American Dreamer by Shawn Wesley Ballenger

Author:Shawn Wesley Ballenger [Ballenger, Shawn Wesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-07T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Friday evening, the doorbell rang at the Burkhart house.

“I’ll get it!” Brandon yelled as he flew down the hall to the front door and opened it.

“Hey, man.” Corbin stood there with a backpack over his shoulder, wearing a ratty old t-shirt and shorts.

“Hey!” Corbin turned around and waved to the SUV parked on the street as Brandon greeted him.

Brandon glanced over Corbin’s shoulder at the blonde woman behind the wheel of the maroon Enclave, who was giving him the thumbs up.

“God, she drives me nuts!” Corbin turned back to Brandon.

“Your mother, I assume?” Brandon stepped out of the way to let Corbin enter the house.

“Yeah. She had to make sure someone was here. My parents are so overprotective.”

“I tried to never be that way with Cam. Marcia and I tried to let him have his freedom without smothering him.”

Corbin turned to him and frowned. “Look, Chan. No offense, but you have to stop saying shit like that. It weirds me out.” He shuddered.

“What do you mean?”

“You said that Brandon Daniels was dead as far as you were concerned, so you have to quit talking like him. My brain feels like it’s going to explode sometimes trying to separate my buddy Chan from my friend Mr. Daniels.” Corbin pulled his backpack from his shoulder. “For Christ sake, I used to call you ‘sir.’”

Brandon had never thought of it from Corbin’s point of view, and how weird it could be for him now that he knew his identity. Corbin is right. Brandon thought for a moment. I’m not Brandon Daniels anymore; I'm Channing Burkhart, and its time I start acting like it.

“You’re right, Corb. It’s time I leave Brandon in the past.”

“Good. And for God’s sake, leave his sense of style in the past as well.” Corbin looked him up and down and crinkled his nose.

“What? This doesn’t look good?” Brandon considered his ensemble: the white jeans and blue tank top with the pink long-sleeve shirt thrown casually over it. Maybe it was a little Miami Vice, but it wasn’t horrible. Was it? He looked back up at Corbin.

“Dude! Where are you getting these clothes? From your Uncle Tommy’s attic?” Corbin shook his head.

“Obviously.” Brandon shrugged. “But how did you know?”

“I’m psychic, remember?” Corbin grabbed Brandon's shoulders, turned him around, and pushed him down the hall to his bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Brandon laughed.

“Trust me. It’s for your own good.” Corbin said. After closing the bedroom door, Corbin took charge. “Lose the pink shirt. I’m not going to the party of the year with Don Johnson.”

He dug in his backpack and pulled out a pair of torn skinny jeans and threw them at Brandon.

“You watch Miami Vice?” Brandon’s face lit up as he pulled off his pants.

“My dad has the box set,” Corbin replied as he proceeded to dig his own clothes from the backpack. “I know some shit about old TV shows.”

“Old.” Brandon laughed as he struggled to pull up the skin-tight jeans on, hoping he could still get his cigarettes in the pocket.

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