Summer on the Moon (3 page)

Rapp dragged Junebug across the sidewalk and pushed her into the Trans Am. As it squealed away from the curb, Socko saw the pale shape of a paper plane blow off the car roof.

Socko clutched Junebug’s nursing book to his chest as they tramped down the stairs. Damien hadn’t stopped talking since the gang leader had left the roof. “Was I some kind of crazy taking on Rapp?” The towel Junebug had been sitting on draped his shoulders. “I gotta lie low. Make myself scarce. Go invisible. To kill me he’ll have to find me first.” Damien gripped the ends of the towel and tugged hard.

“Next time I’ll have your back. Promise.” Socko was already reimagining the scene on the roof. “I’m big. I can fight him if I have to.”

“
You
, fight Rapp? Get real!” Damien jerked the towel from around his neck and tossed it at him. “Never gonna happen. You’re the panda man!” Damien’s footsteps echoed as he ran down one more flight of stairs to his own floor.

Socko put a shaking hand on the knob that opened the door to the fourth-floor hall. His friend was right: He might be big enough to take on Rapp, but he was nothing but a leaf eater.

“Going through!” Damien called.

They always opened the doors to their separate floors at the same instant so each knew the other was safe—which seemed pathetic to Socko all of a sudden. He’d probably just run away if his friend needed help. “Going through,” he mumbled.

He nudged the stairwell door open an inch and scanned the hall on his own floor. Empty. By now Delia would be dozing in her chair, so he let himself into the apartment quietly. He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Socko was easing the door shut when his mother yelled, “Guess what?”

He fell against the door, jabbing himself in the back with the lock knob. “Mom! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Nancy called!” she yelled again from the recliner.

“So?” His grandmother, who insisted they call her by her first name because “Mom” or “Grandma” made her feel old, ignored them for months at a time. “It isn’t your birthday, is it?”

Delia leaned forward in her chair, her eyes bright. “This is way bigger than a lame-o happy birthday. Sit down.”

All Socko wanted to do was hole up behind the pull-down classroom map of the thirteen original colonies that walled off the corner of the living room where he slept, but something about the way she was looking at him made his heart beat faster. He fell onto the loveseat he and Damien had rescued off the curb. “Okay, spill.”

“Do you remember me telling you about the General?”

Socko scrambled to get his bearings.

“You know, my grandfather on my dad’s side.”

“You mentioned him a few times. He’s a grumpy guy, right? And he’s not a real general.”

“Nope. Just an army cook in World War II. You never met him. I haven’t seen him myself since my parents got divorced all those years ago.”

He tried to look interested.

“Remember, he had a store called ‘General Starr’s General Store’?”

“Yeah. In some touristy place near … somewhere way north.”

“Stowe, Vermont.” Her eyes were really sparkling now. “And he sold it—which is huge for us.”

“Huge?” Socko wondered what Damien was thinking about one floor below. “Huge how?”

“His wife died a few weeks ago.” Delia frowned. “I know I should feel bad, but I barely remember her. The last time I saw either one of them I was in second grade.”

The General had sold the store … his wife had died … Socko still didn’t get it. “And this is huge because …?”

“Luckily the General sold the store before the economy went down the tubes. So he’s got money.”

“And he wants to give it to us?” Socko asked, trying to hurry things along.

“Yes, well, kind of.”

He fell back against the cushions. “You’re kidding!” A stupid idea popped into his head, but for one second it seemed reasonable. Money for bodyguards. One for him, one for Damien.

“Nancy says that without his wife around, he’s not taking good care of himself.” Delia folded her hands in her lap. “He’s eighty-eight now, plus he has emphysema.”

Socko had seen a gory photo in Junebug’s nursing book of a chunk of lung covered with black splotches. The word “emphysema” was printed under it.

“His sons—my dad and his brother—are ready to stick him in a nursing home. He doesn’t want to go. So, here’s the deal. We take him in and—”

“Wait, whoa!” Socko threw his hands up like a crossing guard stopping a car about to mow down a bunch of kindergarteners. “Take him in?” He eyed the hanging map that was the “wall” of his bedroom. “Where are we gonna put him? In the tub?”

“Would you listen a minute? Here’s the deal. We let him live with us, he buys us a house. A house of our own, free and clear once he …” She ran her thumb back and forth over the tape on the arm of the chair. “You know, once he’s gone.”

For the second time in half an hour Socko felt breathless—this time with relief. A house, away from here. Just like that, no more Rapp—no more tingling at the back of Socko’s neck warning that something bad was about to happen.

But the relief burned off fast. If he left, it was just like the roof all over again. How could he do that to Damien? He’d promised—the next time he’d have Damien’s back.

He twisted a button on the loveseat’s upholstery. “We don’t need a house.” The button came off in his hand.

“Of course not. Who could leave all this?” Delia spread her arms. The bluish light from the neon sign across the street fluttered on her pale skin.

“It’s not so bad here,” he bluffed, pushing the all-night neon flicker and the leaky faucet and the nuked roach out of his mind.

