– No. Says he can finish quicker if he does the work on his own. Little fucker’s gonna be done with the whole year by January the way he’s going.

Hector checks the bus’s progress.

– Cool.

Paul picks up his bag and hefts it onto his shoulder.

– He know where he’s gonna go?

– No. Wants to work with me and my dad once he’s done. Until the fall. Then he’ll go to college wherever.

– He fuck up my bike yet?

– Not yet.

– He will.

– Probably.

– You tell him we’re going?

– No. I’ll tell him later. He just would have wanted to come down here. Probably try and sneak into your bag.

– Yeah, my nut bag.

The bus pulls up and squeals and hisses and stops and the door opens.

George reaches in his pocket and pulls out some cash and holds it out.

– Here.

Paul looks at it.

– What the fuck is that?

– Some money.

– Don’t want your money.

– It’s cool. I’m making plenty on weekends. This is what’s left from, you know, what Jeff gave us.

Paul picks up Hector’s backpack.

– Don’t want it.

Hector grabs the money.

– Thanks, man. Guitar money.

They move back as an old couple is helped out of the bus by the driver.

Paul watches the money go into Hector’s pocket.

– He remember anything yet?

George shakes his head.

Hector touches a scar that cuts across his upper and lower lips.

Paul spits.

– Good.

The Mexican family stands by as the driver stows their boxes in the luggage bay and then they file onto the bus.

The driver looks at the three of them.

– That all your bags?

Paul nods.

– Yeah.

– Want them down here or with you?

– We’ll keep ’em with us.

The driver slams the bay door closed and straightens and stretches his lower back.

– All aboard, then.

Hector puts his arms around George.

– Be cool, man. See my mom, tell her I’ll write her a card. Tell her I’m just tired of being in this town. Not gonna die here. Tell her I’m cool. Same for my sister.

– Yeah. Sure.

Paul kicks Hector’s cane.

– You wanna start getting on now, crip? Gonna take you like an hour.

Hector lets go of George and hooks a thumb at Paul.

– Sure you don’t want to come? Just so I got company besides dickhead?

George shrugs.

– Nah. Stay here. Do my thing. Graduate and all that shit.

– Cool.

Paul holds a bag in either hand.

– Don’t think I’m putting these down to hug you, fag.

George puts his hands in his pockets.

– Dude, I’m not hugging your runaway ass.

Paul grins.

– Runaway. Man. Why’d I wait?

Hector pokes him with the cane.

– Dude, let’s jet.

Paul steps up onto the bus.

– Tell Andy he can keep my bike. Tell him not to fuck it up or I’ll come back and kick his ass.

The door sighs closed and the bus pulls away, Paul and Hector sticking their hands out the window and flipping George off as it turns onto North L and disappears.

He rides by the school and watches as classes get out. A chick he knows bums a smoke off him and asks why he hasn’t called since the party last week and he says he’s been busy and tells her he’ll maybe call her this weekend and he rides off.

There’s no cars in the driveway at home, too early for his folks to be back from work. Paul’s old bike is in the garage. He rides in circles out front and looks at Andy’s bedroom window and thinks about going in and telling him about Paul and Hector. But then he’ll have to hang around with him. And that’s not what he wants to do right now.

Right now the sketchy house is in his head.

And he doesn’t want to see his brother.

He rides back toward the school, looking for that chick.

Andy studies the dungeon, rolls the twenty sided one more time, looks at the number, and fills a trap with boiling acid. Then he puts it away, adding it to a pile of dungeons he’s made since he got out of the hospital. None of them explored.

He looks at his textbooks, flips physics open, reads ten pages and flips it closed. Read it already. Read all of them already. Need some new ones.

Home study is OK. It’s better than the alternative. Things were bad enough when he was just the freaky brain kid skipping grades. Being the freaky brain kid with the Frankenstein scars all over his head isn’t an option. It’s not like people really give him shit or anything. Just stare. Maybe want to ask questions about what it feels like and what it’s like to get beat up like that and what a coma is like. Better to stay at home and take the state tests.

He looks out the window and watches George ride around out front before turning and pedaling away.

His head itches.

He thought it’d stop after the last of the stitches came out, but it didn’t. Wherever the hair is growing back itches. The parts where no hair is growing back don’t feel like anything.

Too bad George didn’t come in. It sucks being alone all day. Well, being alone is OK, but not seeing his friends sucks. But that’s the way it’s been.

They just act kind of weird around him these days. Like they don’t really know him or something. Which is stupid.

He gets up and goes out to the garage and wheels out Paul’s Redline and looks at Jeff’s old Harley cap hanging from the handlebars. It’s the one Paul always used to wear. The one he left in George’s bedroom.

He puts it on, takes it off, puts it on, thinks about Jeff. What a bummer it is that he’s dead. Tries to remember the last time he saw him. Can’t.

He rides.

It’d be good to see George. See anyone after being alone all day. Once their folks head off to work it’s just him. One of them sometimes comes home at lunch, but not nearly as often as they did at first. They’ve gotten used to him being OK now. Used to the idea that he’s alive and not brain damaged after all those doctors kept telling them not to hope for too much. Which is cool. They were way too all over him for the first month. But it’d be nice to see George and hang out. And George is mostly OK with that. He doesn’t care what Andy looks like. Doesn’t care how weird he is, doesn’t think he’s any different now.

At least he tries to act that way.

He rides to the firebreak and goes over the jump. His old bike was so heavy you could barely catch an inch of air. The Redline flies. No wonder Paul loves it so much.

It was weird at first, riding Paul’s bike. Still, Andy wouldn’t have ridden it at all if George hadn’t said Paul told him it was OK.

Some other kids show up at the jump. Andy takes it one more time and heads off. They watch him ride away.

It’s nice and cool. If he takes the cap off the breeze will make his scalp itch less. But he hates the scars.

– Andy!

He glides over to the curb.

– Hey, Alexandra. What’s up?

– You know, school.

– How is it?

– You know, the same.

She shifts her books from her chest to her hip.

– Andy?

– Uh huh.

– Um, can I look at your head?

– Sure.

He takes off the cap.

– Can I see the top?

He lowers his head.

– Gross.

– Yeah, I know.

– Did you really die? I mean, die and then they like brought you back?

He looks at her.

– Who said that?

– Kids.

Andy looks up at the sun until he sees spots and then looks back at her.

– No. I didn’t. I was in a coma. And they thought I might die. But I didn’t.

– Um. Did those Crips really torture you?

Andy tries to blink the spots from his eyes.

– Who said they were Crips?

– Everyone.

– I don’t think they were. I mean, my brother said they were just some black guys. I don’t remember.