Page 91 of Summer Lessons

“We stop at 105,” Skip confirmed. “Same as the little kids.”

“You know,” Mason said thoughtfully, “uh, after thosereallyhot games, I sort of have a pool.” Dane’s project that day had been cleaning and dosing the pool so it would be usable that weekend.

But right now Mason was in the middle of many admiring sets of eyes, and damn, it was great to be a hero.

“Beats the shit out of my porch,” Skip confirmed. “Do you mind if Richie and I bring the monster?”

“Does he come when he’s called?” Mason asked, thinking about all the places beyond the fenced-in patio the dog could get lost if he decided to disappear.

“He responds to my whistle,” Richie said, and he pursed his lips and folded his tongue, and the groan of the rest of the team told Mason all he wanted to know about that.

“So,” Cooper said slyly, “do we have to wait until next season? Can we maybe come by after the game Saturday?”

Terry smacked his arm. “Subtle, Cooper. Really fuckin’ subtle.”

“Yeah,” Skip said, voice dry as the Sahara. “Subtle is our middle name around here. So, Mason, you up for it?”

“I’ll have burgers and dogs,” Mason confirmed. “You guys bring the beer.”

“What should I bring?” Terry asked quietly while the rest of the guys whooped.

“A change of clothes?” Mason asked, so full of hope he almost hated himself.

“Bank on it.”

The promise came with a kiss on the cheek, and Mason clung to it, even when Terry missed lunch on Friday.

Mrs. Bradford ran and got him an emergency sandwich from the cafeteria, and she placed it on his desk at around two, right when Terry’s text pinged.

D’oh! Sorry!

No worries. I’m eating company egg salad. It’s awesome.

Next time I’ll text you if I’m coming—that way you don’t have to plan on me.

Sure.

Sure.

THEY LOSTthe soccer game, but the pool party was a success. People brought food and beer and dessert—and more beer. Singh brought his wife and two kids, and Menendez and Owens brought their girlfriends. Carpenter and Dane stayed out of the pool and in the shade, talking, but most everyone else got in and out—and even used the hot tub in the corner, although it was plenty warm outside.

Skip and Richie’s dog—as big as advertised, and so voracious that Skip brought him his own bag of food to inhale so he wouldn’t go after burgers right off the bat—ran around the trees and down to the creek. Every now and then, a piercing whistle would rend the air, and the whole world would look up to see Ponyboy come running to check in with his humans.

Terry stayed and frolicked, as comfortable in the water as an otter. The guys—being the guys—started an impromptu game of water polo that turned into a blood sport.

Mason was busy grilling, so he didn’t participate, but Carpenter and Dane dressed a lot of wounds—and counseled a lot of bitterness about howsomepeople didn’t trim the eagle talons they were nurturing in the place of toenails.

Terry, being neither wounded nor wounder, put on his shirt and went running into the oak trees to throw sticks to the dog.

After Mason had gotten everyone else settled with food, he found Terry there, chucking what amounted to half a tree over and across the creek and up the rise. This was great—it ensured the dog had to run down one hill, across the water, and up the next hill, and he’d obviously been doing it for quite some time, because he was starting to slow down.

“You hungry?” Mason asked with a smile.

The expression Terry turned toward him was troubled. “Little bit, yeah.”

“What’s wrong?” But he knew.

“You know… Rudy—he was saying all sorts of shit, and… I know it’s not true but….”