"Stick together," Robbie repeats dumbly, because he keeps wanting to argue that their parents could pick them up and take them home. It's so easy to separate little kids who have curfews. He has to make it work, though, because he knows the story. It feeds, and Robbie is not walking onto a scene like that one bully they found in the sewer.
So, he decides, Rich is right. They'll stick together like glue. He's already a champ at sneaking out of the house. Sneaking into one, if the parents aren't agreeable, can't be much harder, and it's not like his were the most attentive.
Robbie laughs at the thought and shares it. "If they're my parents, they probably won't even notice. I don't remember much about the parents, but I think that was a thing. The adults ignored everything. Like us running down the street. We're basically invisi...ble..."
His faltering is no accident. A balloon is floating by the porch, a smidge out of any little boy's reach.
SOMEBODY COME AND PLAY
The balloon spins around in a wind doesn't reach the boys. On the opposite side, there's more writing.
MIKE BEN STAN BEVVIE EDDIE GEORGIE RICHIE BILL
The names don't even bother to morph beneath the thick black marker that crosses them out. One second, they read as they should. The next, they are something else entirely, as if to answer Rich's question.
NITA GRIF BRAINY KID Q VANCE ROBBY ROBBIE RICH
The names are scratched out with dried blood that gets wetter and wetter as the list goes on. The line across Robby Rider's name is running down towards Robbie's.
The balloon is already turning away from him again, but Robbie is already scrambling to throw anything he can get his hands on at the balloon. A garden spade hits home just as the balloon finishes its 360.
SOMEBODY COME AND DIE is just visible before the balloon pops in an explosion of red mist that rains down on Robbie below. He is freckled with blood, and Robbie screams before he can get a grip. After a few ragged breaths, he chokes out, "We need little kid stuff to fight with. Itching powder and, and ... I don't remember. Spitballs. Slingshots."
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So, he decides, Rich is right. They'll stick together like glue. He's already a champ at sneaking out of the house. Sneaking into one, if the parents aren't agreeable, can't be much harder, and it's not like his were the most attentive.
Robbie laughs at the thought and shares it. "If they're my parents, they probably won't even notice. I don't remember much about the parents, but I think that was a thing. The adults ignored everything. Like us running down the street. We're basically invisi...ble..."
His faltering is no accident. A balloon is floating by the porch, a smidge out of any little boy's reach.
SOMEBODY COME AND PLAY
The balloon spins around in a wind doesn't reach the boys. On the opposite side, there's more writing.
MIKEBEN
STAN
BEVVIE
EDDIE
GEORGIE
RICHIE
BILL
The names don't even bother to morph beneath the thick black marker that crosses them out. One second, they read as they should. The next, they are something else entirely, as if to answer Rich's question.
NITAGRIF
BRAINY
KID Q
VANCE
ROBBY
ROBBIE
RICH
The names are scratched out with dried blood that gets wetter and wetter as the list goes on. The line across Robby Rider's name is running down towards Robbie's.
The balloon is already turning away from him again, but Robbie is already scrambling to throw anything he can get his hands on at the balloon. A garden spade hits home just as the balloon finishes its 360.
SOMEBODY COME AND DIE is just visible before the balloon pops in an explosion of red mist that rains down on Robbie below. He is freckled with blood, and Robbie screams before he can get a grip. After a few ragged breaths, he chokes out, "We need little kid stuff to fight with. Itching powder and, and ... I don't remember. Spitballs. Slingshots."