Read Online In the Paint by Jeff Rud - Free Book Online

Believe me, I’ve done worse. If you don’t tell anyone, this will be tough to live with. Let me know how it goes. Good luck, Mark.”
    As Matt read the e-mail, he realized his brother was right. Telling the Wongs was the right thing to do. No matter what the cost.
    Matt had to wait until Monday night for the chance to hop on his bike and make his way the eight blocks through the biting wind from his house to Wong’s Grocery. It had bothered him all day at school. During basketball practice he couldn’t concentrate properly and could barely bring himself to look at Jackson and McTavish.
    As he rested the front tire of his bike in the store’s black iron rack, Matt felt panicky. How was he going to do this? How was he going to tell his friend what he had done? How could the Wongs possibly understand?
    Phil had seen him ride up. “Hey, Matt,” he smiled, opening the store’s front door with the familiar 7-Up logo on the wide, white handle. “What’s up? You want to stay for dinner? Grandma made lots of noodles.”
    â€œI’m not really hungry,” Matt said, casting his eyes downward as he stepped through the front door and into the dim glow of the tiny corner store. “I just need to talk to you.”
    Matt and Phil made their way down the center aisle filled with bright cereal boxes, cans of soup and bags of potato chips until they reached a pair of stools near the curtain that marked the entrance to Phil’s grandmother’s living quarters. They had sat on these stools for hours at a time, discussing major league baseball, Phil’s primary passion, and eating penny candy. The memories now seemed so far away.
    Phil’s grandmother was at the front counter, selling a customer a lottery ticket, and well out of earshot. This was the time, Matt thought. “Phil, I don’t know how to say this,” he started.
    â€œWhat is it, man?” his friend replied, a concerned look crossing his broad face.
    From there, it all spilled out. Matt told Phil about hanging out with Jackson, White and McTavish and about the spray paint and about how he didn’t know what building the guys were going to hit until it was too late. He told Phil how sick the racist graffiti had made him feel, how ashamed he was, and how he hoped they could still be friends.
    When he had finished, Phil was silent for a few seconds, staring down at the floor and gathering his thoughts. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “We’ll always be friends. As long as you aren’t hanging around with Jackson and those other idiots anymore, that is.”
    Matt felt a rush of relief. Just getting the secret off his chest made him feel alive again. But he knew he wasn’t finished. “I want to tell your grandmother, Phil,” he said solemnly. “I feel really bad that she was so scared by this.”
    â€œLet me talk to her,” Phil said. “She doesn’t speak English that well, so it could get mixed up if you do it. Don’t worry, I’ll go talk to her now.”
    Matt watched, feeling helpless as Phil walked to the counter toward his grandma, a stooped and wrinkled woman in her late-sixties who seemed to be always dressed in a long colorful skirt, a sweatshirt and white tennis shoes. “Grandma,” Phil began, followed by a blur of Mandarin words. Even after years of hanging around in the store, Matt couldn’t begin to follow their language. He could only judge the conversation by the looks on their faces.
    Phil’s grandmother glanced slowly in Matt’s direction and then back to her grandson. There was no mistaking the hurt in her round, heavily lined face as she turned and walked slowly toward the back room. Phil motioned for Matt to come to the front of the store. “Grandma is going to bed now,” he said. “You better go.”
    Matt passed by Phil’s grandmother in the aisle as he walked to the front of the