I stare at the empty chair across from me. Arguing further would be pointless. But deep down I still totally hate the fact that they let Justin, an all-state athlete, quit and not me. The last thing I want is to spend the first four months of my senior year as a football prisoner, and that’s exactly what the football program at Blaine Memorial High School is, a prison that sucks away your life much like the assembly plant sucks away my parents’ lives.

The front door opens and Dad comes in for dinner. We eat in silence, the only sounds those of silverware scraping plates and lips smacking food. I glance at Mom and Dad often. They don’t look at each other or smile during the entire meal. Typical behavior, especially lately.

But, hey, at least the meatloaf and potatoes taste wonderful.

Chapter_4

4

Okay, it goes like this: I’m jealous of Tank because his dad gave him the entire basement as his bedroom, complete with his own sixty-inch TV, a sweet cell phone, and the latest laptop. It’s the total hookup. See, Mr. Foster is so proud of Tank’s wrestling achievements that he gives him stuff whenever he wins a tournament. Well, Tank wins a lot of tournaments. My dad can barely afford basic cable. We have one box and one ancient TV, both of which are in the living room, where Dad drinks beer and smokes cigarettes from five to midnight every evening.

So this is totally embarrassing and all that, but usually the only way I can watch cable is to go to Tank’s.

And this is even more totally embarrassing, but the only computer in our house is in Justin’s room, but Justin’s never home and he always keeps his room locked when he’s out.

Translation: the only way I can surf on a regular basis is to go to Tank’s.

So I walk to his house four days after the silent dinner with Mom and Dad, hoping to snoop around a bit to see if I can dig up anything on Big Dale. It’s a hot and muggy evening. I’m dripping sweat by the time I reach his porch, kind of excited about the prospect of doing my first real professional spy work.

Since Sarah and Mr. Foster are never around, I’m used to walking in without knocking, something Tank insists I do because he hates coming up from the basement to let me in. This always makes me nervous because … well, you know, his dad’s a cop and all that and has plenty of guns and stuff lying around, so I always make a point of peeking through the glass triangle at the top of the white front door before turning the knob.