“Martin, Jesus!” Monique said.
“Oh please,” said Martin. “It’s only a mild sting. There’s no blood.”
Her eyes on Martin, she turned her head slowly to one side. “You scare me sometimes, but Devon doesn’t—he doesn’t scare me.”
As Martin opened his mouth to laugh, a noise like a weak cough came out. He slipped the pistol into his coat pocket and sipped.
A white-bearded man appeared in the café door window. It must have been Levi. He stepped outside in a white shirt and black tie, a white apron around his waist, and slapped a hand on the wooden railing. He stepped down, confiscated the half-full bottle, and returned to the overhang.
“You’re eighty-sixed, Martin,” the man said. “There are rules. No alcohol for minors is one of them. You’re out for good. This is too many times now. Out. Off the property. Son, were you drinking too?”
“No,” Devon said. “Nobody else had anything.”
“You can’t kick me out,” Martin said. “This is my club.”
“You’re out for good this time,” Levi said. “I won’t tell your mother, but you can’t come back. Sorry.”
The man went inside. Through a window, Lyle watched him go behind the counter to take an old woman’s payment. Levi bowed to her slightly, as if thanking her for her patience. A small chalkboard on the wall behind him read, “Matzo Ball Soup.”
Martin looked like he might cry. Devon grinned.
“You’ll be all right, Martin,” said Monique. “I know you’re not always like this. You must be having a bad time. Are we still friends?”
Martin breathed a shaky, “No.” He knocked on a café window and motioned for people to leave. A few kids in wool coats and jackets came outside and straddled their bikes. At the end of the line of scooters and motorcycles, Martin started his black-shielded red scooter. His engine hacked as if it had no muffler. As Devon awakened his Triumph, the sound obliterated the noise of the other motors, and Monique slung herself onto the seat behind him. Most of the kids wore small white or black helmets that showed their faces.
Lyle swept his eyes across the Triumph’s chrome and leather. “Where’d you get this?” he said. Devon turned away, revving the engine as Martin coasted into the grass, passing the others, and took up the lead position. “It’s his dad’s. It’s not even his.”
“Why don’t you and Lyle do something tonight?” Devon said. “Go hunting or something. I think the rest of us want to start having a good time. We’re going to my house,” he threw over his shoulder.
“We’re going to my place—it’s my club,” Martin said.
“You really should wear your helmet,” Monique told him.
Devon nudged his tire forward, to signal Martin to get moving. Two younger girls with long hair and glossy lips came out to the porch. One of the girls called to Monique, “Are you going to the concert? I just talked to Mom. She said I could go if you’re going.”
“No. Leave me alone. I have no interest in hanging out with you.”
“Then you have to call Mom. She said to call if you’re not going. She said—”
“Rosa! Go alone. I’m sure you can manage.”
“But Mom said!”
Martin and the rest of them rode along the walk, pine trees jerking upward in the headlights. Martin swerved onto Shepherd’s Boulevard, then turned again and passed by on the road in front of the café. Lyle watched the riders moving in the trees, Martin leading the pack. Then all at once, he slowed. Each of the bikes overtook him. His engine was failing in rattles and gasps. Lyle saw him stop on the café side of the one-way, partway down the block. When the engine died, he brushed water off his face and cursed, jumped on the kick-starter, and wound the engine to a scream before letting it settle. He bowed his head for a moment. Then he bounced his scooter up the curb and steered wildly through the trees. He stopped in the shadows near the café.
“Rosa,” Martin called. “Devon has several STDs. He’s trying to give them to your sister. Will you tell her? I say this because I care about her.”
“She wouldn’t listen. She hates me.”
“But tell her, okay?”
“You should tell her.”
“Several people have told me he has herpes. I hope you can talk to her in time.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Rosa. “Last night he brought her home at like three in the morning. She’s probably already caught it off him, and I bet she gave him something back.”
“Just tell her. Maybe you don’t care if your sister’s life gets ruined, but I do. Tell her that. Tell her I care a lot.”
Martin sped out of the grove, toward the flock of bikes that had left him. When he was out of sight, the glow of his taillight drifted in the trees, as if it had stained the air behind him.
“Martin cares. He’s a very caring individual.” Rosa laughed.
She wore a close-fitting turtleneck and skirt, gray tights, and a green plastic raincoat with a hood liner printed in hearts. She had big eyes and a lot of black hair, and she was small, with good hips. He liked her scent, like a torn-open orange misting in the air.
Rosa introduced her friend as Shanta, who said her name was Shantatara. Shanta had dark eyeliner, a checkered skirt, and no curves that Lyle could see.
“I don’t see why you don’t stick with Shanta,” Rosa said. “It’s a fine name.”
Shanta asked him what it was like being in the club. He rested his foot on a step. He liked feeling older, an eleventh grader. “It’s not always great, I’ll tell you that much. Where do you live?” he asked Rosa.
“Top of Chambers.”
“I live at the bottom of Chambers, way on the other end of Shepherd’s. It’s a temporary place till we find a house to buy.”
He asked if he could call her sometime.
“Give me a pencil,” Rosa told her friend, sounding urgent, and Shanta gave her a candy cane pen. Rosa moved the tip of the pen on the inside of a bubble gum wrapper.
“The ink won’t stick,” Rosa said. “Do you have something?”
He stood with them under the porch roof and opened his wallet. Slipped into a card holder was a picture of his sister, Lila, two years earlier, at fourteen. He hesitated to let her write on the photo, but it was the only thing he had. Rosa’s brow tensed at the photograph.
“It’s my sister,” he said, and Rosa smiled. He held the picture facedown on his wallet while she wrote her name and number on the back. He placed the photo back in the card holder, with the name Rosa showing.
He told her he would call her the next day. He left the trees and walked
