"You can forget the mushrooms. They're gross."
"We're of a mind there," Ethan murmured.
"Pepperoni and hot sausage." Seth sneered, but he spoiled it by bouncing
a little in his sneakers. "If you can handle it."
"I can take it if you can. Hey, Justin," he said with a smile of
greeting for the boy behind the counter. "We'll take a large, pepperoni
and hot sausage, and a couple of jumbo Pepsis."
"You got it. Here or to go?"
Ethan scanned the dozen tables and booths offered and noted that he
wasn't the only one who'd thought to celebrate the last day of school
with pizza. "Go nab that last booth back there, Seth. We'll take it
here, Justin."
"Have a seat. We'll bring the drinks out."
Seth had dumped his backpack on the bench and was tapping his hands on
the table in time to the blast of Hootie and the Blowfish from the juke.
"I'm going to go kick some video ass," he told Ethan. When Ethan reached
back for his wallet. Seth shook his head. "I got money."
"Not tonight you don't," Ethan said mildly and pulled out some bills.
"It's your party. Get some change."
"Cool." Seth snagged the bills and raced off to get quarters.
As Ethan slid into the booth, he wondered why so many people thought a
couple hours in a noisy room was high entertainment. A huddle of kids
was already trying to kick some video ass at the trio of machines along
the back wall; the juke had switched to Clint Black--and that country
boy was wailing. The toddler in the booth behind him was having a
full-blown tantrum, and a group of teenage girls were giggling at a
decibel level that would have made Simon's ears bleed.
What a way to spend a pretty summer night.
Then he saw Liz Crawford and Junior with their two little girls at a
nearby booth. One of the girls--that must be Stacy, Ethan thought--was
talking quickly, making wide gestures, while the rest of the family
howled with laughter.
They made a unit, he mused, their own little island in the midst of the
jittery lights and noise. He supposed that's what family was, an island.
Knowing you could go there made all the difference.
Still the tug of envy surprised him, made him shift uncomfortably on the
hard seat of the booth and scowl into space. He'd made his mind up about
having a family years before, and he didn't care for this sharp pull of
longing.
"Why, Ethan, you look fierce."
He glanced up as the drinks were set on the table in front of him,
straight into the flirtatious eyes of Linda Brewster.
She was a looker, no question about it. The tight black jeans and
scoop-necked black T-shirt hugged her well-developed body like a coat of
fresh paint on a classic Chevy. After her divorce was final--one week
ago Monday--she'd treated herself to a manicure and a new hairdo. Her
coral-tipped nails skimmed through her newly bobbed, streaky blond hair
as she smiled down at Ethan.
She'd had her eye on him for a time now--after all, she had separated
from that useless Tom Brewster more than a year before and a woman had