As Chad had taken off for home, he had still been pulling at the front of his pants. He had asked Tucker the next day, in chorus, if it was okay if he came over again that afternoon.
“Of course, man,” Tucker had told him and Chad had smiled. Poor Chad “Scooter” Burke had never smiled much in school. “You can come over anytime you want. To the van,” Tucker stressed. “I’m never home, dig?”
“Sure. Four o’clock,” Chad said.
“Four? Like, I thought your curfew was at four,” Tucker teased. “Sneaky boy.”
“Yeah. Well. Um. Like, I have a plan. I have to stay after school for real.”
“For real?”
“I’ve been telling my mom I’m staying after every night. She’s…strict. But today, I, like, really will. I’m tutoring. Anyway, yeah. Four. I think I can get out.”
“Far out. See ya then.”
Tucker was already hard when Chad showed up just after 4 p.m. He’d been watching the time, anticipating. Chad was out of breath: excited, rambling.