In the Paint by Jeff Rud Page A

charm or if he himself was fortunate, but Matt had recognized it for what it was, a term of endearment.
    Matt felt almost physically ill. He wanted to get away from this place, from these guys. But he was one of them. He felt strangely paralyzed with fear and shame, hiding behind the dark, cold metal of the Dumpster. A light flashed on in the back room of the store where Phil’s grandmother slept. The rickety back door swung open and Matt could see her round face peering out, cautiously. “Who out there?” she called. “Go away now, I call police.”
    They bolted for their bikes and pedaled hard through the slush to the end of the alley and around the corner to Anderson Park. They stopped with their front tires in a circle. Jackson and his friends were laughing loudly and Griffin lit a cigarette. “Did you check out that old bag?” Jackson sneered, stooping over and putting on a mock Chinese accent. “Oooh, I call police.”
    Matt wasn’t laughing. In fact, he felt like throwing up. He was so ashamed he could barely breathe. But he knew he couldn’t show the others how he felt. “I gotta go guys,” he said curtly. “My curfew is ten-thirty.”
    â€œSee ya, Hill,” Jackson said. “Yeah, see ya around, dude,” smiled White.
    The five were still laughing in the park as Matt rode out of sight. He couldn’t pedal fast enough as his stomach heaved and a shameful tear trickled down his cheek. He pumped his legs furiously as his bike tires skidded through the wet snow. It was dangerous riding so fast in these conditions, but he didn’t care. Anything to put distance between him and the ugliness he had just been a part of.
    His mother was asleep by the time Matt arrived home, so he quietly made himself a peanut butter sandwich before heading to bed. But even the comfort food didn’t make his stomach feel any better, and there was nothing he could do to ease his conscience.
    Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Matt was restless in bed, thinking about what Jackson had done and feeling like he had been a part of it too. Part of him wanted to wake his mother and tell her what had happened, just to get the awful secret off his chest. But another part of him didn’t want to tell her anything. He was too ashamed and afraid of what she would think. Although his mom was sleeping in the bedroom just next door, as Matt finally drifted off, he had never felt more alone.

chapter nine
    The next morning, Amar came to the door, holding his beat-up outdoor basketball in his right hand. “Want to go shoot some?” he asked.
    Matt nodded, pulling on the old Nike high-tops that he used for playground hoops. Maybe hitting a few jumpers would make him feel a little better about himself.
    â€œYou missed some great pizza last night,” Amar said. “I took on all my uncles in PS-2 NBA and I dominated. Where did you have to go, anyway?”
    Matt swallowed hard. “My Mom wanted me to do some stuff around the house,” he said, hating to lie to Amar. “I wish I could have come over.”
    The last part was no lie. If he had been at Amar’s place last night, hanging out with his friend’s uncles and eating pizza, he wouldn’t have had anything to do with the incident at Phil’s store.
    Although it had snowed the night before, the sun had already dried up the streets nicely as the two boys walked toward Anderson Park. It was January, but one of those winter days when playing basketball outside was still possible as long as you kept moving. A long, brown-paneled station wagon pulled up slowly beside the duo and Jake Piancato hopped out the back door. His parents were in town from the lake to get some groceries and supplies as they had plenty of business from hunters at this time of year. So Jake had some time to play ball too.
    The three buddies had just begun playing H-O-R-S-E out on the asphalt court where they had practically