Yearbook by David Marlow Read Free Book Online

heavy mayonnaise jar from his backpack. Dipping in, he took out a ten-cent piece.
    Corky looked at the jar of coins. What a strange little hoy!
    Guy shook the jar fiercely. “One should never be without loose change.”
    That one worked. Corky laughed and took the dime.
    The two of them looked an unlikely pair, walking together to the telephone booth—Corky nearly six-three, Guy nearly five-zero.
    Putting the dime down the slot, Guy dialed his number.
    Rose and Butch raced for the phone.
    Butch got it. “Hello?”
    “Hi, Butchie,” greeted Guy as if nothing had happened.
    “You son of a bitch! …” Butch screamed.
    “Yes. Well, Butch, how nice you’ve had some time to cool off. “
    “You’ve never known the meaning of misery before, you shit-ass. What I’ve got planned for you will …”
    As Butch continued yelling, Guy fought to say, “Yeah, sure. Sure, Butch. Listen. Uhm, me and Corky Henderson are down here at the Sugar Bowl having a Coke. Just wondered if maybe you’d like to join us.”
    Butch’s rampage stopped cold. “… Wha—?”
    “Hold on, Butch. Speak to him yourself.” Moving the receiver away from his mouth, Guy called out, “Hey, Corky! It’s Butch! Yeah, my brother, Butch. Want to say hello?”
    Entertained, Corky grabbed the receiver. “Hey, Butch. What’s the word?”
    “That you, Corky?”
    “Yeah. Listen. Your brother and I talked it out. He knows he shouldn’t’ve been so close to the sidelines today. I’m not mad at him, so no reason for you to be, agreed?”
    Butch was stumped. “Oh, sure. Of course. Whatever you say. Hey, if you guys gonna hang out there a while, I’ll come right over. “
    “Don’t bother. I’m meeting Ro-Anne. And give your brother a break, will ya? He’s a good kid.”
    Without waiting for a reply Corky hung up. “Well, kid, that’s that. You owe me a thousand dollars.”
    Guy held out his mayonnaise jar. “Would you settle for thirty-two forty-eight?”
    Corky smiled. “I was just kidding.”
    Guy returned the money to his backpack.
    The bell above the door rang. Ro-Anne making a late entrance.
    “I gotta go,” Corky told Guy as he waved to his girl friend.
    “Thanks again. Thanks a million. I’ll make it up to you, Corky. I will.”
    “No sweat,” said Corky over his shoulder.
    Guy bicycled home at full speed, the better to return the yellow Schwinn before Butch might discover it missing. Along the way he reopened his diary to record how strong he felt, being fueled by the idyllic vision of Corky and Ro-Anne kissing hello.

NINE  
    THAT NIGHT AT DINNER, fried chicken leg in hand, Rose announced, “Guy and Corky spent the afternoon together at the Sugar Bowl.”
    Silence.
    Birdie stopped passing the broccoli.
    Butch discontinued loading a hot mufRn with butter.
    Nathan stopped gumming his mashed potatoes. “Guy and Corky HendersonP” he asked, suddenly interested in his younger son’s life now that the town celebrity’s name had been dropped.
    “That’s right,” said Rose. “Can you believe it?”
    Nathan looked to Butch for corroboration.
    “Yeah,” said Butch, drowning his dinner in hollandaise. “Corky Henderson. So what?”
    Nathan stared at Guy, calmly stabbing peas and carrots with a fork.
    “What’s he like?” asked Birdie.
    “I’ll tell you what he’s like,” barked Butch, ignoring the tiny ball of white sauce dribbling down the side of his mouth. “ He’s my fraternity brother!”
    “I want to hear what Guy thinks,” Birdie insisted.
    Eight eyes went to Guy, who, sighing, milked it for all it was worth. “Oh, I don’t know, he seems nice enough, I guess. …”
    Growling, Butch ripped into the flesh of a chicken thigh.
    Nathan studied Guy for the rest of the meal. He’d never seen his son so iri control, so much a young man.
    Birdie brought in the ice cream-topped banana bread and placed one slice in front of each member of the family.
    Nathan tapped his beer glass with a spoon. “I have an