The Blue Star by Tony Earley

Author:Tony Earley [EARLEY, TONY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC000000
ISBN: 9780316029100
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2008-03-10T04:00:00+00:00

BOOK III

Unexpected News

Target Practice

DENNIS DEANE was acting strange, or at least stranger than usual. First, he missed an entire week of school, although the uncles reported seeing him riding his bicycle all over town. But whenever they asked him if he needed a lift somewhere, or why he wasn’t in school, or, finally, on Friday, why he had been riding his bicycle around in circles all week, he pretended not to hear them. He just kept pedaling. Then, when Jim drove to Dennis Deane’s house Sunday afternoon to pick him up, he found Dennis Deane crouched in the scraggly troop of malnourished cedar trees across the driveway from the Deanes’ mailbox. Jim stopped and rolled down the window.

“What are you doing in there?” he asked.

“This used to be my secret hiding place,” Dennis Deane said.

“I know. So, what are you doing in there now?”

“Hiding.”

“You know I can see you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, who are you hiding from?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Are you alone?” Dennis Deane asked.

“What?”

“I said, are you alone?”

“Am I alone,” Jim said slowly.

“Did anybody follow you out here?”

Jim frowned at Dennis Deane.

“Damn it, Jim, I ain’t fooling around,” Dennis Deane said. “I’m trying to keep a lookout here. Did you notice anybody following you?”

“The Lone Ranger,” Jim said. “The Lone Ranger followed me. I think I lost Tonto, though.”

Dennis Deane paused, apparently weighing his chances against the Lone Ranger riding alone versus his chances against the Lone Ranger and Tonto together. Finally he hurried out of the trees and into Jim’s car. His hair was greasy and he didn’t smell particularly good. He slammed the door, slid down in the seat, and put his feet up on the dashboard.

“Go,” he said.

“Take your feet down.”

“What?”

“I’m not driving anywhere until you get your dirty feet off my dashboard.”

“There. You happy now?”

“You wanna ride over to New Carpenter?”

“I don’t care!” Dennis Deane almost shouted. “Just stop jawing at me and go somewhere!”

Jim popped the clutch, steered the Major sideways, and spun a roostertail of mud all over the mailbox.

“What in the world’s wrong with you?” Jim said. “You’re acting like some kind of idiot.”

Much to Jim’s surprise, Dennis Deane jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes and fell over onto the seat. His head lay almost in Jim’s lap; Jim shifted uncomfortably toward the door.

“Ohhh,” Dennis Deane moaned. “I am an idiot. And I’m dead. I’m a big dead idiot.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Deader’n a doornail, Jim. Deader’n hell. Deader’n dead people.”

“Why are you dead?”

“Because they’re going to kill me.”

“Who’s going to kill you?”

“The hillbillies.”

“What hillbillies?”

“All of ’em, Jim,” Dennis Deane said. “All the hillbillies. They’re probably coming down the mountain right now.” He sat up straight and looked behind the car so earnestly that Jim glanced in the mirror to see if anyone was following them.

“Why are the hillbillies coming down the mountain?”

“Hey, that sounds like a joke.”

“Dennis Deane . . .”

“They’ll be riding six white horses when they come, the hillbilly bastards. You just wait.”

“What did you do, Dennis Deane?”

“I can’t tell you.

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