Steve Berman - Vintage (A Ghost Story) by apple

Author:apple
Language: en-us
Format: mobi

Chapter 8

FRIDAY At the shop, nothing went right. My mind wasn’t on straightening up. I waited for Trace to call me; I felt sure she would. But the phone remained quiet. Finally, at around four, I couldn’t stand being all alone and anxious anymore. I closed up, telling myself that no one would have come by anyway and that if Malvern found out, I’d say I didn’t feel well. I hated doing it, but I couldn’t stay there. I needed to do something about what had happened last night. Trace would understand.

Her car wasn’t parked outside her house but Second Mike’s bike leaned against the porch steps. A wonderful smell drifted from nearby, burning leaves on the breeze, my favorite scent of autumn.

I rang the doorbell. No one answered even after I pushed twice more. The windows were dark. Laughter, trailing from around back, reached me. The smell intensified as I walked around.

115 The Vaughn backyard looked like an abandoned archaeological dig. Remnants of old toys and playthings were scattered about. A battered slide. A leaking sandbox. Closer to the house, a picnic table and benches. Second Mike stood in front of the open barbeque grill his father had bought last month. In one hand he held up a clump of brown leaves. When he saw me, he smiled and dropped them onto the coals. Gray smoke rose up, tinting the air around him.

“Grab some,” he called out and headed over to the nearest pile by a fallen rake.

I went over to him.

“So who’d you come over for? My sister?”

“Maybe.” I reached down and grabbed a small branch. I poked him lightly in the side with it. “Maybe not.” I wasn’t really lying. Still, I had to wonder how I could let myself sweat Second Mike. Wasn’t it wrong to be so into your best friend’s little brother? But his quirkiness intrigued me, made me want to know him better.

He paused to look up at me. “Oh?”

“Where’s she at anyway?”

Mike seemed disappointed that I asked. He shrugged his thin shoulders and went back to picking up more leaves. “The supermarket.”

A small leaf, the edges curled, was stuck on the back of his T-shirt below the neckline. I reached for it, plucking it off. He turned around and watched as I crumpled it in my hand. “The yellow ones are especially dangerous.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t laugh and left me feeling totally self-conscious. What was I doing, standing there? I realized I so wanted him to just kiss me again, yet I couldn’t bring myself to make a move.

He dropped another handful into the open grill. We both watched as the leaves quickly caught fire, becoming incandescent orange before turning ash gray.

“Burning them is illegal.”

“So?” He wiped his hands on his shirt.

I grinned. “Maybe I should turn you in?” I couldn’t believe I was flirting or that it seemed so easy, as if instinctual.

He surprised me by suddenly lunging, pushing and knocking me over. I landed in the pile, hearing their crackle beneath me.

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