everything.”
Nicky reached Clarence in the car. He and Nicky's father were driving back from Newark and were not far from the mall. Clarence said, “We'll meet you out front in about fifteen minutes.”
Nicky was quiet on the drive home. Tommy said, “We played pinball and drank lemonade.”
“Well, I had a productive day, too,” Nicky's father said. “Van Allen is along for the ride. The building commission gave us provisional permission to go forward.”
“That sounds good,” Tommy said, “if you're sure he's not a creep like his kid.”
“No, I think he's okay,” Nicky's father said. “Nicky's met him. Didn't you think he seemed like a good guy, Nick?”
“I guess,” Nicky said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” his father said. “But you'll see.”
Dinner was weird. Nicky couldn't look his mother in the eye. Grandma Tutti had cooked a feast, as usual— mozzarella marinara, chicken parmesan, broccoli with garlic—but Nicky had no appetite. Tommy watched his friend squirm. He tried to help.
“So what'd you do today, Mrs. Borelli?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that,” Nicky's mother said, giving Tommy a careful look. “Errands, mostly. There's still so much to do for the big party.”
“Really?” Tommy said. “Did you go shopping at the mall?”
“Not today, no,” Nicky's mother said. “Although it feels like I practically
lived
there during Christmas.”
“Really? 'Cause me and Nicky—ow!”
Tommy reached down and clutched his ankle. Nicky had just kicked him hard under the table.
“What in the world was that?” Nicky's mother said.
“I twisted my ankle at the skate park,” Tommy said. “It's still bothering me a little.”
“You should put ice,” Grandma Tutti said. “After dinner, I'll make you an ice pack.”
“Great, 'cause I think it's swollen—
now,”
Tommy said.
∗ ∗ ∗
After dinner, Tommy said, “What about another swim?” “What about if you call your mom?” “What about if you shut up and mind your own business?” Tommy said. “Anyway, it's too late.”
“Okay,” Nicky said. “In that case, we could … What about … What about if you teach me to, you know, uh …” Tommy grinned. “After last night, right?” Nicky said, “Yes. I just think I need some, like, moves.” Tommy grinned some more. “You
know
you do. You need to learn how to handle yourself.” “Exactly.”
“You need to learn how to take care of business.” “Well …”
“You wanna feel like a
manl”
Tommy grinned. “All
right.
I promise you, in half an hour I can have you ready to go
head to head with almost anybody—except me, of course.”
“I don't have to be better than you—yet.”
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Tommy said. “Where do
you want to do this?”
“We can go in the library,” Nicky said. “There's a CD player in there.”
“Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little music.” In the library, Nicky said, “What should I put on?” “Whatever you want,” Tommy said. “It doesn't matter.” “Should it be something slow, or something with a beat?” “Who cares?” Tommy said. “Whatever inspires you. ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ Or the theme song from
Rocky.”
“Not a dance song, like ‘Macarena’ or something?”
Tommy gave him a long look. “Why? Is the other guy Spanish or something?”
“I don't know,” Nicky said. “What other guy?”
“Look, it doesn't matter,” Tommy said. “C'mere. Watch me. The most important thing to start with is the footwork, okay? Stand there. Spread your feet out a little. Bend your knees a little, too. Now, get your hands up, about like so.”
Nicky did what Tommy said. He stood facing him, feet apart, knees bent, hands at shoulder height.
“Now make a fist, but with your thumbs
outside
the fist, not inside, like this,” Tommy said, and showed Nicky his fists.
“What's that for?” Nicky asked. “Why do you make a fist?”
“Very funny,” Tommy said. “Now, start
Nicky reached Clarence in the car. He and Nicky's father were driving back from Newark and were not far from the mall. Clarence said, “We'll meet you out front in about fifteen minutes.”
Nicky was quiet on the drive home. Tommy said, “We played pinball and drank lemonade.”
“Well, I had a productive day, too,” Nicky's father said. “Van Allen is along for the ride. The building commission gave us provisional permission to go forward.”
“That sounds good,” Tommy said, “if you're sure he's not a creep like his kid.”
“No, I think he's okay,” Nicky's father said. “Nicky's met him. Didn't you think he seemed like a good guy, Nick?”
“I guess,” Nicky said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” his father said. “But you'll see.”
Dinner was weird. Nicky couldn't look his mother in the eye. Grandma Tutti had cooked a feast, as usual— mozzarella marinara, chicken parmesan, broccoli with garlic—but Nicky had no appetite. Tommy watched his friend squirm. He tried to help.
“So what'd you do today, Mrs. Borelli?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that,” Nicky's mother said, giving Tommy a careful look. “Errands, mostly. There's still so much to do for the big party.”
“Really?” Tommy said. “Did you go shopping at the mall?”
“Not today, no,” Nicky's mother said. “Although it feels like I practically
lived
there during Christmas.”
“Really? 'Cause me and Nicky—ow!”
Tommy reached down and clutched his ankle. Nicky had just kicked him hard under the table.
“What in the world was that?” Nicky's mother said.
“I twisted my ankle at the skate park,” Tommy said. “It's still bothering me a little.”
“You should put ice,” Grandma Tutti said. “After dinner, I'll make you an ice pack.”
“Great, 'cause I think it's swollen—
now,”
Tommy said.
∗ ∗ ∗
After dinner, Tommy said, “What about another swim?” “What about if you call your mom?” “What about if you shut up and mind your own business?” Tommy said. “Anyway, it's too late.”
“Okay,” Nicky said. “In that case, we could … What about … What about if you teach me to, you know, uh …” Tommy grinned. “After last night, right?” Nicky said, “Yes. I just think I need some, like, moves.” Tommy grinned some more. “You
know
you do. You need to learn how to handle yourself.” “Exactly.”
“You need to learn how to take care of business.” “Well …”
“You wanna feel like a
manl”
Tommy grinned. “All
right.
I promise you, in half an hour I can have you ready to go
head to head with almost anybody—except me, of course.”
“I don't have to be better than you—yet.”
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Tommy said. “Where do
you want to do this?”
“We can go in the library,” Nicky said. “There's a CD player in there.”
“Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little music.” In the library, Nicky said, “What should I put on?” “Whatever you want,” Tommy said. “It doesn't matter.” “Should it be something slow, or something with a beat?” “Who cares?” Tommy said. “Whatever inspires you. ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ Or the theme song from
Rocky.”
“Not a dance song, like ‘Macarena’ or something?”
Tommy gave him a long look. “Why? Is the other guy Spanish or something?”
“I don't know,” Nicky said. “What other guy?”
“Look, it doesn't matter,” Tommy said. “C'mere. Watch me. The most important thing to start with is the footwork, okay? Stand there. Spread your feet out a little. Bend your knees a little, too. Now, get your hands up, about like so.”
Nicky did what Tommy said. He stood facing him, feet apart, knees bent, hands at shoulder height.
“Now make a fist, but with your thumbs
outside
the fist, not inside, like this,” Tommy said, and showed Nicky his fists.
“What's that for?” Nicky asked. “Why do you make a fist?”
“Very funny,” Tommy said. “Now, start
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