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have to share a room with my older brother. He’s always blabbing on the phone with girls. It’s pathetic. If you go in the living room, my sister’s there with my mother and my aunt and you can’t even watch TV because they tell you to turn it down all the time so you can’t even hear what you’re trying to watch.
    â€œAnd Mom goes through my room,” Rico goes on. “Right while I’m standing there, she goes through my room. Can’t even take a dump without someoneknocking on the door asking what’s taking so long. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
    I’ve known Rico for, like, five years. He’s a grade ahead of me, so we don’t hang out much. Still, I can’t believe he doesn’t remember anything I tell him.
    â€œI have a cousin, but she doesn’t live with us. And I don’t have any pets and my mother doesn’t go through my room. I can’t remember the last time my mother even opened my door. We have two bathrooms and I could take all day to take a dump if I wanted. I could shit my heart out.” Rico looks at me like I exist for a second. I don’t think he’s ever heard me swear before.
    I swear sometimes. A lot of guys swear just to look tough and stuff. I like how Lucy called Rico a Moran. Now that was a good put-down. He didn’t even know what hit him. I
will
say shit when I mean shit, though. Especially if what I’m talking about is shit.
    We go down the alley behind Rico’s house. He locks his bike to the back fence and motions for me to duck down. Nobody is around, but I do it anyway. We get to his neighbor’s garage and sure enough it’s not fully locked.
    Rico lifts the door slowly. It sounds like a screaming kitten as it opens up. It squeaks so loud I can’t help laughing at the look on Rico’s face. He looks like the cops are going to spring out of the bushesand shoot him for opening a garage door. He won’t lift it any higher. He shoos me in under this half-foot crack under the door.
    It smells cold in here. It feels like being in a cave. I think of Lucy again and look up at the ceiling. A canoe is balanced over the rafters.
    This would be better if Tom were here. He’d probably smack his hand against the canoe and knock it down.
    Rico squirms on his belly like a trapped bug trying to get through the opening. He grunts and gasps. His butt won’t fit under the door.
    â€œHelp me, dickhead,” he says. So I lean over and open the door more. It makes a huge squeaking sound, like nails on the blackboard. “Not like that, butthole.” He gets in and pushes me into a corner and puts his hand over my mouth. We stand like that for at least a couple of minutes. You’d think it was diamonds he had in here. I want to bite his hand, but I remember: brown bats don’t draw blood.
    Finally, he takes his hand off. “That was a close call,” he says. He goes to the corner of the garage and puts his hand down a pipe. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, some matches and a couple of magazines. Playboys. Oh, brother.
    â€œDo you see a plastic bag?” he says. I look around, but I hope I don’t find one. He wants totransport his stash to some other hiding spot. I’m here to help pull off the heist and slow the goods
    â€œHere.” He’s found a ratty old garbage bag that might even have had a dead animal in it at some point. He puts the stuff in it and shoves it at me. “Come on, let’s go.” I hesitate for a moment. He’s already under the door. “Come on. You want to get caught?” No, I don’t want to get caught.
    If I am good, it’s because being bad is such a hassle. You’ve got to worry about getting caught and you’ve got to hide things. It takes a lot of energy. Besides, there are way better ways to get in trouble than smoking and looking at dirty magazines. I could be getting in trouble for trying to fly