The Strike Trilogy Read Online Free Page B

just a stupid joke.”
    “Oh, it was just a joke. You got kicked out of the cafeteria for two weeks and got another detention, but it was just a joke. Okay.”
    “Mom, I was just being funny. It’s not like I hurt anybody or anything. The ladies in the office were even laughing about it and everything.”
    “Oh, and I guess since they were laughing about it, then I should probably just laugh it off, too, right? Well, that’s not gonna happen, Tobin. Not anymore.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means you’re grounded.”
    Tobin laughed. “Shut up.”
    “I’m serious, Tobin; I can’t allow you to keep doing this stuff. You’re seventeen years old, you shouldn’t be getting thrown out of the cafeteria and getting detentions! It’s ridiculous.” She put a dish in the drying rack. “So, until I know you’re behaving yourself, you’ll be in your room every night, unless you’re at work or eating dinner.”
    Tobin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. This is so stupid. I didn’t even do anything.”
    “No, you never do, Tobin. I know.”
    After stomping up the stairs, Tobin grabbed his work uniform from his room, and then stomped back down again.
    “This is so friggin’ ridiculous. I seriously cannot wait to get out of this place next year.”
    His mother laughed. “I doubt that, Tobin. Who’s gonna clean your clothes? Who will cook you dinner?”
    Tobin reached for the doorknob. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. Dad obviously did.”
    A silence. Bill turned to Tobin’s mother, but she only looked to the dishes in the sink.
    “Tobin,” she said, with her voice quiet, her hands in the soapy water. “Go to work.”
    Spinning around, Tobin walked outside and slammed the door. But, before he got into his car, he looked back to the kitchen window. Inside, he could see his mom standing at the sink, with Bill’s arm around her. She was still looking down at the water.

    At 9:25 that night, Tobin was kneeling on the floor of an empty grocery store aisle, half-heartedly straightening a series of canned string beans on a shelf. After much internal debate, and much arguing with himself, he had decided it would be best for him to just go home, skip the party, and apologize to his mom, especially after what he said to her before he left. It seemed to be his specialty: saying incredibly stupid things in an argument, usually the most hurtful things he could think of, and then immediately regretting it afterwards.
    “Tobin!” he heard someone call. He looked up and saw his manager, Jeff, standing at the top of the aisle. “Go get your last carriage pick-up, then you can leave.”
    Tobin stood and wiped the dust from his khakis.
    “Thank god,” he muttered.

    Outside, Tobin saw three lonely carriages at the end of the parking lot, so he walked to them, gathered them together, and brought them back to the entrance. As he pushed them along, the sparse sounds and sights of the night seemed to envelop him: the rusty carriage wheels squeaking; the wisps of fog floating ghost-like above the pavement; the broken streetlight buzzing and flickering above him. The boy suddenly felt very unsettled. That feeling only grew when he realized he was not alone.
    “What the hell?” he wondered aloud. He looked ahead and saw somebody standing in the glass-walled entrance of the grocery store: it was a tall, thin black man, with grey hair and glasses. The old man was standing with his arms behind his back, and wearing a red coat that reached his knees.
    With an uneasy feeling in his gut, Tobin pushed the carriages into the store and lined them up with the others. As he watched the old man, the old man stared right back, with a slight smile across his face.
    “Hello,” Tobin offered, as he turned around.
    But the old man said nothing.
    “Can I help you?” Tobin asked.
    But, again, nothing.
    “Look,” Tobin said, pointing to the door with his thumb, “we’re about to close, so if you want something you