Downers Grove by Michael Hornburg Read Free Book Online Page A

that?”
    â€œMy grandma saw a television special about it. She’s got a satellite dish so big it picks up channels you’ve never even heard of.”
    â€œSo why is the world ending?”
    I took a sip of my tea, thinking up an answer. The cloudsshifted and a scrap of sunlight fell through the window. I looked outside and remembered the petroleum fire. “I think it has something to do with that fire down in Lemont,” I said.
    Bobby looked up from his magazine like he didn’t believe me but was still willing to play along.
    â€œHave you seen it?” I asked.
    â€œNo.” He set down his burger and leaned back in his chair.
    I reached over the table and took one of his french fries and dipped it in the ketchup. “I sure would like to know what the end of the world looks like.”
    â€œI doubt anyone would stop you,” he said.
    â€œYeah, but I don’t want to go by myself,” I said. “Don’t you want to drive down and see the end of the world?”
    â€œI can’t right now.” He shook his head. “My lunch hour is almost over.”
    â€œWhat time do you get off work?” I asked.
    â€œI gotta close tonight.”
    â€œWhat time is closing time?”
    â€œAround ten,” he said.
    He looked at me kind of funny and I felt a big raspberry sprout on my cheeks.
    â€œYou don’t seem very scared,” he said.
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œThe end of the world.”
    â€œOh that.” I looked over and saw a couple of guys from the party last night walking up to the counter. My heart leapt into my throat. I quickly turned my back to them. I wasn’t sure if they were friends of Chuck or not, but I didn’t want to stick around to find out either. I looked back at Bobby.
    â€œMy life is sort of complicated right now,” I said.

    â€œMore complicated than the end of the world?”
    I looked over and saw the boys pushing their yellow trays down the silver rail, the last in line was the onion-headed one.
    â€œSorta,” I said, wondering what to do, looking for the nearest exit. “I just remembered something.” I got up from the table. “I have to run. I’ll tell you about it later.” I hurried outside, unlocked my bike, and rode as fast as I could over to Tracy’s house.

PANIC
    T HE Nelsons’ lawn was completely overgrown; the gutters were packed with leaves; all the planters were still potted with last year’s dead flowers. I stashed my bike behind the bushes and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered, so I tossed a pebble at the window upstairs. When the door finally swung open, there was Tracy, still in her flannel pajamas, holding a can of ginger ale in one hand and a cigarette in the other; her hair was working a serious hangover.
    â€œAll right already,” she said.
    The house was a mess, several dirty plates were stacked on the paisley-shaped coffee table. Twice as many dirty glasses ornamented the counter space. Clothes were strewn randomly about, and the carpet was buried in newspapers and magazines: the usual chaos. The television was barking a Live Action Report from Chopper 9 about the petrochemical fire in Lemont.
    â€œThey say people can see the smoke all the way from downtownChicago,” Tracy said, pointing at the screen. I fell onto the couch, fanned myself with the
TV Guide.
Tracy plunged into the big orange vinyl chair opposite me.
    â€œI did it,” I said.
    â€œDid what?” Her eyes were glued to the television set.
    â€œThe mechanic.”
    â€œYou did the mechanic?” Tracy sat up and pressed her cigarette onto a dirty plate.
    â€œI asked him out on a date.”
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œJust now at the Steakhouse.” I took a cigarette out of Tracy’s pack. “We’re gonna go see the fire in Lemont tonight.” I struck a match and lit a cancer stick.
    â€œWell, that sounds like a hot date.”
    â€œIt was my idea.