The Boy Who Killed Grant Parker by Kat Spears

me with only a nod. I felt his eyes take in my clothes—and my insignificant size compared to his.
    â€œWhen did you move here?” Grant asked, oblivious to Tony’s coldness toward me.
    â€œAbout a month ago,” I said.
    â€œFrom where?”
    â€œWashington, DC.”
    â€œYeah? Why?”
    I’ve been asking myself the same goddamned question for a month, dude. “My mom got tired of having me around, I guess,” I said, that particular resentment still very close to the surface.
    â€œInteresting,” Grant said, though it wasn’t really. Mom had said she wanted me to have a chance to get to know my dad before I left home for college and abandoned my childhood. She also thought that a positive male role model was something I was lacking, though Dad didn’t offer anything remotely comforting in the form of a male perspective.
    Tony, Grant’s buddy, who still hadn’t said a word, was well muscled and deeply tanned. He looked country strong, the kind of guy you see in a pickup truck commercial, with jeans that were faded almost white from age and abuse.
    Grant parked himself next to me at the lunch table, one butt cheek rested comfortably on the edge of the tabletop, his boot planted on the seat. He placed his foot on the seat with cool and measured casualness, as if the bench—even the school itself—belonged to him and the rest of us were merely borrowing his things for a while.
    â€œSo like I was saying,” Grant said, his voice a mellifluous baritone drawl, “that was a pretty good stunt you pulled the first day of school.”
    â€œUh … yeah,” I said. Did he really think I had humiliated myself intentionally? It was a brilliant idea, that. If I’d had any coolness factor at all, I would have played it off that way from the beginning.
    â€œSince you’re new around here,” Grant continued, “Tony and I were thinking we should take you out, show you around the town.”
    Which will take all of about five minutes.
    â€œThat would be … cool,” I said.
    â€œSo meet us at Parr’s Drive-In Saturday night. About eight o’clock,” he said as he stood and straightened his jacket.
    â€œDrive-in?” I asked. “Like a drive-in movie theater?”
    â€œA drive-in diner,” Grant said, as if such a thing were so common I should know what that was.
    â€œLike in the movies?” I asked stupidly, and wished I could take it back as soon as the words left my mouth.
    â€œYou’ve never heard of a drive-in diner?” Grant asked, maybe with a bit of impatience. “I thought you were from the big city.”
    â€œYeah, we don’t … we don’t have those … drive-ins, I mean.” God, it really was like I had moved five hundred years instead of five hundred miles. I still had no idea how far Tennessee was from DC, but it was starting to seem farther and farther every minute.
    â€œWe’ll see you Saturday night, city boy,” Grant said as he started to walk away, Tony falling naturally into place a half step behind him.
    I returned my attention to my lunch but our table had gone quiet. When I looked at Don and his friends, they were all watching me in awe.
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    â€œNothing,” Don said. “Just … I can’t figure why Grant Parker would take an interest in you. I mean, you’re … nobody.”
    â€œThanks for saying so,” I said.
    â€œI just mean … well, you know, I’m nobody too. It isn’t a bad thing.”
    I shrugged, trying to mask my own shock at this development. “Maybe he’s just trying to be nice,” I said.
    Don gave an emphatic shake of his head. “Oh, no. Grant Parker doesn’t have to be nice to anyone. It’s weird that he invited you out like that.”
    â€œLike he said,” I said as I pushed my lunch tray away, “he’s the