“You’re
allergic
to here, for Pete’s sake!”

“I
used
to be. I’m fine now—I haven’t had an asthma attack for years.”

“
Please
, Socko.” Delia clasped her hands and held them out to him. “No more hairy spiders. No more worries about the rent. No chance you’ll end up like Frankie …” She let that one sink in.

Socko had been the first to see Frankie G. lying dead in a pool of blood by the dumpster behind the Kludge. “The guys who did it weren’t even from around here,” he protested, trying to erase from his mind the picture of Frankie G. with a hole in his chest.

“But it
happened
here! We’ll move someplace safe, someplace where no one ends up dead on the ground. You’ll go to a new school—a better one.”

“I don’t want a better one!” Even at GC, where most of the students slept through class, Socko had to bust his butt to get Bs. If the competition was awake, he didn’t stand a chance. “Don’t
I
get a vote?” he gasped, his outgrown asthma threatening to make a sudden comeback.

“Not this time, Socko. You and me are getting out of here.” She slapped the arm of her recliner. “C’mere. Sit.”

Hadn’t she noticed he was way too big to perch on the arm of her chair like he used to? He walked over, but didn’t sit down. He took a breath and pulled out the big guns. “We can’t do it, Mom. I gotta stay here for Damien.” He couldn’t tell her about Rapp and the roof, but he had plenty of other ammunition. “Damien’ll starve if we leave!
And you have friends here too. Don’t forget Mr. Marvin, and that old lady in 3C. And what about Junebug, your special project?” He couldn’t believe she was so ready to dump the people she had come to call family.

“I gotta put us first.” She reached up and grabbed his hand. “I’ve never been able to give you anything. I was fifteen when I had you—just a kid raising a kid.” She squeezed his hand hard. “I’m not gonna blow this. This is our one shot, Socko. Our jackpot lottery ticket!” Her voice softened. “Come on!” She squeezed his hand again, more gently this time. “A house of our own. Think about it!”

How was he supposed to think about it? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been inside a house.

But Delia smiled as if she were standing in front of one. “A house with a lawn … and a hedge … I’ve always wanted a hedge.”

Socko flashed to the burnt plane sticking out of the scruffy bushes hunched between the front of their building and the sidewalk. “We got a hedge.”

“That doesn’t count.
Our
hedge will be tall and green and at Christmas we’ll put white lights all over it.” Delia’s free hand danced in the air. “The little kind that blink.”

Leaving?” Damien looked stunned, like the birds that sometimes flew into Donatelli’s shiny plate glass window thinking it was a piece of sky. “You … leaving?”

“It won’t happen for a while.” Socko picked a chunk of gravel off the tar roof. “Probably never.”

All day Socko had dreaded telling his friend Delia’s “good news.” He’d nodded dumbly each time Damien had mentioned Rapp and reminded Socko how they had to stick together.

Now Damien slumped against the wall. “I’m dead,” he said. “Too bad Rapp didn’t drop me off the roof last night. At least it’d be over with.”

“It probably won’t even happen. Who gives away houses anyway?” Socko tossed and caught the pebble. “And it’s gotta take time to buy a house. The old guy might even kick before the deal goes through.”

Damien rocked back and forth, hugging his knees. “Man, oh man, oh man,” he moaned. “Man, oh man, oh man …”

Socko flicked the piece of gravel at him. “I’ll talk her out of it.”

The pebble hit Damien’s neck, but it didn’t catch his attention. “Not gonna happen … not gonna happen.”

Socko was afraid Damien was cracking up.

Click … click
.

“Crap!” Damien touched the
S
on his cap and his fingers froze there. Someone was climbing the metal steps to the roof.

Socko stared at the dark opening of the hatch, expecting to see Rapp’s sideways cap pop through it, but the head that poked up was glossy with cornrows. “Hi, boys.”

Socko sighed with double relief. He didn’t have to stand up to Rapp, and Junebug was okay. He’d knocked on her apartment door a couple of times earlier that day, but all he’d gotten was a view of half her churchy aunt’s face and a curt, “She’s not here.” He’d been sure something bad had happened to Junebug, and that the something bad was his fault.

She rested her arms on the roof and looked toward the spot where she’d left her stuff.

“It’s all at my place,” Socko said. “Sorry about—”

“It’s okay,” she said, cutting him off. “Damien? That superhero move of yours was real dumb, but thanks.”

“Ditto,” said Damien, hugging his knees.

Socko stared at Junebug. Her eyes were puffy, and a purple bruise darkened the skin on her upper arm. “You all right?” he asked.

“Fine.” She looked away. “I need to talk to your mom.”

“Go ahead.”

“I knocked, but she didn’t answer. She working late?” Junebug glanced at her wrist. “It’s six fifteen. She got off a couple hours ago.”

“Two hours late?” Damien butted in. “Big deal. My mom’s a
day
late.” Not long after Damien had left Socko’s the night before, Louise and her boyfriend had gone out to a bar. She hadn’t come home since. But for Louise, being late was normal. Delia was never late. She knew how much Socko worried.

