to the side of her face. He leaned down carefully and kissed the top of her head. Megan’s hand immediately shot out, grabbing a handful of his hair.
Scott groaned. The substance of her breakfast was now stuck to the strands of his hair. “Megan, now look what you’ve done.” His mom’s laughter echoed inside the room. He narrowed his eyes. “Sure, that makes you laugh.”
“It was so funny.”
“I’m not cutting my hair. Wait until it really grows.”
His mom frowned. “What do you mean? You’re not growing it any longer.”
Scott shrugged. “I’m thinking about letting it grow all the way down my back.”
His mom scowled as he left the room, grinning. Scott headed to the bathroom and cleaned the syrup out of his hair. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, squeezing the paste from the bottom and adjusted the contents evenly toward the top of the tube before returning it to the second shelf inside the medicine cabinet. While he brushed his teeth, he eyed his brown shoulder-length hair. Should he actually let it grow longer?
It’s something to think about, he told himself as he rinsed his mouth, turned off the bathroom light, walked down the hallway, and exited the house. He grabbed his toolbox from their one-car garage and walked next-door. Determined to complete his job before his football game, he jogged up the three concrete steps and pressed the doorbell.
Felicia opened the door, looking unhappy as she scrunched up her face in a pouting expression. She hurried back to their dated blue sectional couch in her living room and crossed her arms over her chest. “My mom will be here shortly.”
“Okay,” Scott replied, ignoring her moodiness.
He shut the door and crossed the living room where he had spent many childhood days playing childish games with Felicia. On the five-foot mantle above the fireplace, framed pictures had been placed carefully. There were baby pictures of Felicia and him lying on the floor beside one another. Pictures of them standing on the front steps on their first day of school each year. Pictures of them playing in the front yard, in the backyard, and inside the house. The most recent picture had been taken last February when they went to the Sweetheart Dance.
Scott picked up that picture. He studied his navy-blue three-piece suit and Felicia’s tomato colored gown. Their arms were linked as they smiled into the camera. “I haven’t seen this picture yet.”
Felicia sulked. “I don’t know why we went to the Sweetheart Dance. We’re not even sweethearts.”
“You wanted to go.”
“I went because you wanted to go.”
“Yeah, right,” Scott replied as he returned the picture. He looked at his neighbor. “What’s your problem?”
Felicia wrinkled her forehead. “Because of you, I’m grounded from The Parlor for two nights.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. She always blamed him for one thing or another. “What’d I do now?”
“You made me yell out about French-kissing Randy. My mom got mad, so now, I’m grounded.”
Before Scott could respond, Janet Woods, a petite woman in her early forties, entered the living room. Like her daughter, she had long eyelashes, keen eyes, and a strong jaw which expressed her activeness and enthusiasm for life. She wore her nursing uniform. Since her husband’s death, she returned to her career as a registered nurse and was employed at North Hillside Hospital. This week, she was working the day shift.
She smiled warmly. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I just told your mom about the door handle last night,”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to fix it right now,” Scott replied. Felicia’s mom was like a second mother to him. For the first eight years of his life, she babysat him during the day while his mother worked to help pay for their house bill. Scott would fix anything for Felicia’s mom. He wanted to follow his dad’s example and help Felicia and her mother as much as he could.
Janet creased her brows in a teasing manner. “Does your eagerness have anything to do with your football game?”
Scott patted his stomach. “I need to keep myself fit.”
She smiled. “Well, you better get started then.” She moved into the kitchen and gestured at the kitchen door that led to the backyard. “The key won’t turn the lock anymore.”
Scott set his small toolbox on the white linoleum floor, took the key from Janet Woods, and placed it inside the lock. When the key wouldn’t turn, he said, “The lock probably needs cleaning. I’m out of solvent, so I’ll run to the hardware store and buy some.”
“Here’s some money,” Janet said as she handed Scott a ten-dollar bill that he shoved into his pocket. As usual, she said, “Keep the change.”
Scott headed for the business center, taking the same route he had taken with Felicia last night. After purchasing cleaning solvent at Orson’s Hardware Store, he chatted with Mr. Orson, a friendly man in his late sixties.
Twenty minutes later, Scott returned to his neighbor’s house. Mrs. Woods’s car was gone. Scott didn’t bother to knock. He entered the house and walked straight to the kitchen. He removed the lock, soaked the parts in the cleaning solvent, and scrubbed the surfaces with a toothbrush. When the tumbler was thoroughly dry, he lubricated the components.
Several minutes before ten, he tightened the final screw of the door handle and pocketed the five-dollar bill Janet had left on the kitchen counter for him. He hurried through the living room, anxious to get to the football game. Felicia was still sitting on the couch, watching television and pouting with her arms crossed around her chest.
*****
After another physical football game, Scott and his friends rested on the freshly cut lawn with a slight grin on their faces. The last fifteen minutes of the game had ended more like rugby, throwing lateral passes while running down the field.
A gentle breeze penetrated through their sweat-soaked T-shirts and cooled them. Scott looked over at Brett and Lance, curious as to how they had fared with Destiny and Margie. He didn’t ask. Neither did anyone else. The boys all waited for Karl who always asked the questions. They never had to wait long.
Karl leaned forward. “How did it go with the girls last night?”
Brett and Lance had offended the girls. Brett had been too anxious to get his hands all over Destiny’s lower half as they necked on the grassy lawn inside the park. She slapped him, calling him a jerk and then stormed off. Faring no better, Lance had killed a spider while he sat on top the picnic table talking with Margie. That single act sent Margie into a rage. She yelled that if everyone kept killing insects, they’d soon become extinct.
The guys laughed, except for Troy who frowned. “Dude, why’d you do that? You know how much Margie cares about the animals.”
Lance glared at him. “If you think you could do better, why don’t you make a move for her?”
Troy shook his head. The idea of talking to a girl caused the sensation of a cardiac arrest. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Dude,
