Peter. I have four really long pieces of wood that I need to move from my lawn to my driveway. I should have had the trucker help, but I wasn’t thinking. He seemed in a rush anyway. I don’t think it’s a job for anyone under twelve, but maybe a really strong twelve and half—”
“I can do it.” The words rushed out from somewhere inside Peter, not his brain.
“Maybe we should wait until your mother comes home so we can ask her if it’s okay. I don’t want—”
“It’s okay, really.”
Josh puffed out his right cheek, then his left as if he was debating against himself. A slow shrug of his shoulders signaled he’d come to some sort of verdict. “Heck, I’ve always found it easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission anyway. Let’s go.”
Peter followed closely behind Josh, his two steps equaling one of Josh’s. The wood planks in question were indeed a two-person job, the length of two diving boards and as thick as Peter’s fist. They spanned most of Josh’s front lawn. Josh instructed Peter to bend down and lift with his legs for more strength and less strain on the back. Peter felt his arms quivering as they carried the first board. He studied Josh’s arms, searching for a sign of struggle, but saw only the blue veins streaking through his locked arms.
Peter’s father used the gym in the pavilion when he was home. Peter had started to notice changes in his Dad’s body. It was impossible not to, really. Peter and CJ had caught him several times admiring his shirtless body in the mirror. Sometimes he’d flex and make them grab his arm or punch his stomach. There was something different in Josh’s lean yet perfectly curved muscles, something genuine—not store-bought.
After they placed the first plank on the driveway, Peter held his one arm to stop it from shaking and asked, “Josh, how will cars get in and out of the driveway?”
“What cars? I don’t own one.”
“What about when your parents visit?”
Josh looked at Peter as though he was an old clock and his face could be easily opened to display the inner workings. A slight smile appeared on Josh’s face. “Visit? So, you know about my parents? I figured everyone must. This place is like a small town. A small, fenced-in town.” Josh laughed. “Sounds like I could be describing a prison.”
Peter had no intention of explaining to Josh the visits from his mother. They walked across the lawn to the next plank. Peter made sure to lift with his legs.
“Good,” Josh said. They walked several paces, Josh moving backward and facing Peter. “So, I guess you know about the race then too.”
Peter nodded. “I was there. I saw it.”
Josh didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. He smiled, “Don’t hold it against me. Sometimes I act before I think. I guess you could say I was inspired.”
Peter would never hold that against Josh. If Peter acted on just a small portion of his thoughts, especially when he tried to rally himself to oppose Chipper, his life would be a lot better.
“I’m only here for a short time. Until my parents sell the house, or something else,” Josh said, pausing.
“What do you mean, ‘something else?’” Peter asked.
Josh wiped the sweat from his face and looked toward the sky. “That’s a conversation for another day,” he said, and from his tone, Peter knew Josh was done talking.
They dropped the second plank and slid it across the driveway until it touched the other plank. From the dead-end direction of Ranch Street, the golf cart from a couple minutes earlier puttered toward them, now carrying two men. Josh lifted his arm over his head to stretch his shoulder. The cart slowed as it passed, the passenger leaning his head across the lap of the driver to get a better view. He looked like a carbon copy of the driver with his sunglasses, khaki shorts, and sleeveless vest. The driver rested his arm on the steering wheel as he drove. The Plexiglas windshield was folded over, and his hand dangled in the open air.
The expression on Josh’s face changed. He dropped his hands to his side and returned the golfers’ stares with a hard, vacant look. Suddenly, the simple conversation and Josh’s small grins seemed miles away, and again Peter saw the wild animal in his neighbor.
“Do you know them?” Peter asked.
Josh’s eyes followed the slow-moving golf cart. When the golfers were gone, Josh just smiled at Peter without answering.
Most of the interactions Peter had with the golfers and residents of Willow Creek Landing were similar to the exchange with the guy who’d lost his ball. They either ignored Peter or treated him like he worked for them.
CJ appeared in the side yard between their houses, swinging the lasso over her head. She let the loop fly, barely missing the shrub she aimed to rope in.
Josh watched, the dark cloud that had enveloped him now evaporated. “She’s pretty good with that thing.”
“She thinks she’s a superhero.”
CJ tried to rope the shrub again, casting glances at her audience as she wheeled the lasso over her head. She let go and the loop landed over the top of the shrub.
“Gotcha,” she shouted. CJ pulled from her end and the shrub bowed.
“You better be careful before the shrub gets mad and catapults you across the street,” Josh shouted.
CJ stopped applying pressure on the rope. She had no idea what catapult meant, but it didn’t sound good.
“What’s Uncle Herb doing?” Peter said, hoping his sister would get the hint and leave. Peter knew she wanted them to welcome her over. Usually, CJ wouldn’t wait for such formalities, forcing her presence wherever Peter might be, but Peter knew she wasn’t completely sold on Josh yet. Neither was Peter.
“He’s napping,” CJ replied.
Peter sighed. Where was it written that big brothers had to include little sisters in everything they did? Peter made a mental note to himself that once school starts he would poll his classmates and take the results back to his mother.
As if on cue, his mother’s car pulled into the driveway at the usual high speed.
“Mom’s home, Peter!” CJ said.
Peter didn’t want to leave. He was enjoying helping Josh, one of the few people he had spoken to this summer who wasn’t related.
Peter noticed his mother looking at him as she put the car in park and removed the keys from the ignition. She stepped out and waved. Dressed in a gray business suit and with her hair pulled back into a knob, Peter thought she looked very pretty. Recently, Peter had rarely seen her with makeup or jewelry. He remembered how his father made her very angry once when he’d told her the pink sweatpants she wore every day “would walk on their own soon.” Her response was something like If you had my life, you’d do the same. His father, as usual, made a joke, further infuriating his mother. He’d love to wear pink sweatpants, he said.
Abby stopped next to CJ in the middle of the strip of grass that separated the two houses. She rubbed the back of her head.
“Hi,