Junebug climbed onto the roof and walked slowly toward them. She stopped when she reached the low wall at the edge of the roof. “Oh, look!” She did a little bounce. “There she is, getting out of a car. Your momma got wheels all of a sudden?”

Socko turned in time to see a shiny, late-model car speed away.

Delia spotted them. “Big news!” she bawled up to them from the street below, waving her arms over her head. “Big! Big! Big! Meet ya at the apartment.”

“What do you think it is?” Junebug clicked down the stairs ahead of the boys. “She sure is excited!”

“Socko’s out of here.” Damien’s voice was flat.

“Not yet!” Socko objected. “This stuff takes time.”

Junebug stopped on the landing and grabbed his arm. “What’re you two talking about?”

“Socko’s rich great-grandfather is buying them a house.” Damien scraped a wad of gum off the sole of his shoe with the edge of a step. “Socko and Delia are moving.”

“Moving?” Junebug’s nails bit into Socko’s arm. “How far away?”

Socko twisted out of her grip. “Chill, you two. Nothing’s happening yet!”

“Big, big news!” squealed Damien. “Something for sure
is
happening. Thought you said you had my back, Socko.”

“I told you. I’ll work on her!”

When they pushed open the stairwell door, Delia was standing in the hallway. “Ta-da!” The hand she whipped out from behind her back held a glossy brochure. “I was bussing tables—the girls never keep up with ’em the way I like—and I found this card for a real estate agent named Leah Albin from Dream-Come-True Realty!”

“Slow down, Mom. You’re hyperventilating!” Socko wanted her to notice the looks on Damien’s and Junebug’s faces so she’d quit acting all enthusiastic, but she was too excited.

She shoved the apartment door open with her back. “As soon as she heard we’d pay cash, Leah Albin was all over it! So I said, ‘Too bad I don’t have a car to go see these places,’ and she said, ‘Not a problem,’ and she picked me up and took me to see this place.” She opened the brochure on the kitchen table and flattened it with her palms. “Take a look!”

Damien stood blinking. Junebug bit her lip.

“Moon Ridge Estates,” Socko read.

“Our new home,” Delia added.

Junebug wrapped an arm around Damien’s shoulders, but he pulled away.

“Hey, Damien!” Socko called after him as he bolted for the door—but his friend was gone like smoke.

“Wait!” Delia called toward the closing door. “Have supper with us, then we’ll work on your reading.”

“Work on his reading?” said Socko. “Get real, Mom.”

Delia’s happy face crumpled.

“Are you
really
going to do this?” Junebug whispered.

Delia took Junebug’s face between her hands and stared into her eyes. “You’ll be fine. In a few more weeks you’ll have your nurse’s aide certificate, you’ll get a good job. You’re on your way!”

Junebug bit her lip hard and nodded once. “I’m happy for you.” She vanished as quietly as Damien.

“Did you see that bruise on her arm?” asked Socko. “Rapp’s been whaling on her again.”

Delia blinked. “What can I do about it?” Her eyes were shiny, but her voice was tough. “I’ve told her to dump that sorry loser a hundred times. I can’t do it for her.”

“She’s scared, Mom, but she listens to you. You’re the one who got her to go back to school.”

“She’s seventeen! At her age I was supporting a kid all by myself. I can’t save the world.” Delia stared at the brochure on the table. “Just us.”

“Mom, stop and think about this. What about the old guy we have to take along with the house? If he’s like Mr. Marvin, he’ll talk our ears off. And you always say we don’t need a man, but if this deal goes through we’ll have one—a really old one!”

“This isn’t just any old man. The General is family and he’s giving us a house. We need the house—and we could use some family too.” When she said the word “family,” she looked as wishful as she had when she’d mentioned the hedge.

“
I’m
your family! And you said he was a big grouch!”

“So he won’t be a bed of roses. We’re not either.” She pushed the glossy paper toward him. “Would ya at least take a look?”

He put one hand on either side of the brochure and gazed at the
drawing of a two-story house. The artist had gone heavy on the hedges, and the sky was pure blue with puffy white clouds, like the weather was always perfect at Moon Ridge Estates.

“Oh, Socko, the house is even prettier than the picture! Wait ‘til you see the inside. It’s so big and clean and new.” His mother put her arm around his shoulders. “You’ll go to a brand-new school, and you’ll have your own room. A real one with walls.” She ran a finger down the list of amenities. “There’s a clubhouse, an Olympic-size swimming pool, a nine-hole golf course. And look at this!” Her finger stabbed the last item on the list. “A wildlife area!”

For a second, leaving looked easy. It wasn’t his fault if his mom made them disappear from this place. Even Damien couldn’t blame him for going.

But suddenly it was the roof all over again. Could he really leave his best friend to face Rapp on his own?

“I can’t do this, Mom,” he said softly. “I can’t.” The arm around his shoulders tightened.

“I’m scared too,” she said. “But we can do it together, like always.”