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“It’s cool.”
“I was probably three when I named it.” I laughed at the creative name choice I had given him. “Morgan has a yellow one that he named Sonny. And Chase’s is a red one named Rusty. My girlfriend, Ginny, has a light purple one. I think she named hers Lily.”
“They all sound pretty special,” he said and then smiled and handed me Mr. Mint. He put his hands back in his sweatshirt.
“Our mom is really into all types of arts and crafts. She makes stuff and goes to the local art fairs. Anyhow, Morgan’s and my Worry Warts are in really good shape. Chase’s has literally been his security blanket. He sleeps with his. It goes to school with him in his backpack. It took years before he’d sleep in his own room at night. He was always scared to be alone and in the dark.”
“Lots of kids are scared of the dark.”
“Dad’s home with pizza!” Morgan yelled up the stairs.
“Let me see your hands,” I said to Patrick.
He pulled them out of his sweatshirt and spread his fingers wide. In such a short time, his knuckles had morphed into a deep red and the few places that had been cut were more prominent now.
“Let’s go wash them.” I led us into my bathroom and turned the water on. While Patrick washed his hands, I crouched and opened the cabinet to rummage around for the first aid kit.
“Wow, you have one of those?” he asked as I stood and set the small plastic case on the counter.
“With a house that has a Fireball and Dragon, we have these in multiple rooms,” I said and then shook my head. “The three of us have done some crazy shit.”
I pulled out a few of the knuckle bandages and an ointment that was supposed to help cuts heal quicker. I spread some of the ointment on a Q-Tip and dabbed it on the cuts.
“The picture on your cork board at a dance—son of a bitch,” Patrick hissed when the ointment stung.
“Sorry. It’ll help these heal faster.”
“It’s okay.”
“What about the picture?” I asked.
“Is that from this year?”
“Yeah, that’s Ginny and me at the homecoming dance.”
“She’s hot.”
“She is,” I agreed.
“Guys like you have all the luck.”
“Guys like me?”
“Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant you have everything going for you. Black belt in karate, varsity sports at school, popular with tons of friends, the hot, older girlfriend, good grades. TCF recruited you at sixteen. Huge home—”
“Your house looked pretty big.”
“It’s different.”
“And how do you know I have tons of friends?”
“I’ve seen you in the courtyard at lunch. You’re always surrounded by kids.”
“Stop being a stranger and lurking from the outside. Why don’t you come over and hang out during lunch?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t fit in with your friends.”
“You’d be surprised. No one says anything negative about my friends. Besides, I don’t care what they think. You’re my friend, and you fit in with me. So Monday, come have lunch with us, and I’ll introduce you to people.” I looked up at him and then tossed the Q-Tip in the trash. “Okay?”
