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“Nothing’s wrong with him.” Blake’s voice was still a little strained.
“Why’s he so much skinnier than you?”
“He just doesn’t eat much.”
“Yeah,” Brian chimed in. “I just don’t eat much.” He sounded more like a little kid than the man holding his own he’d been just seconds before.
“You guys got a ride home?”
“Eventually,” Blake said. It sounded as though he or someone had stood up.
“Our mom comes after work. Sometimes she’s late,” Brian added. “Why, you need a ride?”
“Nah. I can call my mom. Or walk.”
“So why you hanging around?” Brian asked yet again.
“Just don’t feel like going yet, that’s all.”
“Stuff at home, huh?” It didn’t surprise Kirk that Brian had picked up on that. He was the more sensitive of the Smith twins.
“Maybe. What’s it to ya?”
“Nothing,” Blake said. “It’s nothing to us. Come on, Bry.”
“It’s cool,” Brian said, apparently ignoring his brother for once. “Everyone’s got stuff at home sometimes.”
“Come on, Bry,” Blake said again. “Mom’s probably waiting.”
“She won’t be here for another fifteen minutes.”
Leaning back against the wall, Kirk listened to the boys.
“You got a dad?” Blake asked.
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“He a jerk?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“He dead?”
“Nah.”
“Took off, huh?”
“Yeah. Before I was born.”
“Yeah,” Brian said. “Ours is dead.”
Silence followed. Kirk could picture the boys standing there. Perhaps nodding awkwardly, while frantically searching for what to say or do next.
“You want a cigarette?” Abraham asked.
“You smoke, man?” That was Blake. “That’ll kill ya.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
