it, ya dumb hillbilly!” He pulls his foot up to the seat to rub it,
a grimace on his unfriendly face. “And how bout you, Jackson? Why you hanging in
this little dump when you can be playing audience to yer little cousin’s serenade?”
Now he laughs at himself again. Seriously, jerk.

“Dude, get over it,” I say. “It’s hot, we wanted some AC, and now we’re leaving.”
I start toward the door, dropping my Twix wrapper in the garbage. “Damn, what the
hell does Deena see in you? Arrogant prick,” I mumble.

“Excuse me?” He’s up now and following us, his thin, tanned body used to the summer
ways by now. He’s shorter than us, though, which helps. “You didn’t just insult me
in my pop’s own town now? Deena, grab me a Coke while you’re over there. I’ll meet
ya outside in a minute.” Deena looks at us briefly, gives me a heart-melting, apologetic
smile, and makes her way from the coolers to the counter to pay the cashier, who
couldn’t care less if we had a royal rumble
right here and now. She is too engrossed
in her gossip magazine and bag of Doritos.

The thing about Deena, it’s like she’s afraid of Mike and won’t butt in. Well, it’s
not her fault he’s a jerk.

“Um, whatever. We’re out. Go piss off somebody else.” I say, opening the door in
my triumph, but feeling the heat rush at us like a bull seeing red. Spud’s already
out there, waiting, steaming in more ways than one.

Mike’s dad is one of like four cops in town, which makes Mike think he’s also in
charge or something, like he owns any place he hangs. And his dad’s a prick. You
don’t want to run into him, all burly and a look of malice on his bearded face, if
you’re thinking of getting in trouble. Of course, let’s hope that jerk father-cop
will pull some strings when it comes time for Mike to become a working man, when
school is all over, because with his grades, he’s gonna be stuck in Seneca forever.
He’ll sink in college, and his running and football ability, which are decent now,
may make him a name and popular here, but it’s a small town and no scouts ever look
at players around here. His body is more built for track, not the ball field, but
he’s popular, so he gets to play. Like, if he wanted, at his five-foot-four frame,
they’d let him be star center on the basketball team, just because of who he is.
Colleges would laugh at that, the shorty. Let him enjoy it while it lasts. I just
wish he hadn’t won over Deena. God only knows what she sees in him. She’s just probably
too sweet to dump his ass.

“I ain’t done yet. You all can’t be so disrespectful, yo. You want yer little buddy
to keep out of trouble this summer, you’d better show some appreciation. Don’t think
I don’t know about Spud taking cigs from the Citgo station last week. Was right there
when he did it, was by the chips. But did I tattle? No, because I’m a nice guy. But,
if I
let my pops know, Spud’s gonna get a rough time ahead. Got it?”

Spud has a habit of getting in trouble… beer, cigs, curfew violations. Mike knows
all about it with his dad being Mr. Cop. Mike always threatens to cause more trouble.

“Look, you don’t know anything, and what’s it to you? Stay out of our way, and we’ll
stay out of yours.” By now, we’re standing in the doorway, between the heat and the
cold, and it’s obvious Miss Candi is irritated that we’re letting out the cool air.
Okay, everyone is irritated.

“Well, it ain’t quite so easy, Cooper, because I’ve got a right to wander where I
please. How about you all stay outa my way? And don’t think I’m dumb about you wanting
my girl. You stay away from Deena, as she don’t need to be hanging with welfare scums
like you.” He’s got this smirk on his face. Hit a sore spot and knows it.

The ass! My parents don’t make much, and we’ve always lived in the government housing
apartments, but that doesn’t make us scum. Man, I could outscore Mike any day on
a test in any subject. I know that if I want a future that includes a college degree,
I have to be smart, get good grades, and score some scholarships. If my parents taught
me anything, it’s hard work.

Now I really hate Mike. He’s always looked down on me. One of these days I’m gonna…

I stare him hard, deciding he’s not worth the trouble, walk out the door, and meet
Spud, my eyes blinded briefly with the brightness. Spud knew better than to test
the waters and has been on the sidewalk outside. With those jeans and boots, he must
be near death.

How can Deena stand that dumbass Mike? She totally must be the most patient, sympathetic…

“Finally!” Spud says, taking a deep breath and wiping sweat from his forehead. He
starts toward the sidewalk and is drenched in
sweat it’s as if he just weathered
a real storm.