“No,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t crack.
He snickered. “That cup must have been totally full of Coke. It looked like you got hit by a diarrhea water balloon.”
I’d had enough of it. I hated him. I hated the world. I felt a kind of anger I’d never felt before.
“Fuck you,” I said, feeling a perverse thrill saying those words. I picked up my bike, hopped on it, headed back toward home. I was still in pain, but that almost didn’t matter anymore.
“Hey, where you going?” Sam called.
I didn’t respond. I kept pedaling.
“Come on, don’t go home! I’m sorry!”
I had my money in my pocket. He wouldn’t be able to buy the video game without me. A short distance later, I heard him shout, “Pussy!”
I turned around, quickly, and yelled “Fuck you!” again.
They were the last words I spoke to Sam. I don’t even know if he said anything back.
I kept pedaling as fast as I could. The trek was slightly uphill at that point. I started to feel sick. I had to stop and toss my bike down again. I bent over the side of the road and coughed and puked up a nasty puddle of clear liquid. My eyes were watery, and the sun continued to beat down on me.
At first I didn’t notice the truck. I was too worried that more puke was coming. But then I snapped out of it and heard the purr of an engine nearby. I stood up and turned around and there it was, pulled halfway onto the shoulder, just a few feet away from me.
“You okay?”
I had to squint to see into the truck. It was a dusty white. Even though it wasn’t dented or anything, it was old. You could tell. In the driver’s seat was a heavy man, wearing sunglasses. He had a beard and messy brown hair. “You okay?” he asked again.
Don’t talk to strangers. We’d all been told that since we were little kids. But that was dumb. You couldn’t avoid it in real life. “Yeah,” I said.
“I saw what those creeps did to you back there,” he said, cocking his head.
I looked back down the road. Sam was nowhere in sight.
“You okay?” he said, for the third time. This time he took his shades off. Even from several feet away I could see one of his eyes was goofy—like it was focusing in a different direction than the other.
“I’m okay.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
I stared at him.
“You can put your bike in the back. You live around here?”
My legs felt frozen. It was like one of those dreams—where someone approaches from a darkened hallway, coming right toward you, and you can’t move and you can’t speak or scream, and then you wake up. I woke up right then. I picked up my bike. I said, “No, thanks, I’m fine.”
“You sure? It’s no trouble.” I heard a metallic click as he opened his door, and then a beeping noise.
I jumped onto my bike and shot off, speeding up the hill toward the road that would take me to Pine Forest. I glanced back a few times and saw he was still parked there, watching me, the door open. I pedaled faster. I finally turned onto the road, which sloped downhill, so I picked up speed. As I reached the part of the street that leveled out, I glanced back again and saw the white truck just turning onto the road. I looked ahead and figured he’d reach me before I could turn into the neighborhood, before I’d be anywhere close to home, so I steered my bike across the street into a driveway of one of the houses that wasn’t really part of our neighborhood.
I had no idea who lived there. I tossed my bike down in the garage and banged on their kitchen door, banged and banged so hard I thought the glass panes might shatter. Through the panes of the door I saw that the kitchen was dark. Maybe no one was home. And just then I noticed that there were no cars in the garage. But there was a high wooden gate that led from the garage to the backyard, and I saw a dog sticking its nose through the wooden slats, sniffing and panting. I could see through the slats that it was a harmless sweet yellow Lab. Just as I heard the truck approach I reached and unlatched the wooden gate and went into the backyard where the dog jumped all over me excitedly.
“Hey, boy, hey,” I whispered. “Shh. Calm down.” I managed to both pet and calm the dog and peer through the slats at the same time. I saw the white truck drive past the house.
My heart pounded. I closed my eyes but tried to listen carefully for the sound of the truck, to see if it had stopped, or if it was turning around and coming back. The dog was still jumping on me, plastering me with licks and jabs of his wet nose. I turned and looked out at the backyard, and saw that the chain-link fence backed up to some woods that surrounded Pine Forest. I could climb that fence and escape that way if I had to, run through the woods, where I’d eventually reach one of the houses in our neighborhood. I looked to see if there were any sticks or weapons handy. I was making plans, my mind racing, my heart still beating like crazy.
I sat there for a few minutes. I opened my eyes and looked through the slats again, still listening carefully. The road led to a few other neighborhoods past ours, then dead-ended at a small lake. Maybe the truck would turn back. I had to be careful.
I continued petting the dog’s head gently. I could have sat there all day doing that. But ten minutes had passed. I felt silly. The whole incident was probably nothing. Just some man who lived in one of the other neighborhoods, on his way home. I almost felt bad, for biking away like I did, but better safe than sorry.
I petted the Lab good-bye and nudged my way out of the gate. I walked to my bike and then peered out of the garage. The coast was clear. I rode home fast and parked my bike in the garage and walked to the front door. Before going in the house I stood there, remembering Mom was inside, still studying. I couldn’t let her know anything had happened. I opened the door gently. Once inside, I peered out the little side windows. I thought Sam might ride up at any moment, ready to apologize.
But of course, he never did.
===
That afternoon is all kind of a blur to me now. Beth came over a few times, asking where Sam was, and Beth’s mom did the same, and then everyone panicked because Sam still hadn’t come back by the time it got dark out.
We all went over to Sam’s house, to wait for the police. When they finally came, a man and a woman in dark official uniforms, their guns in holsters, their faces grim and serious—that’s when I got scared. That’s when I started to worry that something bad was happening. That something bad had happened.