Perfectly Good White Boy Read Online Free

whatever.
    The sun was just coming up over the cornfield. The dirt was black and sticky as fuck, all plowed up in thick rows for spring planting. It was amazing we’d been able to run as fast as we had through it. I supposed Hallie’s cowboy boots were actually useful in that. My shoes were completely caked, and I dragged them on the gravel and stretched my legs out.
    Hallie found a ticket on her car, for illegal parking or some stupid shit. We went looking for Eddie’s car and the tent we’d set up, but no luck.
    â€œCan I get a ride?” I asked Hallie as she dug through her bag for her phone and stuff. I felt a little shy about asking, but I didn’t have any choice, really.
    â€œSure,” she said. In this sort of yeah, whatever kind of voice that just killed me, really. That’s the problem with getting what you want. Then you have to worry about it being gone.
    â€œThanks,” I said, and then gulped, because she slipped off her T-shirt and changed into a clean tank top. Swapped out her cowboy boots for flip-flops. All like it was no big deal. Like I just got an all-access pass to her body from here on out. Or maybe it was friend-zoning, like Eddie always warned against? Still, I had The Horn for her again. How could I not?
    But then she lent me her toothbrush, didn’t even think that was gross, me using it or spitting toothpaste all over the ground. She actually laughed, watching me do it. And once our teeth were brushed and she had washed her face with the hose from the back of the house and she put on fresh lip gloss and stuff, she kissed me. And made fun of my sticking-up hair. And said she thought I was cute.
    Then, the sun in my eyes making me wish I had the sunglasses I’d left in Eddie’s car, she drove us back to town. Everything so easy. Like we planned it. Maybe she had planned it? But it felt like both our ideas. Like it was all meant to happen.
    I’d think about that morning so many times. How I was dead tired and probably still half drunk and my balls ached but how it all was so good. How she stopped at a gas station to wash the mud off her windshield. How I bought her a giant orange juice and myself an Amp and a box of donuts and how she freaked out and said, “What do I need a dozen donuts for, Sean?” How I said she could have one or two, but the rest were for me. And how that made her laugh, and how that was good, very good, but that I was only half kidding and ate most of the box. And how she drove me home, then, but I wouldn’t let her come up the drive, saying it was so my mom wouldn’t notice.
    I should have felt stupid then, but I didn’t. Even a mile from this crappy house I hated, kissing her good-bye in her tiny red perfect girl-car—which was all smooth and glossy like a makeup case—was pretty much the best I’d felt in a while.
    Her mouth full of sugar flakes and cherry filling. Her little laughs in my ear. My hands climbing up her shirt and The Horn hard as hell in my jeans. How fucked up and good life was. One minute you’re drinking beer in a barn, the next life sends a Frisbee bashing into your face and a girl so beautiful and perfect you can’t decide if it’s some giant joke or just you getting what you deserve, finally, finally, after so many years of not.

Chapter Two
    I came into the kitchen to see my brother Brad laying on the kitchen floor, pulling the guts out of our broke-dick dishwasher. Brad hadn’t lived with us for years; he had an apartment with his fiancée Krista, but since we’d moved to the rental, he was over all the time. Helping my mom with stuff. Seeing if he could get salvage titles for the motorcycles the previous renters had left in the backyard. Loading up other junk in the yard, a busted microwave and an old hot water heater, and taking it all to the dump. Fixing all the broken stuff the last renters had wrecked, everything from towel bars to closet door