Black Box Read Online Free Page B

off at the second-to-last stop and so did I. I studied him for a minute. His jeans had a hole in them, down one leg, fifteen or twenty inches long, and down the arm of his long-sleeved T-shirt in ballpoint pen someone had written LOST CAUSE . “Hey,” I said. “Did you forget your backpack?” The bus was disappearing around a corner.
    “No. I don’t have one,” Jimmy said. He wasn’t carrying any books.
    “What do you do with your homework?”
    “I do it at school. Or I just bring home what I need. The necessaries, you know?” He pulled a wad of folded paper and a pen from his pants pocket. “Less than ten percent of homework is educational,” he said. “I’ve seen the statistics.”
    We looked at each other. “So,” I said.
    Jimmy patted the shaved part in his hair and ran his fingers along the bristles. “I think I should cut this again,” he said. “What do you think? Do you cut hair?”
    “Not like that,” I said. It was starting to rain.
    “You think my hair’s ugly?”
    “I think you want it to be.”
    “Good answer. Clever.” Jimmy tilted his head to look up, his Adam’s apple sharp and pointed. “Do you remember my older brother?”
    “Not really.” I had a vague memory of an older Jimmy-like person who had dropped out or graduated and moved away a few years before.
    “Mark,” Jimmy said. “That’s his name. Mark. Short for Marcus but no one but my father ever called him that, and we haven’t seen my father for years, which is probably a good piece of luck all around.” He looked at me as if I were a question he was hoping to answer. “Do you want to come to my house so you don’t get wet? I could make us a snack.”
    “No, I don’t think so.” I started home. But then I turned around and saw that Jimmy was still standing behind me. “Did your brother Mark have to go to Lorning? I mean, to the psych ward?”
    Jimmy held out his hands to catch the rain. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said. Behind him, above the trees, a white sheet of lightning filled up the sky.
    “Is your brother crazy?” I asked. “Or was he depressed?”
    “Are those my only two choices?” Jimmy asked.
    A car was approaching so we moved to the curb. The rain was coming down harder. “We just saw Dora yesterday,” I said. “She’s going to be fine.”
    Jimmy kicked at a clump of weeds growing out of the sidewalk.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Nothing. I’m just thinking you’re probably afraid to be seen with me. You’re probably thinking that talking to me is like committing social hara-kiri.”
    “Not really.” I shook my head.
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t really know anybody,” I told him. “I don’t hang out with people from school.”
    “Huh. Interesting,” Jimmy said. “So you’ve got nothing to lose by coming to my house. Am I right?”
    I had never been inside Jimmy Zenk’s house, even though it was only a couple of blocks away from mine. Because the outside was dull and ordinary (garage on the right, tree on the left), I expected it to be dull on the inside, but it wasn’t. It was bright and artistic, with oversized abstract paintings on the walls.
    We went into the kitchen. Jimmy opened the refrigerator. “Do you want something to eat? You want some chocolate? Some soda? Cigarettes?”
    “No, I’m not hungry. And I don’t smoke.”
    “I don’t either. Just trying to be polite. You know—the full range of offerings.” Jimmy was opening and closing cabinets.
    I looked around. The walls were a bright cobalt blue, and instead of a table and chairs the kitchen had a booth, like in a diner. The booth had silvery vinyl seats and a black stone surface between them to eat on. I sat down. “So. What’s the long story about your brother you were going to tell me?”
    “Do you like chocolate soda?” Jimmy asked. “Chocolate’s good for you. It lightens your mood.”
    I told him I didn’t want anything, but he took two glasses from the cabinet and set them on the