Tenth of December Read Free

Also “holy golly.” Also “crapper.” The Rooskie was wearing a jean jacket over a hoodie, which, in Kyle’s experience, was not unusual church-wear for the Rooskies, who sometimes came directly over from Jiffy Lube still wearing coveralls.
    Under “Vehicle Driver” he wrote, PROBABLE PARISHIONER.
    That sucked. Stank, rather. The guy being a stranger, he, Kyle, now had to stay inside until the stranger left the neighborhood. Which totally futzed up his geode placing. He’d be out there until midnight. What a detriment!
    The guy put on a Day Glo-vest. Ah, dude was a meter reader.
    The meter reader looked left, then right, leaped across the creek, entered the Pope backyard, passed between the soccer-ball rebounder and the in-ground pool, then knocked on the Pope door.
    Good leap there, Boris.
    The door swung open.
    Alison.
    Kyle’s heart was singing. He’d always thought that was just a phrase. Alison was like a national treasure. In the dictionary under “beauty” there should be a picture of her in that jean skort. Although lately she didn’t seem to like him all that much.
    Now she stepped across her deck so the meter reader could show her something. Something electrical wrong on the roof? The guy seemed eager to show her. Actually, he had her by the wrist. And was like tugging.
    That was weird. Wasn’t it? Something had never been weird around here before. So probably it was fine. Probably the guy was just a really new meter reader?
    Somehow Kyle felt like stepping out onto the deck. He stepped out. The guy froze. Alison’s eyes were scared-horse eyes. The guy cleared his throat, turned slightly to let Kyle see something.
    A knife.
    The meter reader had a knife.
    Here’s what you’re doing, the guy said. Standing right there until we leave. Move a muscle, I knife her in the heart. Swear to God. Got it?
    Kyle’s mouth was so spitless all he could do was make his mouth do the shape it normally did when saying Yes.
    Now they were crossing the yard. Alison threw herself to the ground. The guy hauled her up. She threw herself down. He hauled her up. It was odd seeing Alison tossed like a rag doll in the sanctuary of the perfect yard her dad had made for her. She threw herself down.
    The guy hissed something and she rose, suddenly docile.
    In his chest Kyle felt the many directives, Major and Minor, he was right now violating. He was on the deck shoeless, on the deck shirtless, was outside when a stranger was near, had engaged with that stranger.
    Last week Sean Ball had brought a wig to school to more effectively mimic the way Bev Mirren chewed her hair when nervous. Kyle had briefly considered intervening. At Evening Meeting, Mom had said that she considered Kyle’s decision not to intervene judicious. Dad had said, That was none of your business. You could have been badly hurt. Mom had said, Think of all the resources we’ve invested in you, Beloved Only. Dad had said, I know we sometimes strike you as strict but you are literally all we have.
    They were at the soccer-ball rebounder now, Alison’s arm up behind her back. She was making a low repetitive sound of denial, like she was trying to invent a noise that would adequately communicate her feelings about what she’d just this instant realized was going to happen to her.
    He was just a kid. There was nothing he could do. In his chest he felt the lush release of pressure that always resultedwhen he submitted to a directive. There at his feet was the geode. He should just look at that until they left. It was a great one. Maybe the greatest one ever. The crystals at the cutaway glistened in the sun. It would look nice in the yard. Once he placed it. He’d place it once they were gone. Dad would be impressed that even after what had occurred he’d remembered to place the geode.
    That’s the ticket, Scout.
    We are well pleased, Beloved Only.
    Super job, Scout.
    Holy crap. It was happening. She was marching along all meek like the trouper he’d known