But then, before I had the chance to squirm on the spot and find an excuse to leave, the smile returned to her face, and she asked if I liked grilled cheese. I fibbed and said I did when, really, I had never eaten a grilled cheese sandwich in my life that I could recall. She stood from the table, and as she walked to the fridge, she told Ricky we could play Super Nintendo while she cooked and that she'd bring the food to us.
"Cool. Thanks, Mom!" And he pulled me along back through the kitchen and living room.
"Don't forget you have homework, kiddo!"
"Okay!" he yelled as we began climbing the stairs.
Dad would've yelled at me for yelling in the house. He would've yelled at me for eating in my room. He would've yelled at me for doing anything but what wasimportant after school. And then he would've taken the belt to my back and butt and thighs until his chest worked for breath and his perfectly styled hair fell across his forehead.
"Your mom lets you eat in your room?" I asked, stunned, as we walked down the upstairs hallway.
"Huh?" he asked distractedly as we turned into the most awesome bedroom I had ever seen. "Oh, yeah, she doesn't care."
"That's really cool," I muttered.
He pointed at the bed. "You can sit there. I'll get the game set up."
Ricky had a TV in his room. He had not one, buttwogaming consoles—both hand-me-downs from his cousin, he said. He had a VCR and video tapes and a couple of posters of girls in bathing suits. It wasn't spotless; there were a couple of dirty socks on the floor, and his bed wasn't perfectly made.
I hated him for a moment, and then I didn't want to ever leave.
He handed me a controller as he sat beside me on the bed. Then the TV lit up with a game called Super Mario World.
Mrs. Tomson brought us paper plates loaded with sandwiches and potato chips, and it was one of the best things I'd ever eaten. Far better than the dry chicken, bland pasta, and burned roast Mom half-heartedly made while in some sort of weird trance. No, these sandwiches were melty and greasy, and I could've eaten a thousand of them if I had the chance. When she asked if I'd like another, I didn't stop myself from nodding eagerly.
I had no idea how long we played Super Mario World. We were having fun—more fun than I thought I’d had in my whole life. I couldn’t remember ever hanging out with a friend. I couldn’t remember ever reallyplaying, apart from when I had been in baseball. At fourteen years old, I was experiencing an awakening, a realization that I had missed out, and that was when I finally put a name to that crushing sensation in my chest.
I was sad.
I was sad for myself. For the childhood my parents had forced me to have when there were kids like Ricky, who had video games and grilled cheese sandwiches and a mom who came into his room and asked if she could play through a level.
I was in the process of questioning everything when I turned and noticed the time on Ricky’s alarm clock.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. “I have to go,” I uttered with a gasp.
Ricky dropped his controller into his lap, startled. “What? Why?”
Mrs. Tomson was on her way down the hall with a full laundry basket on her hip when she poked her head into the room. “Do you want to stay for dinner, Max?”
Dinner. Oh my gosh. I’m going to miss dinner.
Dad is going to kill me.
Smoky came to mind, and I wanted to cry.
“N-no, um … it’s okay. I-I have to get home.”
I ran out of Ricky’s room and past his mom as I called, “Thank you for the grilled cheese, Mrs. Tomson! I’ll see you tomorrow, Ricky!”
I ran down the stairs as I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders. I ran out the door, ran down the gravel path to the sidewalk, and kept running for six blocks until the houses got bigger and nicer. Then, with my lungs aching and sweat dripping down my back, I reached my house.
My father’s car was already in the driveway.
I stared at the door, and my hands began to shake. I couldn’t hear any yelling from where I stood, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t angry. It didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on how to kill me. It didn’t mean he wasn’t taking his anger out on my little sisters.
I pulled in a big breath and pushed out my fear. I’d have to go in there sooner or later. It wasn’t like I could run away. Gosh, I wished I could just run away, but I was only fourteen. I didn’t have any money. Dad had money. He had lots of money, but I couldn’t get any of it. Where would I even go anyway when the only other place I knew now was Ricky’s?
I took careful steps up the stone walkway to the porch. The front door flew open, and there was my father.
