In the Paint by Jeff Rud Page B

grown up, when Phil arrived. “Let’s get some twos going before we freeze to death,” smiled Jake.
    Phil nodded and the game began. But it wasn’t much of a game. Jake and Matt absolutely crushed Phil and Amar even though Amar was by far the tallest, and likely the best, player of the four. Phil had no energy, no jump, this morning. And his shot was badly off. Normally a frenzied whirlwind on the court, he just didn’t seem into it. “What’s up with you?” asked Jake.
    Phil’s face grew serious and his eyebrows furrowed below his close-cropped hair. “Aw, last night some kids tagged our store,” he said. “My grandma’s pretty freaked out. She doesn’t want to stay in the store on her own anymore. And I don’t blame her. The stuff they wrote on the wall was pretty bad.”
    Matt felt a large lump in his throat. He began to sweat and he suddenly felt sick again. Playing basketball, he had almost forgotten about last night. Now it all came rushing back and it felt even worse because he could see that Phil and his family had been hurt.
    Phil said that he had to go keep his grandmother company in the store for the afternoon. Jake and Amar talked briefly about the graffiti, shaking their heads. “Wonder who would do that kind of crap?” Amar said to nobody in particular.
    It was the worst weekend of Matt’s life. Nothing could get his mind off the graffiti and the store or keep him from thinking about how he and his supposed friends had hurt the Wongs. Nothing could ease the shame he felt.
    He had to do something. But what? What could possibly make this right? And how could he explain why he was hanging out with those guys? Why had he gone along with them in the first place? How could he explain it to his mother? He needed to talk to somebody about it, but who? He couldn’t think of a single person he would dare tell.
    The ringing of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. It was Mark, making his usual Sunday call from Eton, a conversation which often involved asking for a loan until payday or for his mom’s chili recipe. She talked with him for a half hour, catching up on the latest news and girls in Mark’s life. Usually, Matt loved to close his eyes and just listen to the sound of her voice when she was talking to his older brother on the phone. She seemed so happy, so proud. But today even that wasn’t enough to make him feel better.
    â€œMatt, come here and talk to your brother for a minute,” his mom called from the downstairs hallway
    â€œI can’t now,” Matt stammered. “I’m in the middle of something.”
    The truth was, Matt didn’t feel like talking to anybody. He could only think about the mess he was in.
    Then a thought came to him. Mark! Maybe he could talk to his brother about this. Mark was older, he hadn’t always been an angel growing up. Maybe he’d know how to handle it.
    â€œWait, Mom, I’ll take the phone,” he called, running downstairs.
    After making small talk for a few minutes, Matt stepped into the kitchen, just out of his mother’s hearing. “I need to ask you something,” he said to Mark. “But I’ll send you an e-mail, okay?”
    â€œSure, Mats,” his brother said.
    That night, Matt wrote to his brother, explaining the situation and how he felt. He hoped Mark would have an idea on how to handle this. He pressed “send” and the e-mail disappeared. There, he had told somebody. There was no turning back now. All he could do was wait.
    After supper, while his mom was out showing a house to clients, Matt signed onto the computer. In his e-mail in-box, there was already a return message from Mark.
    It read: “Hey Matt, you’re right. You have to do something about this. You have to tell the Wongs who did the graffiti. They deserve at least that much. You have to tell Mom too. She might be mad, but she’ll support you.