Bad Haircut

Kevin paid me ten dollars for the letter and another ten for delivery, five of which went to Burnsy, who drove me to Angela's house in the ritzy section of Cranwood. It was early evening, and a sprinkler spun jets of water across the plush front lawn. The shrubs near the house had been trimmed to look like gum drops and spinning tops. I set the roses on the welcome mat, then turned and ran back to Burnsy's Duster.

Kevin and Angela went to the drive-in on their first date. They really hit it off. Burnsy said there was so much heavy breathing in the back seat that he had to get out of the car and watch the second half of Billy Jack sitting on the gravel, holding the speaker to his ear. He told me this as we drove to Angela's to deliver another bouquet of roses, along with a poem I'd written at White Diamond:

Last night at the drive-in

The people in cars

Were watching the movie

But we were the stars!

It was Wednesday afternoon and I should have been doing my paper route. I was a carrier for the Community News, a freebie shopper paper. Once a week I had to fold 300 papers, secure them with rubber bands, then deliver one to every house in a six-block area. The entire process took about seven hours, and I made ten bucks.

I had been wobbling down Oak Street around noon on my old stingray bike when Burnsy's car pulled up and began crawling down the street beside me. Kevin rolled down the passenger window. I could tell from his greasy T-shirt that he was on lunch hour from the station.

“Hey Buddy,” he said. “You ever write a poem?”

“Nope.”

“Think you could handle it?”

I whizzed a paper at someone's front porch, just a little too hard. It slammed into the screen door: dogs started barking up and down the street.

“Sure,” I said. “No sweat. Just let me finish up.”

He leaned out the window and waved some money in my face.

“Come on,” he told me. “I'll make it worth your while.”

At the corner, Burnsy opened his trunk and threw my bike and canvas bag inside. By the time we got back from Angela's, I didn't feel like finishing my route. I went home, stuffed the last fifty papers into my bag, and rode out to the woods behind Indian Park. I dumped the papers into the brook, then sat down under a tree to leaf through a copy of Playboy someone had thoughtfully left behind.

“Sue really likes you,” Angela whispered. “Do you like her?”

“I don't know,” I said. “We just met.”

Sue was the redhead. Her parents were away for the weekend, and her older sister had agreed to let us have the house to ourselves on Friday night. It was my job to keep her occupied so Kevin could be alone with Angela.

Sue and I sat rigidly on the love seat while Kevin and Angela huddled together on the couch, holding hands and playing games with their fingers. Angela smoked like an old movie star, closing one eye and shooting a slender jet of smoke at the plastic-covered lampshade. She was wearing a turquoise tube top, and I felt a pang of sadness. Sue was okay. She had thick red hair and a cute face. But Angela! I must have been staring, because she smiled at me and stuck out her tongue.

“Hey,” Kevin said. “Let's play spin the bottle.”

It was a surprising suggestion. None of us had ever played before, and Kevin had to explain the rules. I got Sue on the first spin of the game. Embarrassed, I craned my neck and planted a quick dry peck on the corner of her mouth. Kevin booed.

“What kind of a kiss was that?”

Sue spun next and got Kevin. Their mouths were so wide open it looked more like artificial respiration than making out. When they finally unstuck their faces, Kevin collapsed to the floor. Sue wiped her mouth and grinned.

Angela's kiss had a sweet, complicated taste. I felt her tongue working its way between my teeth and then something else, something soft and loose, and the next thing I knew her gum had slipped into my mouth, a secret gift. We kept going until Kevin wrenched us apart.

Angela fanned her face with one hand. “Whew,” she said. “Who turned up the heat?”

The game ended on the next spin. Kevin and Angela started on their knees, then tipped over and stretched out on the floor. Five minutes passed, and they still hadn't surfaced for air.

Sue smiled apologetically. “Well,” she said. “Looks like you're stuck with me.”

We kissed for a while, then decided to go for a walk. We ended up sitting on the swings at a playground down the street. It was a beautiful night, the whole world at room temperature.

“I'm sorry Kevin dragged you here,” she said.

“He didn't drag me. I wanted to come.”

“Right.” She pushed off and started swinging lazily back and forth. “Angela always tries to fix me up with her boyfriends’ friends.”

“Does she have a lot of boyfriends?”

“Pretty many. The last one was nineteen. Her father threw a shit fit when he found out.”

“Nineteen,” I said. “That's incredible.”

“I know,” said Sue. “But I think she really likes Kevin. He sends her flowers and writes her these sweet little poems. I wish someone would do that for me.”

I didn't say anything. I just sat there chewing Angela's bland gum, thinking about her and Kevin.

“I'm scared of going to high school,” she said. “Aren't you?”

“I'm not going yet.”

She seemed surprised. “How old are you?” “I'll be thirteen next week.” “Huh,” she said. “I thought you were older.” She hopped off the swing and cartwheeled into a handstand. Her shirt came untucked, exposing a band of creamy skin.

“Come on,” she called out. “Let's go home.” Sue walked effortlessly on her hands for an entire block, her palms slapping out a rubbery rhythm on the sidewalk. At the corner she arched forward like a Slinky and snapped into an upright position. We went back to her house and played Ping-Pong until Burnsy showed up to drive us home. Kevin was quiet in the back seat. Midway through the ride, he tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a ten-dollar bill.

We had planned to go to Bowcraft Amusement Park on Monday night—play a round of miniature golf, take some cuts at the batting cage, feed a few quarters to the pinball machine. But when Burn-sy's car swung into the Little League parking lot, I could tell something was wrong.

“Where's Kevin?” I asked.

“Back here.”

I leaned over the headrest and saw him lying on the floor between the seats, his head poking out from underneath a green army blanket.

“I'm dead,” he told me. “The accountant came today and Paul found out about the money.

I think he knows it was me.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No, but you should have seen the way he was staring.”

I felt myself getting angry. It was fun being rich, doing something different every night, writing stuff for money. I wasn't ready for it to end. In less than a month I'd managed to save almost fifty bucks, but that wasn't nearly enough for the ten-speed bike I was hoping to buy.