Snow Day: a Novella by Dan Maurer Read Free Book Online

I could just hear Tommy: I’m your pal, Billy , and I just want to play, Billy . And Frank and Bobby: Hey, Billy, why do you keep hanging out with the retard?
    No way. No, thanks.
    I turned forward again, said nothing to Bobby and Lucy, and made like I didn’t see him. We were coming up to the corner where Route 5 intersected Woodlawn Avenue. The turn was blinded by a fence and some trees. If we reached the corner before Tommy caught up to us, we could sprint and ditch him, and he’d never know in which direction we ran.
    Just as this thought flashed through my mind, I heard something else behind me. It was the crush of snow beneath tires as they pulled to the curb, and the throaty, ugly rumble of a car in need of a new muffler.
    Don’t turn around, keep walking, get ready to run, ditch Tommy at the corner; that was the plan. And then...
    CHUNK!
    Somewhere behind me, a car door slammed. The sound was loud, the door was heavy, and it seemed to ring – in my mind, anyway – with a deep sense of finality.
    The driver gunned the engine, the muffler complained harshly, and I finally stole a peek over my left shoulder just as the car passed me. It was an old black Plymouth Valiant. I didn’t see who was behind the wheel. I only glimpsed the back of the driver’s white-haired head as he turned away, and a long arm in a dark coat maneuvering the steering wheel as it turned from the curb.
    But as the car drove away, I could clearly see a young boy in the back seat. It was Tommy. He was looking at me through the rear window, much like he had through the Barbershop window that one time, expressionless.
    He was chewing on something. I think it was a piece of candy. And for a brief moment, I wondered if it was a cherry-flavored Sucret. There was an extra left in my pocket; I could have given him that one.
    The Plymouth disappeared down the road. Oblivious, Bobby and Lucy continued walking and talking.
    And I said nothing.



5
    W HEN WE FINALLY TURNED THE CORNER on to Woodlawn Avenue, we saw Frank, Carl and Jimmy. Crazy Jimmy Barnes was always doing something insane. Even taking a spill off the garage roof and laughing about it was pretty tame in Jimmy’s book. He didn’t live on our block. Jimmy and his mother lived in the Garden Apartments down on Broad Avenue. We called him Crazy Jimmy, and he was cool with that, but a lot of people just knew him as the kid with half a finger. Jimmy had lost half of his right index finger in an unfortunate accident with some fireworks. According to Frank, Jimmy learned the hard way that if you’re going to light M-80s and drop them from a highway overpass onto the roof of trucks passing by on Route 46, you’d better make sure you have a long enough fuse.
    The three older boys were standing on the corner of Woodlawn and Persimmons Avenues. They were laughing and one of them was leaning against the Stop sign. As we walked a short distance along Woodlawn toward my brother and his friends, a big green Chevy Impala turned off Route 5 behind us onto Woodlawn, passed us on our left, and slowly came to rest at the Stop sign where Woodlawn crossed Persimmons and the boys stood talking. Lucy stopped us.
    “Wait,” she whispered. “Watch this. I think they’re going to try bumper skiing.”
    Bobby and I were puzzled. We slowed our stride, idled down Woodlawn, and watched the big kids, not knowing what to expect. Then we saw it. As the four-door sedan slowed to a stop, the three boys started to cross the intersection. Frank and Carl crossed in front of the Impala, while Jimmy crossed behind it. The old man at the wheel casually watched as Frank and Carl passed the car’s grill. When they had crossed, and the road was clear, he put a foot on the gas pedal and the Impala began rolling down a snow and ice-covered Woodlawn Avenue. Little did the old man know that Crazy Jimmy was firmly attached to his rear bumper, looking like he belonged on ABC’s Wide World of Sports .
    Preoccupied with watching