Project X by Jim Shepard Page B

in my lip.
    â€œI think you are thinking what I’m thinking,” he goes.
    I get sweaty for a minute and then it stops. “That is like those kids at that Colorado school,” I tell him.
    â€œNot the way we’re gonna do it,” he goes.
    â€œWhat was that school called?” I go.
    â€œWhat’re you, the evening news?” he goes. “You want to do this or not?”
    â€œI get to pick which one I use,” I go.
    â€œWe’d go in with all three,” he goes. “The other one’ll be backup. And we gotta plan it, too. We gotta plan it better than that other thing.”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” I go.
    He’s quiet for a minute. I go over to the sink and spit.
    â€œWhat’re you doing?” he wants to know.
    â€œBrushing my teeth,” I tell him.
    â€œI’m not just talking here, you know,” he goes. “I’m not just playing.”
    I spit again. “I didn’t say you were.”
    â€œ
You
just playing?” he goes.
    â€œNope,” I tell him.
    â€œI think you are just playing,” he goes.
    â€œWell,” I go. “Wait and see.”
    The next day’s Saturday and I’m up early. My sleep is all screwed up.
    I’m lying in the middle of the parking lot at the grocery store. The parking lot’s empty. The grocery store’s closed.
    â€œWhat’re you doing down there?” somebody asks. He’s a short little guy with a beret.
    â€œBonjour,”
I go.
    â€œHello to you, too,” he says. “What’re you doing down there?”
    â€œJust resting,” I tell him.
    â€œIs it comfortable?” he asks.
    â€œMore or less,” I go.
    He’s unloading stuff from his pickup. “You want a ride home?” he goes.
    â€œI live right over here,” I tell him.
    He dumps a big case on the pavement and takes out a toolbox. More stuff is unpacked and snapped together. I turn my head so I can see, but I don’t get up. It’s a beautiful day. There was one cloud, but it left.
    â€œModel rocketry,” he goes. “Wanna see?”
    â€œNo,” I tell him.
    It takes forever to get set up. He hums to himself while he works. When he fires the first one off it makes a sound like a power nozzle on a hose and goes straight up until it’s just a flicker and you’re not even sure you can still see it. Then there’s a pop, far off, and a dot appears: the parachute.

4
    â€œSomething’s wrong with my tooth,” he tells me while we’re hanging from a tree. The branch we’re on droops over a muck hole where a drainage pipe empties out. “When I press on it, it hurts like above my nose.”
    â€œI hate dentists,” I go.
    â€œYeah,” he goes.
    He thinks about it, hanging and swinging.
    â€œLook how much bigger my hand is than yours,” he finally goes.
    I climb up onto the branch and sit and look out over the weeds, happy.
    â€œI can see it in the news afterwards,” he goes. “The two murderous youths and their whatever plan—”
    â€œSinister,” I tell him. “Sinister plan.”
    He doesn’t say anything. Then he says, “My parents said I get twenty bucks for every A I get, and I haven’t gotten an A yet.”
    â€œThis is nice,” I go. “It’s nice when it’s cold but not that cold.”
    â€œLet’s get something to eat,” he says. “You got money?”
    At the convenience store we see Hermie down the Hostess Cake aisle. He’s there with another kid as small as he is. “You got money,” Flake says to him.
    â€œI’m getting something for myself,” he goes.
    â€œBuy me something and you can hang around with us,” Flake tells him.
    â€œTake off,” Hermie says to the other kid.
    â€œAw,
man,
” the other kid says.
    â€œYou heard him,” Flake tells him. The kid takes off.
    Flake gets a burrito. I get some