“I’m kidding. How would I call your sister? I don’t know her married name.”
“You could find that on the internet.”
“True. But I didn’t call her.” Iggy sucks on his lower lip. “I did email her though.”
“Iggy!” He takes a step toward Iggy, unsure what he’s going to do, and he hates the way Iggy flinches back a step. “Really?” Okay, that comes out way too whiny.
Iggy straightens his spine. “Not today. Like, last week. You don’t have a cell phone and are a pain in the ass to pin downwhen you’re upset, and I wanted to know if there was a place in town you’d go when you’re upset. She mentioned the creek, and that your favorite spot was southeast from Saddle Up. Please, don’t be mad at her.”
“I’m not.” He misses his big sis like crazy, even though he’ll never admit it to her. She got out of town and away from their parents’ collective crazy. But Malcolm is sixteen, almost seventeen. He’s got a little over a year before he’s legally free, too. “I’m not unhappy to see you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Iggy offers a sideways smile. “I’m not unhappy to see you, too. I was worried, you know. You’re, like, my best friend, you jerk. I get weirded out when you disappear.”
Malcolm isn’t sure how to respond to that. He hasn’t had a best friend since fourth grade, not really. He and Iggy are so different on the outside, but they’re not so different inside. They’ve both got shitty parents, and they’re both just trying to survive high school. And get Dorothy’s house smoothly from Kansas to Munchkin Land.
“I’m sorry I skipped practice without telling you,” Malcolm says.
“Good.” Iggy picks his way through the grass to stand beside him, angled toward the rushing creek. “Are you going to need Epsom salts later?”
He sighs then picks up a stone. Might be flat enough to skip. “Probably.”
“Your dad do it?”
The stone is cool on his palm. Malcolm shifts it to his fingertips and eyes the water. Probably too rough here. If he throws it, it’ll just sink. “Yeah.”
Iggy doesn’t respond, and they stare at the creek for a while, a chill stealing over the world as the sun begins to set. Malcolm’s stomach aches from what he said, what he admitted to, confirming what Iggy obviously suspects. It’ll be dark soon,and Malcolm doesn’t have a flashlight. He knows the trail back to the road pretty well, but he doesn’t want Iggy to hurt himself.
Iggy is too important to him.
“Do you want to camp out tonight?” Iggy asks.
“Camp out?” Malcolm nearly drops his stone and pockets it instead. “It’s November.”
“I know. And I don’t mean in a tent. We can sleep in the back of the station wagon. In sleeping bags.”
“You do that a lot? Camp in the back of cars?”
Iggy shrugs but there’s a pained flinch in his eyes. “I’ve slept in cars before, but never for fun. I just…if you don’t want to go home, you know? And Uncle Howie’s trailer is kind of small. The walls are like cardboard.”
Malcolm isn’t sure what to do with the weird, tender feelings squirming around in his belly, so he reaches for humor. “You wanna spend your Friday night in the backseat of a car with me?”
“Well, no.” Iggy wiggles his eyebrows. “The rear compartment of a station wagon. You game?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“You snore?”
Iggy laughs. “Uncle Howie’s never complained, but you’ll have to let me know.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah? Cool. Do you need to go home for anything? Change of clothes? Toothbrush?”
“Why? You got a sink in the back of the wagon?”
“Ha ha. Do you? Need to go home?”
