When I had finished relieving myself, I
considered hammering on Mikey’s door until he had no other choice
but to open up. Then I figured Mr. Pierce would hear the commotion
and come upstairs to yell at us, and if Mikey opened the door with
his dad standing in the hallway, Mr. Pierce was sure to see the
empty cans and bottles we’d left strewn across the floor. If I were
going to get caught with beer, I’d rather it be in the act instead
of after the fact. So I settled for hitting Mikey’s closed door
with my fist, which set him snickering inside the bedroom—I know, I
heard him when I pressed my ear to the wood. “You’re dead,” I
growled, my mouth against the door jamb. “See if I bring you a
beer.”
“You better!” Mikey hollered. The closeness
of his voice startled me—he was right on
