Page 5 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

“You’re laughing now, but we’re going to be late, and Yulia isn’t going to be happy.”

Was she ever?

Yulia was waiting for them again. Her buzzed head covered in a fluffy fur hat, puffer coat down to her ankles, in gold eyeliner and a sneer.

“We’re late,” she drawled.

It would never have occurred to her to go in without them.

Yulia hugged Annie hello and palmed the back of Hollis’s head, pushing him through the door.

“We’re going to Pino’s for lunch. I’ll see you both out front, don’t be late or you’ll have to play catch-up.”

“Noted,” Hollis mumbled.

Yulia stopped to stare at him. Then she scrunched her nose and reached out to pinch his earlobe.

“You need earmuffs.”

“You buy them, I’ll wear them,” Hollis shot back immediately.

Yulia grinned.

Strange

Hollis’s pa was in construction. A lot of men were.

Hollis had his eyes and his dishwater dusty brown hair. He was the source of all of Hollis’s blunt edges: heavy brows, stubby fingers, knobby knees, overbite, nervousness.

Mr. Brown left them on Monday mornings for the city and came back home on Fridays. He didn’t like to talk about where he slept when he was away, but the money was good enough to bear it.

He was a quiet man.

When he was home, he eyed Hollis with disappointment. He didn’t say a word of criticism, but Hollis could just feel him wishing for more. You don’t work as hard as Mr. Brown did and not look at your son and wish he could be better. That your sacrifices were going somewhere meaningful.

The promise of upward mobility.

Sports were a ticket out, and Hollis wasn’t good at any of them. He had average grades no matter how much he studied. He wasn’t good at painting, photography, history, or anything else, really.

He baked, but it wasn’t a hobby. Most people around town made a lot of their own stuff. Bread, jams, pickles, preserves of all kinds. Powdered eggs, canned chicken, penny-pinching, crust-saving. Real rural shit.

The only reason Yulia thought his bread had any value was because she was too rich to have learned how to make her own.

Hollis glanced up at the group of kids in the middle of the classroom, snickering and whispering. Their history teacher always ignored them and kept going. Everyone knew senior year was a waste of time for some people, so why yell at them to pay attention?

Everyone who was going to college already had been admitted. As for the rest, factories and construction sites were full of guys like them.

Guys like him.

Bone

They caught up with Annie out front, and Yulia drove them both out to Pino’s for lunch.

It was a horrible family-owned Italian American greasy spoon, with only two seats inside and an owner who yelled if you asked for substitutions.

Annie got marinara chicken fries, Yulia went for an eggplant parm burger, Hollis ordered mozzarella sticks, and they parked in a lot nearby.

Annie rolled down the window and flopped her legs out the door.