Okay, I don't know what it is. I just know it's cool he's so psyched up about writing again, and I gotta admit: it sort of rubs off. Kind of like when your roommate starts watching "Designing Women" all of a sudden, and then you start watching it too, even though it's not really your thing, and before you know it . . . both of you are pregnant.
Alright, not exactly like that. But similar.
***
The old Shop N Go convenience store was at the end of the block. Stewart didn’t usually go there because his best friend Head got caught shoplifting there and was banned from the store. But Head—or Shithead as Stewart now thought of him—was no longer best pals with Stuart, so he had no qualms about going there today.
The annoying bell dinged when they went inside, and there was a blast of cold air assaultimg them, quite a change from the ninety-seven degree weather outside.
“What size can I get?” Anthony asked.
“Size what? Shoe?” Stewart retorted, very weakly.
“I thought we were gonna get Icees,” he said, just short of whining.
“Yeah, yeah,” Stewart said. “Get whatever you want.” With their mother getting so many hours at work again, he was confident she’d pay him back for whatever he spent on his brother. Either that or raise his allowance to something a bit more in line with the 21st Century.
Stewart got a forty-eight ounce Mountain Dew, which was the same price as a twelve ounce Icee for some reason, and drank a third of it there at the fountain so he could fill it up to the top again. Beside him, Anthony was struggling with the Icee machine. Either nothing came out or it sprayed out like a fire hose, splattering on his hands and bare legs. The boy made an in-over-his head sound, and Stewart filled up his cup for him, telling him to go in the bathroom and get himself cleaned up. Anthony didn’t have to be told twice.
Stewart took the dripping Icee cup and wiped it off with napkins, even wiping up the red spray on the side of the machine (though he didn’t really have to). He glanced at the big mirror on the wall above him, but the clerk behind the counter wasn’t even looking at him.
Stewart remembered he’d turned off his phone while skating, and fished it out of his shorts, turning it back on. He’d gotten a text from Rupe McGavin, who always wrote so much it had to be spread over more than one message. He had send a dirty joke about a shipwrecked crew on an island of horny cannibals . . . but the punchline hadn’t come through. Rupert was probably technically Stewart’s new best friend, but the guy never ever showered, and was always pretty ripe. Texting really was the best way to communicate with him. Stewart tried to think of what the end of the joke would be, and texted back, “Unfortunately, we are all out of canoes,” which was almost funny.
Stewart was halfway through a game of “Rest In Peace” on the phone before he realized his brother wasn’t with him. He looked around. Was Anthony still in the bathroom, or had he—
Anthony was on the far side of the store, where the vending machines sat, talking to some strange guy. The man looked to be about twenty-five, with long ratty hair and ear gauges, and was tying something around his neck. He headed for the door, and Anthony, who still had cherry Icee on one of his arms, came running over to Stewart.
“Stewart! Did you see?”
“Were you talking to that dude?”
“I need a quarter!”
“What are you talking about?”
“That claw game over there,” Anthony said, gesturing. “Can I have a quarter?”
Words today: 567
Words total: 977
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