Pig-Out Inn by Lois Ruby Page A

out. “No money for college,” he said. “Uncle Sam will pull me through.”
    About six cheeseburgers later I heard, “Do you play baseball, Eddie?”
    â€œDo I play baseball!” I glanced over and saw him eating his milkshake with a fork. Stephanie must have put in about nine scoops of ice cream.
    The last thing I caught was Eddie asking her if she’d lived in Spinner long, and her replying that she’s just moved there, and him saying he hoped she’d be staying a long time, and her saying, well, she was still in high school, so it looked like she had a few years to go, and him saying, well, he’d be finishing up his radio training in a couple of weeks, and he didn’t know where he’d be shipped, and her saying she was thinking of moving back to Wichita at the end of the summer anyway.
    Boy, I had a lot to learn about male-female give-and-take. From the juke box, Elvis pleaded Eddie’s case: “Love me tender, love me true.”
    Then Tag came in, wearing Stephanie’s cutoffs and his alligator shirt. He climbed onto the stool next to Eddie’s.
    â€œI might join the Army,” he said.
    A guy down at the end of the counter said, “Don’t say it too loud. They’ll sign you up.”
    â€œMaybe the Air Force is better,” said Tag.
    â€œAnything’s better,” one of the soldiers said with a laugh. Only Eddie seemed to be taking Tag seriously.
    â€œWhat do you want with the Army?” he asked.
    Tag shrugged. “Travel.”
    â€œSo far I’ve been to Kansas,” Eddie said, “which is where I started from.”
    â€œA place to lay your head at night,” Tag said.
    â€œJust don’t sign up too early,” Eddie warned him. “You want your hair cut short like this?” He pulled Tag’s hand up to feel the stubble at the back of his head. “You want to take a shower every day? You want to mop floors and make your bed at five-thirty every morning?”
    Tag looked confused. “Is that all there is to it?”
    â€œNaw, that’s just the good stuff,” one of the soldiers laughed.
    â€œWell, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
    â€œYou got time,” said Eddie, offering Tag some of his fries.
    â€œHey, listen, guys,” Tag said, “any of you need a shoe shine? I’ve got my kit outside. Drop by after lunch. That’s one thing you won’t have to do back at the base. Just bring me all your shoes. I work cheap, and I don’t just use spit, either.”
    â€œHe uses real polish, man!” one guy said, taking off his shoes. “Here, do mine!”
    Tag shook his head. “Sorry, I’m on my lunch hour.”
    Tag adopted a dog—unless he traded somebody’s grandmother for it. I was afraid to ask. The scruffy-looking mongrel slept in the shade next to Tag’s roadside stand/shoe shine parlor and ate candy bars with Tag. I don’t know where he slept at night, but I have an idea.
    â€œWhat’s your friend’s name?” I asked, heading to Yellow Cabin 6 after the lunch rush one day.
    â€œFenway,” he said.
    â€œWhat kind of a ridiculous name is Fenway?”
    â€œHe’s named after my favorite ballpark, over there in Boston, Massachusetts.”
    â€œHave you ever been to Boston?” I asked.
    â€œMe and Cee Dubyah are going there for a baseball game. Maybe next summer.”
    â€œTag, when do you figure Cee Dubyah’s coming back?”
    â€œIt won’t be long,” he said.
    â€œIt’s already been long.”
    â€œSo? You don’t have a father, what do you know?”
    â€œI do too have a a father. He’s coming home Friday. You’ll meet him. By the way, I was wondering, where’s your mother?”
    â€œI’m not supposed to answer that,” Tag said softly.
    â€œHow come you’re not living with her?”
    â€œYou’re the nosiest girl I ever