Rotters by Daniel Kraus Read Free Book Online Page A

coverage was best in Bloughton. Boris’s cell number, though, I had memorized, and if I’d had just a bit more change left I could have called him, explained what was going on, told him that things were taking a series of bad turns and that I needed to get back to the city as soon as he could line it up.
    “Man, I’ll never forget that time we were fishing out on the Big Chief and ran across that dude, and he was standing in the water,” Woody was saying, “like up to his waist in water.” He shook his head at the memory. Celeste’s neat smile suggested she had heard this story before.
    “I don’t remember that,” said Rhino.
    “You weren’t there, dipshit,” said Woody. He gave his face, beaming and animated, to the table around him, and the eyes of his friends replicated his joviality until all of them, Woody included, were handsomer. “We were in a boat and camewithin probably ten feet of this guy, and he was like chest-deep in the water trying to catch fish with his hands. Colder than a motherfucker and this motherfucker was out there with water up to his chin, swiping at fish. I was with Gilman and Parker and we hadn’t had a bite all day, but this guy, Crotch’s dad, the Garbageman, he pulls this two-foot bluegill right out of the water in front of us. With his bare hands! Seriously about blew our minds.”
    My head was spinning. I couldn’t imagine the inert figure I had met the night before doing anything demanding such bizarre resourcefulness.
    Woody did not see it that way. “It’s sad, man,” he said, his eyes landing on me once again. “A working man like that having to fish without bait or tackle. What they’re paying garbagemen these days must suck.”
    “They get paid very well,” said Rhino knowledgeably. “
Very
well.”
    “Well, then you must be right, Rhino.” Woody sighed. “Resorting to crazy shit like that? The Garbageman
must
be a thief.”
    Celeste was merciful. Wordlessly she decided it was time to go, and everyone else followed suit, forgetting me in an instant. Even without explicit violence I was shaken. The lunch period was short, only thirty-five minutes, and just when I had settled enough to seriously contemplate my food, everyone began hastening away. The room rose almost in unison; it felt as if I were the one sinking.
    The day crawled. I kept my head down. Weaving through the crowded hallway during the next class break, I heard “Crotch!” called at me. By the time the last bell had rung and I was speeding for the nearest exit, I heard it from multiple sources.
Not me
, I pleaded, knowing that every school has one untouchable pariah.
Please let it not be me
.

9.
     
    I WELCOMED THE HEAT that singed me all the way home; it dulled my anguish and hunger. I even welcomed the prospect of a second round with my father. This abysmal day and any others like it still to come were his fault, and I would not be quick to forgive.
    His truck was still missing. Despite myself, I almost sobbed in relief. I broke into a run. Inside the cabin, I flung myself to the floor in my corner by the sink. I buried my eyes in my hot elbow and felt my chest hitch up and down in alarming jags. In the darkness my mother comforted me and, after a while, whispered me away.
    When I returned the sun was setting. The refrigerator buzzed and my stomach cramped in reply. I got up, gripped the rusty handle, and opened it. Yellow, stained walls greeted me—there was next to nothing inside. A wad of questionable meat, a row of condiment containers crusted shut. In the lower compartment, called the crisper by my mother, whips of onion skin were trapped in a black gel.
    I closed the door, turned my back to it, and slid down until my butt hit the floor. There was nothing to eat and I had no money. These were the facts, and I was prepared to shame my father with them when he finally returned. In the meantime, though, I would scour the house. There were things I could learn here; better to learn them