Middle Men Read Online Free

groceries and tuition, and I set aside the rest for getting my braces off. I was ruled by vanity. Our neighbors across the street had a pool, and before work I would sneak into their backyard, get down on my stomach, and dip my face in the water. The chlorine, I had discovered, dried out my acne, making it seem less rosy and bulbous. On my breaks I walked by Layaway, hoping to find Jessica, alone, but Tully always seemed to be there, leaning on his hand truck. One afternoon they walked by the employee lounge and saw me reading The Call of the Wild .
    â€œDon’t take your breaks in here,” said Tully. “It’s a graveyard.”
    â€œOne of the greeters slit his wrists in the bathroom,” said Jessica. “Security had to smash the lock to get him out of there.”
    â€œWhere am I supposed to go?”
    I followed them out to the loading dock. There were some plastic chairs set up behind a stack of pallets. “You can read your little doggy book out here,” said Tully, patting me on the head, and they walked away.
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    After we lost by thirty to St. Callistus of Gardena, my dad found Coach Boyd in the parking lot and got in his face.
    â€œYou don’t have a fucking clue what you’re doing,” he said.
    My mom grabbed him, apologized to Coach Boyd, andguided my dad back to the minivan. She drove home. My dad sat in the back, bouncing my youngest brother on his knee. “They’re pressing full court,” he said, “and Pat’s stranded out there.”
    â€œIf you were worried about Pat ,” she said, “you wouldn’t embarrass him in front of everybody.”
    â€œWho hired that fucking clown?”
    â€œ Language ,” my mom hissed.
    The next day at practice Coach Boyd asked if my dad was “okay.”
    â€œHe just thinks we should put in a press break,” I said. “That’s all.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œTrinity presses,” I said. “We need outlets, and we have to keep someone behind the ball. I know how to set it up . . .”
    â€œIf you ever need to talk, about anything ,” said Coach Boyd, with a hand on my shoulder, “I’m always here.”
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    I suppose my best friend on the team was Weaver, but all we did was hang around the gym together, killing time between our afternoon practices and evening games. We’d shoot around for two hours straight and not say a word to each other. Most guys ate lunch at Overton’s house, which was close to school. Weaver and I only went there once. Overton’s grandma made us grilled cheese sandwiches and we watched Return of the Jedi . The tape was warped from so many viewings.
    â€œImagine Princess Leia taking Jabba’s dick,” said Tully. “I mean, just imagine it. Seriously. Use your imaginations.”
    â€œIs she the only human girl in the whole movie?” said Pham.
    â€œNo, there’s an English lady,” said Overton, his sleepy eyes fixed on the screen. “She tells the rebels what to do.”
    â€œWhat was Trinity like, Higginbottom? You probably got all kinds of crazy South County ass.”
    I shrugged rakishly. As soon as Overton’s grandma went down for her nap, Tully produced a joint, and so Weaver and I, the squares, retreated to the gym. During a game of 21, I ripped a fingernail on his jersey and it started bleeding.
    â€œYou got some nasty nails,” Weaver said. “You should get them done.”
    â€œWhat?”
    He showed me his pristine cuticles. “I heard Michael Jordan gets manicures. So I started going with my mom.”
    â€œIs it expensive?”
    A couple days later his mom drove us to a salon on PCH. On the way over she kept asking where my family went to church, and if we liked it.
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œWell,” she said, looking at me in the rearview mirror, “maybe we could have a