Page 103 of Summer Lessons

“Oh!” Skip said, taking a swig of beer. “That reminds me—your buddy Hot Hugh—”

Mrs. Bradford burst into laughter.

“Not my buddy,” Mason corrected. “He just seems to be the thing that wouldn’t leave.”

“Well, that thing that wouldn’t leave offered me and Carpenter a way out of the IT pool. Did you have anything to do with that?”

Carpenter’s dry laugh suggested he had no doubts. “I didn’t put ‘MBA’ on my application, Skipper. That was all Mason.”

Mason shrugged and tugged at the label of his beer bottle. “See, all those things we were doing, with the education program and the lower-tier benefits and upward mobility, they needed someone to help monitor them and make them happen. Also, we needed someone to present them to new employees. So I figured that the executive part would be right up Carpenter’s alley, because it wasn’t douchey and he could be proud of it, and the teacher part would free Skip up to take classes for his BA and maybe his teaching degree.”

“Really?” Dane said, licking the last of the cake off his fork. He and Carpenter had made the cake—double chocolate with chocolate frosting—and everyone agreed it had been worth breaking a diet for. “That’s what you were doing?”

“Well, I was thinking about them when I started the program—it was only logical.”

Dane shook his head. “Ladies and gentlemen, my brother.”

Everybody applauded, and Mason managed two whole and unfettered smiles in the space of the same day.

SO ITwas a good day—but it wasn’tbetter. Not by a long shot.

Mason still got updates about Terry from Skipper after every game. One week he came to the game with his hair cut short and dyed blond. One week a friend who wasnotRudy came to watch him.

One week he’d cut off the blond and brought no friend at all.

The next week he had to thread dental floss through the reopened holes in his ears when he took off his jewelry for the game.

The week after that, he had a new car and new soccer shorts for the first time in six years.

Mason fed greedily on every detail and even celebrated their wins with a mostly happy heart, especially when he heard that all his and Skip’s coaching had come to fruition and Terry was starting to play the whole field and not just squirrel-with-a-ball.

Saturday-night dinner got to be a thing—the dog was such a fixture that Dane started talking about getting one.

Mason was still expecting the karma police to land on his doorstep about Ponyboy’s habit of dumping ginormous poops in the backyards of the people who lived on the other side of the ravine.

One Saturday morning in July, Mason went out extra early to the Whole Foods. He assumed people were coming over to sit in the pool and pray for heat relief, because the day before had been 112, and this day promised to be worse. Skip had canceled the soccer game that morning, and basically a pool, shade, and air-conditioning were everybody’s best friend.

When he got home with bags full of chips and soda and lunch meat, ice, and beer (because who wanted to barbecue), a man he didn’t know was standing in the shade of his porch.

Tall, lean, and tan, he looked vaguely familiar, and Mason thought he might have seen him gardening in front of one of those houses he shared a yard with.

Wonderful. Hello, karma police.

“Heya, let me help you out with those!”

“Uh, okay. That’s nice of you.”

“Not a problem. What’s the matter, you’ve never heard of good neighbors?”

The guy had gray eyes contrasting with that tan, and a few strands of silver in his dark hair, and when he smiled and winked, the effect was indeed appealing.

“I, uh… I’m feeling guilty. My friend’s dog must have crapped in your yard sixty to eighty times. I was sure you’d be on my porch with a bag of dog shit and a restraining order.”

Nice-neighbor-man blinked slowly, and Mason thought,Oh excellent—good to know that part of my personality isn’t dead. Maybe my libido will come back in another year too.

“Well, that red-headed kid has taken care of most of the land mines—no worries.”

Oh! “Richie? Good. He’s the dog’s owner, actually. Him and Skip.” Mason fumbled and managed to unlock his front door while juggling bags. Neighbor-man had his own armloads, so Mason had no choice but to let him in.