Cruise Control Read Online Free

for me, anyway. I’ve never liked school, all the rules and childishness, but I’ve always been good at my classes and loved playing sports. I skipped fourth grade, and by taking summer school classes, I’m finishing high school early. I’ll be done this January instead of in June, when my sister, Cindy, gets done. I’ll qualify for jock scholarships before any of my competition. Of course, all of this assumes that I could actually go away to college; my old man pretty much ruined that when he ran out on us.
    Speaking of Dickhead Dad, he and the cameraman just went into the administration building and are finally out of sight, thank God. Mr. Jenkins glances over at me, and it actually looks like he’s going to say something about Dad. I quickly look away from him. He doesn’t say anything after all.
    I don’t know if Mr. Jenkins has ever read Dad’s writing about Shawn or not. I don’t know if Mr. Jenkins even knows I have a brother here at school. Luckily, it’s a huge school, so I see Shawn only once in a while. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of him as he’s being rolled along in his wheelchair down the hall. Seeing him drooling and so out of it always kills me. Also, the special-ed kids deliver coffee to the teachers first period, and once in a while, Shawn is hauled along on these trips with some of his retarded classmates and a teacher’s aide.
    I’ve been sitting in class when this crew comes in, and it’s totally weird. Some kids know that Shawn and I are related—kids like Eddie Farr, who’ve known us for a long time. But whenever I see Shawn, like by instinct, I always look around to see who’s staring at him … staring at me ! Shawn will be in his wheelchair drooling and going “ahhhhhh.” And some kids will glance at me, and then look away real fast. Some of the other kids, ones who don’t know Shawn and I are brothers, might stare at him, nudging each other and laughing at the retard. I always feel pissed at those kids, and sometimes, later, away from school so I won’t get in trouble, I’ll kick their asses.
    But one thing I never do is to acknowledge Shawn in any way, and I feel like the weakest, most cowardly wimp in the world for that. In my heart, I want to go over and pat his head and say something to him; I want to stand with him and hug him and let the whole world know he’s my brother, but I can’t ever bring myself to do it. I just can’t. I don’t have the guts any more than my old man does. Which makes us both chickens. Like father, like son, right?

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T he rest of the day of Dad’s visit to the school passes without my seeing him again. Sometimes you just catch a break.
    I’m back home now, shooting hoops with Tim-bo, who’s the best player on our basketball team next to me. He’s also a guard, and he’s nearly as good a shot as I am, although he’s never, not once , beaten me at any of our one-on-one games.
    Tim spends a lot of time over at my house shooting hoops and hanging out. He doesn’t get along too well with his stepdad, who’s an even bigger moron than my old man. I mean, at least my dad isn’t a drunk and, for the most part, isn’t around. Tim and I never talk much about our families but we don’t need to; it’s pretty obvious that Tim doesn’t like being at his place very much. Also, Tim and my sister have some kind of thing going on—nothing that’s any of my business, but they’re pretty tight. Cindy thinks I don’t know, but why would I care? Tim’s no Eddie Farr, so if he likes Cindy, it’s cool, although what he sees in her is a mystery to me.
    This afternoon, like most afternoons, Tim-bo and I are working out at the hoop in my driveway. I once asked him why he kept playing with me since he never won.
    He laughed and answered, “Well, someday I’m gonna beat your ass.”
    I