Cursed Boys and Broken Hearts by Adam Sass

Author:Adam Sass [Sass, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2024-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The next day, we complete the deck. The day after that, the city inspector clears the deck for occupancy. The day after that is the Fourth of July, and the new deck’s furniture fills with my family and new B&B guests while the kids swim. “Oh, what you’ve done with the deck is gorgeous!” says an older Black woman, sipping wine with Aunt Ro. “I used to come here every summer with my kids until they were grown. It’s been a few years, I think, but I remember this deck looking its age. It looks fabulous!”

Ro clinks her glass to the woman’s. “I’m looking my age, too. How do I get looking fabulous again?”

Spitting laughter, the woman clinks her glass again. “Please!”

Before the sun begins to set, Ben and I go to the basement to find Uncle Dom’s pantry of illegal fireworks and low-key military explosives. After thorough internet research, we determine the best way to dispose of such things is an overnight bath. In the morning, we’ll wrap them in towels and dump them at the local solid waste disposal.

It feels good to get rid of things that are no longer serving us.

We save some smoke balls, black snakes, and TNT snappers. My nephews shriek with delight at the snappers—even Angelo, who earned a bravery badge when his uncle Grant helped him hold fire in the palm of his hand with that snapper. Down goes the small white bulb, striking the new deck with a snap! Angelo screams, followed by gales of laughter as he begs me to let him do it again. While my littler nephews ignite coils of black snakes, Angelo chases them through the clouds of orange fog belching out of the smoke balls.

As soon as the twilit sky turns violet, blasts of colorful fireworks explode, far in the distance over Valle Forest. Later that night, Aunt Ro and Uncle Paul haul out stacks of old, physical photo albums, each flip of the page bringing gentle memory-filled sighs or gales of roaring laughter. The biggest laugh comes from looking at the pictures of Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary party. I was ten—Ben was there. And there was Grandpa Angelo in that hideous brown velvet suit with the wide lapels and flurry of ruffles. He looked like a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey with those frilly little booties.

“Hey, I liked that suit!” Ben argues, laughing with A. C.—something I thought I’d never see. “Angelo said he was gonna leave it to me. I wanna file a complaint. Ro!”

“Don’t look at me! Nobody knows where it went,” she says, deep into a bottle of sambuca with Traci. “If it was up to me, I woulda burned it.”

“I’m gonna sue.”

“Go ahead! All I got is Vero Roseto, and it’s a dump!”

As everyone boos Ro, A. C. smacks Ben’s shoulder to get his attention. His cheeks are flushed red from Grato. “That garden looks brand-new. Just the way it used to after planting. You made it look exactly the same.”

Ben smiles sheepishly.

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