Read Online Perfectly Good White Boy by Carrie Mesrobian - Free Book Online Page A

office,” she said, not even looking up from the table. “He’s been going in there lately.”
    I found Otis under the office desk, between stacks of my mom’s psychology books. He looked happy, was thumping his tail. And he got up and followed me to my room like nothing after that. But it was weird. Otis was almost twelve years old; we’d had him since I was in kindergarten. He was part German shepherd, part something else the vet and my mom could never settle on. He was big and furry and kind of fat, but he was great. He jumped on my bed and lounged for a minute, licking himself in all his gross places, and then, while I was in the shower, something else must have caught his dog-attention, because he was gone when I came back to my room.
    I put on clean boxers and opened the window above my bed. It was still hot, even though it was now technically fall. The rental didn’t have air-conditioning. Our old one had it. Our old one had everything good, really. Everything good, except for my drunk father.
    Even a shitty house out on the freeway, with trash tossed out of passing cars getting caught in the fence, and semi trucks roaring by all night long and the goddamned muddy yard and gravel drive making everything look like we were hillbillies cooking meth or something, even that was better than living with my dad when he was drinking. But it still wasn’t great.
    I considered, pretty intensely, for a period of three to four minutes, doing my homework. But then I just got into bed. Because at the moment, I felt like doing nothing. Which meant one thing, really.
    Doing nothing, jerking off; they were kind of the same for me. Not because I felt really sexual, necessarily. Mostly I jerked off for no real reason. Because I had a hand and it could go easily down my boxer shorts. And because, why not just do that when all else failed? I lay in bed, listening for everyone to shuffle out—Brad honking the horn of his truck in the drive, Krista’s girl shoes making pointy clacks on the linoleum, Steven-Not-Steve jingling his car keys. I waited until I heard my mom call down that she was going to bed, and I yelled back “Good night,” and then, finally, I could do it. Finally.
    I’d worked myself up decently when my phone buzzed from across the room, still in the back pocket of my jeans. The little sound it made when I got a text. My hand froze midstroke. I listened again. In case I’d just imagined it. I didn’t think it would buzz again. Then it did.
    Of course, even though my hand was all covered in lotion, I still got up to look. I couldn’t resist. It could have been Hallie texting again. I’d never replied, but that didn’t stop me from thinking she’d text again.
    Buzz.
    I got up, wiped my hand off on a T-shirt lying on the floor, picked up my phone.
    But the texts were from an unknown number.
    don’t tell anyone about that okay? pls?
    Next one:
    this is neecie from work btw
    Like I knew any other Neecies!
    The third:
    sorry to bug you. nobody can know. he’ll get really mad. pls don’t tell anyone Sean
    I stared at the screen. I kind of hate texting, because my phone’s an old piece of shit and my thumbs are giant. And worse still, my hand was all slippery. So I just hit the call button on her name and let it ring. Figuring she wouldn’t pick up, because that’s why you text, right? Because you don’t want to actually talk to anyone?
    But of course, Neecie picked up.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œHi. It’s Sean.”
    â€œHi.
    â€œHow did you even get my number?”
    She sighed, very loud. “From the staff phone list that Wendy gives out.”
    â€œOh.” I always got that list; Wendy updated it whenever someone was hired or quit, but I never looked at it. I only had Wendy and Kerry’s numbers in my phone. There was no one else who worked my job that I could call to sub in for me, anyway.
    â€œHey, sorry to