Read The Key to the Golden Firebird for Free Online

“I’ve never seen the movie.”
    Brooks laughed. Dave grinned back at her. He had a small scar above his upper lip that stretched when he smiled. Maybe they all had scars on their faces. She would check Jamie’s face later.
    â€œSo,” Dave said, “they don’t make you practice softball on Saturdays?”
    â€œDuring the day they do.”
    â€œHow many afternoons a week?”
    â€œAll of them.”
    â€œHarsh.”
    â€œIt takes up a lot of time,” Brooks said, passing him the punch. Her hand brushed against his jacket. It was a heavy, soft corduroy, lined with a knobby wool that peeked out at the collar and the cuffs.
    â€œYou’ve been playing for a long time, right?”
    â€œSince I was four.”
    â€œAren’t you sick of it?”
    â€œSometimes,” Brooks said. She leaned against the dashboard and looked down at the view. The dark was dropping lightly, she noticed, like a falling blanket. It caught on the spires of the Liberty Towers first, and they lit up. The yellow clock on top ofCity Hall was illuminated. The punch had gummed up all the vessels in Brooks’s brain that juiced her nervous reactions. Of course she should be here, in this most illegal of spots.
    â€œI used to dive,” Dave said, taking a sip. “That took a lot of time too. I liked it, but—”
    â€œExactly,” Brooks cut in. “I like it, but—”
    â€œSo quit,” Dave said.
    He said it like it was simple, like softball was just something she could give up.
    â€œI can’t.” She laughed.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause…,” Brooks said, and then found that she had no concrete reason to give. She knew it had something to do with her dad and never having really known a life outside of softball. Her father had put a bat in her hand the minute she was strong enough to hold it up, and that was that. Afternoons and weekends were for playing. She didn’t even know what people who didn’t play sports did with their time. But she had to admit, she’d seen less and less of a point in playing in the last year.
    â€œBecause why?” Dave said. “You don’t sound like you want to do it.”
    â€œSometimes I don’t. Lots of times I don’t.”
    â€œSo don’t do it.”
    Maybe it was that simple. Maybe the problem was that she’d just never thought about quitting as an actual option.
    She heard Dave shift in his seat. Something was happening. Tonight was different from the other nights they’d gone out. She felt like he’d wanted to come here for a reason.
    â€œYeah,” she said, “I guess I could quit….”
    When Brooks turned her head to face him, Dave kissed her.
    A minute or two later Bobrick and Fred reappeared, winded and sopping wet, at the top of the steps. They ran over and threw themselves against the hood of the car. Dave waved them away with one hand, and they disappeared into the scenery, like all good henchmen should.
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    Pete had the radio blasting when May threw open the door to his old Cutlass Ciera. He’d been letting his hair grow, so now it was similar to the way it had been when they were kids—loose and crazy, sometimes forming perfect corkscrews, sometimes just flying out in mad, electrified strands. He was bobbing his head slightly and playing with the zipper on his blue hooded sweatshirt. As May went to sit down, he quickly reached over and grabbed a bunch of papers, plastic bags, unmarked CDs, and wrappers that covered the passenger seat and tossed them into the back of the car.
    â€œI can’t control the volume!” he screamed as a greeting. He killed the power so that the radio switched off. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a new thing. The volume only goes up to eleven.”
    The last word was said in some kind of British accent.
    â€œEleven?”
    â€œIt’s from…nothing. It’s a quote. So what