Camouflage by Gloria Miklowitz Page A

True?”
    â€œUmmm . . . ,” Kyle moaned.
    â€œI’m glad you’re making friends, but don’t let others decide what’s best for you. March to your own beat, understand?”
    â€œUmmm.” He burped, not really listening.
    His father patted Kyle’s stubble. “I kind of miss that curly head of hair, but I guess you’ll be cooler this way.” He stood up. “Come to the kitchen when you’re able.”
    When his dad left the room, Kyle lay back and closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t wake until after noon. He staggered into the kitchen and found two slices of hard dry toast and a pot of coffee waiting for him. Propped against the sugar bowl was a note. “Call your mother. I’ll be back by four. Stick around—I’m going to need you. And stay away from the liquor cabinet. Ha, ha.”
    â€œHa, ha,” Kyle said aloud. And then he wondered why his mom wanted him to phone again.
    As his mind cleared he thought about the night before. Small-town life wasn’t all that much different from the big city after all. At the parties he went to at home, guys and girls drank, too. Some even smoked pot. They made out in corners of the living room or in bedrooms, rather than in the bushes. They didn’t race their cars with the lights off like last night, because in L.A. you’d never get away with it. So they cruised instead. The big difference between L.A. and here, he decided, were the guns. Here,
everyone
seemed to own one, not just the bad guys. You’d think that where there was practically no crime they wouldn’t need them.

    Kyle dialed home as soon as he felt himself again. “Hi, Mom. What’s up? How’s everything?”
    â€œHi, honey!” His mother sounded breathless and happy. “Everything’s fine, very fine! I called because we wanted you to be the first to know. Brian and I are getting married! We’ve set a wedding date. December fifteenth!”
    â€œBully for you.” Kyle felt a pain, like a knife stab, in his chest.
    â€œDon’t be that way, Kyle! Be happy for me. And for you, too. Brian really likes you. He’ll try to be a good father.”
    â€œI don’t
need
a good father. I
have
one, Mom, and he’s pretty terrific! I don’t know what you’ve got against him!”
    His mother didn’t answer. Brian was probably standing nearby, ready to take the phone and hear the congratulations. Well, tough.
    â€œHow has your week been?” his mother asked, all her enthusiasm gone.
    â€œGreat. I’ve made some friends. Dad bought me a bike until I learn how to drive a stick shift. He’s got a dog and a horse and—” He paused, uncertain if he should tell about the guns. Why not? Let Brian squirm a little. Big Shot liked to talk about police routine and cases that made
him
look like a hero. Let him know that he, Kyle, had not only held a gun, but was also a pretty good shot.
    â€œLet me speak with your father!” his mother said as soon as he told her.
    â€œHe’s not here, Mom, and anyway, it won’t matter what you say.”
    â€œOh yes, it will! I
am
your mother. I have primary custody.”
    â€œCool it, Mom. It’s no big deal, honest.” He began to worry. Maybe he’d been a little too cocky, but she’d
made
him want to hurt her because of her news about Brian. He should have guessed her reaction, though. She always said, “There’d be a whole lot less crime if there were fewer people who owned guns.”
    â€œCongratulations, about Brian.” He forced the words out in the silence that followed. “I guess he’s okay. I hope he makes you happy.”
    â€œThanks, darling. Do you want to say hello to him?”
    â€œSure.” It was the last thing he wanted to do.
    â€œHi, Kyle. How’s it going? What’s this I hear about you learning to shoot?”
    So,