Creeps by Darren Hynes Read Free Book Online

crowd and get people talking and erase the deficeit deficient deficiet deficit and pin their opponents and score the winning goals and take good pictures? Have you ever seen my grade nine photo? Not pretty.
    Leaders can talk to anyone and they shake thousands of hands (I’ve hardly shaken any) and they have their own production companies and magazines and they run the White House and Parliament and what have I run other than away?
    I’m sorry, Mr. Rollie, but I think you made a mistake. I’m no leader. And I think the only reason you made me co-director was because you felt bad, but I’ll take the job anyway because it’s good to have somewhere to go and something to do and someone other than the wall to look at and say stuff to.
    Thanks for showing me the drawing someone did of you. It never occurred to me to look at it as flattering, so thanks for helping me see things in a different light.
    You’re gay, aren’t you? My sister says you are because you wear pointy shoes and have a pinky ring, but what odds if you are? Sure there’s this big lesbo chick in Wanda’s grade twelve class who has a girlfriend and they hold hands and kiss in public and everything.
    Is that man who sometimes waits for you in the parking lot after school your boyfriend? Will you get married? Are you considering adopting? If there were a parade in Canning would you guys march in it?
    Your co-director who’s far from a leader,
    Wayne Pumphrey

NINE
    It’s almost suppertime. Wayne’s supposed to be shovelling the driveway like his father asked, but instead he’s leaning on the shovel, staring up the road at the police car and the ambulance parked in Marjorie’s driveway. Swirling lights, running engines, clouds of exhaust like doughboys. Across the street, he notices the Galbraiths gawking through their living room window. Mr. Galbraith is shirtless, his gut hanging over the waist of his track pants as he holds a tub of what looks to be ice cream, which his wife and youngest daughter are digging into with long spoons. Their oldest, Natalie, is talking into a cell phone, giving the play-by-play to some girlfriend she’ll probably meet tomorrow by the water fountain, Wayne thinks, just before spreading the news to the whole school. Two houses down on Wayne’s side of the street standsMiss Flynn, twice divorced, and not long back from St. John’s with her new teeth and flatter tummy and less pointy chin. A parka over her flannel pyjamas and a cigarette jammed between Botoxed lips. She shakes her head at Wayne and, without taking out her smoke, says, “What in God’s name is goin’ on up there?”
    Wayne doesn’t know, so he stays quiet and turns back to Marjorie’s. Miss Flynn’s voice behind him then, saying, “There’s an ambulance, so it’s probably not good. Hope it’s not the young one.”
    Marjorie’s front door swings open revealing two paramedics and they’re pushing a gurney and someone’s on it. Marjorie? He moves closer. Stops. No, her mother. Strapped down. Why?
    â€œWho is it?” Miss Flynn wants to know. “The girl?”
    Marjorie’s mother starts shouting and cursing and trying to break free from her restraints.
    â€œThank God,” Miss Flynn says, “I thought it was the young one.”
    The paramedics wheel Marjorie’s mom to the rear of the ambulance. The shorter and balder one shouts, “On the count of three,” so they count and lift and then hoist Marjorie’s mother into the back like an old refrigerator. Then the one who’d suggested counting hops in the back with her, while his partner goes and gets in the driver’s side.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with her, do you think?” Miss Flynn says.
    Commotion from the Galbraiths’ place, Wayne notices. Mr. Galbraith has dropped the ice cream and is getting an earful from his wife. Their youngest is crying and their