Chapter 6

Finally the bus driver starts to close the

door, and CJ jogs down the steps. “This is my stop.” Before the

door can shut in his face, he shoves it aside and jumps to the curb

below. Out,he thinks, taking a deep breath as the bus

shudders behind him. Free.

The board beneath his arm falls to his feet.

CJ steps onto it and pushes off from the ground in one fluid

motion. He skates a little farther down the sidewalk despite the NO

SKATING sign nearby—the words are half obscured by spray paint

anyway, the work of taggers that no amount of scrubbing or rain can

wash away. But when he starts to draw nasty looks from shoppers

passing him, he jumps the board off onto the street and picks up

speed to get out of the traffic. This place is too damn busy. At

least no one will bother him at the pipe.

Only thin yellow tape blocks the truck

entrance that leads around the side of Harrison’s grocery. For a

moment CJ stands on his board and stares at the tape, dumbfounded.

When did they put that up? What the hell for? He was just here over

the weekend, riding the inside of the pipe like a surfer on a tight

wave. Richard picked up a few groceries while CJ skated—when he was

done, he stood right here where CJ stands now and watched him.

Richard loves to see him skate.

That’s how they met, really, in a parking lot

sort of like this one over a year ago now. CJ palled around with a

different crowd then, younger boys still in school like he himself

was at the time, and he used to spend half the night hanging around

in the shadows outside convenience stores, popping wheelies and

whistling at the people who came in after midnight for beer or cigs

or munchies. That evening he was outside a gas station and he

noticed Richard the moment he got out of his car. While he filled

his tank, he kept one hand fisted in his pocket, pulling the

material of his pants tight across his full ass. CJ liked the way

Richard’s sports coat looked pushed back behind his wrist. The

fuzzy brown hair that covered the guy’s cheeks and chin, a contrast

to the receding line above his brow. The wire-frame glasses that

made him look smart. And the way Richard glanced around the lot

uneasily, saw him with his friends, looked at the gas pump and then

looked backagain. CJ had never gotten a second glance

before, from anyone. That right there won Richard his heart.

He got a third look when Richard went inside

to pay for his gas. On his way back to his car, CJ skated up behind

him. “Hey,” he called.

Richard turned immediately. “Excuse me?” he

asked. His gaze danced past CJ to the other boys along the front

window of the store, backlit by the lights inside, and for a brief

second fear flickered behind those thin glasses he wore. This close

CJ could see his eyes were a pale blue, like faded denim or the

endless summer sky on a clear day. Sexy eyes. He wondered what they

looked like without the lens refracting them, first thing in the

morning or late at night. And he was staring, had to be, because

Richard cleared his throat and asked, a little perturbed,

“Yes?”

With a nonchalant shrug, CJ pointed past him

and said, “I like your car.” A BMW because Richard is a bang-up

salesman, though CJ didn’t know that at the time. It was an older

model but still in top condition, shiny like wet latex in the

overhead lights. Impressive really, even to someone like CJ who

wasn’t easily impressed. “I’m CJ.”

“Richard,” the guy said.

Behind CJ his friends laughed, a childish

sound in the empty parking lot, and CJ half turned to hiss at them,

“Shut up.” They were cramping his action here.

Richard glanced at the boys by the store,

then back at CJ. The way he looked him over made every drop of

blood in his body rush to his dick, and his baggy pants felt two

sizes too tight when Richard’s eyes met his. “How old are you?” he

wanted to know.

“Nineteen,” CJ whispered.

Richard frowned—CJ looks a lot younger, he

knows he does, he still gets carded buying scratch-off lottery

tickets. “You sure?” he asked. When CJ nodded, Richard started, “If

you’re shitting me—”

“I have my license,” CJ offered. He dug

into his back pocket to extract his wallet, the one he wears on a

chain not so much to be cool but so he won’t lose it. All of a

sudden he wanted Richard to believe him, more than anything. I’m

old enough,he thought, scrambling through the folds of his

wallet, past movie tickets and business cards and receipts, crap he

stuck in there and promptly forgot. “If you want to see

it—”

“I believe you.” Richard took a step

closer and the boys behind CJ snickered. Looking over his shoulder,

he saw his friends for the first time as the rest of the world

did—a bunch of rowdy boys looking for trouble. Skaters dressed in

sloppy clothes with bad haircuts, kids screaming for discipline,

headed down the wrong road of life. At that exact moment, he hated

them.