distraction worked. Max followed me in and we stood there looking at a menu. Some Arab kid was behind the counter, and he smiled all big ’n’ shit when we walked in.
“Hello!” he said, like all happy or at least pretending real good.
“What’s up?” I said, but didn’t really look at him.
“What can I get for you?” he said. ’Cause of his accent from like Syria or wherever, it sounded like there was a
d
on the end of his
r
’s: “fo-d you.”
“Gimme, uh … a slice of that Monster Meat deal thing.”
He punched it into the register. “Fo-d you?” he asked Max.
“Just a cheese slice,” Max said.
“Veddy good,” the kid said. “Fou-d sixteen.”
We paid cash, and I watched him run the register. Not a lotta kids from the Middle East around here, and he looked familiar. His name tag said AZIZE , but I couldn’t tell you how to say it. Also, I didn’t much care.
“Hey, do you go to Santa Barbara High School?” I asked the kid.
He smiled again, all big white teeth. “Yes,” he said. “I will be a senior next year.”
“Oh,” I said. “We just graduated.”
“Congratulations!”
I smirked at him.
Congratulations?
Kinda a stupid word when you hear a kid say it.
“You are going to the party tonight, then?” he said.
“Uh … yeah.
You
going?”
“I am!”
“Oh. Cool. Hey, can I ask you something?”
The kid nodded. What the hell’s he so
happy
about? He had this dork-ass white uniform on and was prolly making, what, nine bucks an hour? Nothing to smile about.
I leaned my board against the counter. “Are you like allowed to drink?”
His big smile dropped a little.
“I’m sorry?” he said, but it came out
soddy
.
“I said are you allowed to drink? You know, beer. Whatever. Isn’t it against your religion?”
I only knew that from movies, so I wanted to see if it was true. There were a few kids at school who said they were Mormon, but that didn’t stop ’em from getting plowed, and other kids who went to church but smoked and drank and cussed and screwed.
“I was not planning on it,” the kid said.
“Oh,” I said back. “So why are you going to a party then?”
“Dude,” Max said, like I was giving this kid a hard time, which obviously I wasn’t. I just wanted to know. Plus, come on, we just
graduated
. It was like a chance to hassle a freshman when we started sophomore year. It’s just how things go. Life in America, man.
“There is someone there I would like to see,” the kid said. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Oh, hey, a hookup!” I said. “She hot?”
“Brent, man,” Max said, and punched my shoulder.
“What, I’m just asking! So, is she? Anyone we know?”
“It’s not a hookup,” the kid said, and it sounded like
who-k up
, which kinda made me laugh. I couldn’t help it.
“Brent, shut up,” Max said.
“Okay, okay. Just messing with the guy. We’re cool, right?”
He met my eyes evenly. Kid couldn’t take a joke.
“We are cool.”
Kew-el
.
Funny stuff, that’s all I’m saying.
So I left the kid alone and we got our pizza. Max immediately headed back outside, so I followed him. By the way, I also left a nice tip, and I told Max that once we were back on the sidewalk. I don’t think he heard me.
We ate as we walked, after tossing our paper plates in the trash right outside the pizza place. It took us about ten seconds to scarf the slices.
We were walking past this old black guy who played violin every night on State Street, and I flipped a couple quarters into his open violin case. He nodded and smiled without missing a beat of his song. I don’t care much about classical music ’n’ shit, but that guy was awesome. I think he was playing Mozart or something. He wasn’t having a very good night. There were two quarters shining in the red plush interior near the head of the case, and some other loose change in the body, but that was all.
“So you don’t think I can talk to her?” Max said suddenly.
Here we go
“Hello!” he said, like all happy or at least pretending real good.
“What’s up?” I said, but didn’t really look at him.
“What can I get for you?” he said. ’Cause of his accent from like Syria or wherever, it sounded like there was a
d
on the end of his
r
’s: “fo-d you.”
“Gimme, uh … a slice of that Monster Meat deal thing.”
He punched it into the register. “Fo-d you?” he asked Max.
“Just a cheese slice,” Max said.
“Veddy good,” the kid said. “Fou-d sixteen.”
We paid cash, and I watched him run the register. Not a lotta kids from the Middle East around here, and he looked familiar. His name tag said AZIZE , but I couldn’t tell you how to say it. Also, I didn’t much care.
“Hey, do you go to Santa Barbara High School?” I asked the kid.
He smiled again, all big white teeth. “Yes,” he said. “I will be a senior next year.”
“Oh,” I said. “We just graduated.”
“Congratulations!”
I smirked at him.
Congratulations?
Kinda a stupid word when you hear a kid say it.
“You are going to the party tonight, then?” he said.
“Uh … yeah.
You
going?”
“I am!”
“Oh. Cool. Hey, can I ask you something?”
The kid nodded. What the hell’s he so
happy
about? He had this dork-ass white uniform on and was prolly making, what, nine bucks an hour? Nothing to smile about.
I leaned my board against the counter. “Are you like allowed to drink?”
His big smile dropped a little.
“I’m sorry?” he said, but it came out
soddy
.
“I said are you allowed to drink? You know, beer. Whatever. Isn’t it against your religion?”
I only knew that from movies, so I wanted to see if it was true. There were a few kids at school who said they were Mormon, but that didn’t stop ’em from getting plowed, and other kids who went to church but smoked and drank and cussed and screwed.
“I was not planning on it,” the kid said.
“Oh,” I said back. “So why are you going to a party then?”
“Dude,” Max said, like I was giving this kid a hard time, which obviously I wasn’t. I just wanted to know. Plus, come on, we just
graduated
. It was like a chance to hassle a freshman when we started sophomore year. It’s just how things go. Life in America, man.
“There is someone there I would like to see,” the kid said. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Oh, hey, a hookup!” I said. “She hot?”
“Brent, man,” Max said, and punched my shoulder.
“What, I’m just asking! So, is she? Anyone we know?”
“It’s not a hookup,” the kid said, and it sounded like
who-k up
, which kinda made me laugh. I couldn’t help it.
“Brent, shut up,” Max said.
“Okay, okay. Just messing with the guy. We’re cool, right?”
He met my eyes evenly. Kid couldn’t take a joke.
“We are cool.”
Kew-el
.
Funny stuff, that’s all I’m saying.
So I left the kid alone and we got our pizza. Max immediately headed back outside, so I followed him. By the way, I also left a nice tip, and I told Max that once we were back on the sidewalk. I don’t think he heard me.
We ate as we walked, after tossing our paper plates in the trash right outside the pizza place. It took us about ten seconds to scarf the slices.
We were walking past this old black guy who played violin every night on State Street, and I flipped a couple quarters into his open violin case. He nodded and smiled without missing a beat of his song. I don’t care much about classical music ’n’ shit, but that guy was awesome. I think he was playing Mozart or something. He wasn’t having a very good night. There were two quarters shining in the red plush interior near the head of the case, and some other loose change in the body, but that was all.
“So you don’t think I can talk to her?” Max said suddenly.
Here we go
Similar Books
