That Boy

Okay, so it's not really mine. I just like to think that it is.

Dad laughs and asks why I am home so early. “Fight with Brian?”

“No, Dad. It's Friday night. Friend night, remember?”

“Oh, I do!” says Phillip's mom, Julie. “I used to love girlfriend night. We would always go out and look for cute boys.”

I shake my head and figure I better say something quick, or we'll all be launched on a full-scale trip down memory lane. So I change the subject by saying, “I hope someone is going to tell me that you're all suffering from glaucoma.”

The parents chuckle at this and apparently are not the least bit embarrassed about being caught by me with a joint.

I can tell you that if the tables were turned, I'd be in big trouble.

And excuse me, but isn't this illegal?

“The boys and I came home early, so we could sit in the hot tub.” I turn to look at Da

“What are you guys go

I pause and think, what the hell, and then grab three Coronas and a lime from the cooler. Bold, I know, but what are they go

“Well Dad, we'll probably start with these beers, have a few shots, do a little x, have some wild sex. You know, the usual.” I give him my eat shit grin.

“Fine,” Dad says, rolling his eyes at me.

Everyone laughs. Um, well actually, everyone giggles.

What? You think I'm joking?

Sadly, I am. I am also a little irritated by this whole scene. I mean don't you ever grow up? Shouldn't I be the one out getting stoned and drunk with my friends?

Sadly, my parent's social party life far surpasses mine.

That thought is very pathetic and totally tragic.

I start to head to Da

I run over to Da

Phillip lets me in. Phillip and Da

Damn.

It's like walking into an Abercrombie ad. Did I mention I love my life right now?

“We're just grabbing some towels,” Phillip tells me.

I set the Coronas and lime on the kitchen island.

“Sweet,” says Phillip, “my parents left me a note that said they were over at your house. What's going on over there?”

“Oh nothing much, they're all in the hot tub. Naked, drunk and baked,” I reply flatly.

“No way!” says Phillip, his eyes big.

“Okay, so they're not naked, but at first I thought they were,” I smile, but the boys don't seem as appalled by our parents' behavior as I am, so I open the beers and grab a knife out of the drawer. I slice lime wedges, put one in each beer and hand them to the boys.

“So no hot tub?” Da

“Let's watch a movie then,” Phillip suggests, as he pulls a sweatshirt over his head. He turns to me with a sweet grin. “And you can make us some popcorn and nachos.”

Like I can't turn him down when he grins at me.

Well actually, I can't.

“Let me guess, American Pie for the hundred-millionth time?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.

I make snacks, and we head toward the family room. I notice that Da

“What's wrong with you?” I ask him. “You had such an incredible game. Why are you being such a crab?”

“It was a rough game,” he snarls at me, and then softer, “I'm just kind of sore, I guess.”

I plop down on the couch between the boys.

“Do you want me to rub your back?” I ask Da

About midway through the movie, I say something to Da

“Jeez, Da

“No,” he says a little nicer.

“I'll grab you some,” I say, and pat his forearm reassuringly.

He practically jumps off the couch when I touch his arm.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell.

“I'm just a little sore there!”

I squint my eyes at that boy. What's going on?

“Da

He sighs madly, but gingerly holds it up for me.

I examine his forearm. No wonder he's such a crab. His arm is quite swollen. So I touch it very gently, and crap, it feels hot to the touch.

This is not good.

And the skin is all shiny looking.

Just a little sore, my ass.

This arm is broken.

“Da

My screeching gets Phillip's attention away from the TV, where a hot girl is taking off her shirt.

“Did it happen on that last play? When you stiff-armed that guy? His helmet hit your arm, didn't it?” Phillip asks in rapid-fire succession.

“Um, yeah. I think so,” Da

“Yeah, well, I hate to tell you this, Da

Next thing I know, I'm sprinting back over to my house. I bang through the gate and stand in front of the hot tub again.

Everyone stares at me like I'm spoiling their fun, and they wish I would leave.

I ignore that possibility and a

I know that will at least get their attention.

“What?” they all say in alarmed unison.

Oh sure, now we're all concerned.

“Not his throwing arm?” Da

God forbid!

And then Mr. Mac asks, “How?” before I can get a word in edgewise.

I answer them both, “No. It's his left forearm, and it happened when he stiff armed that guy in the fourth quarter right before he scored.”

Dad asks me, “Did they look at it in the locker room? Did Coach think it was broken?”

Coach is a great guy. He's coached wi

I think not.

“No. He thought it was just a deep bruise, but I don't agree,” I say, shaking my head like I'm an expert.

I practically am, really.

“It's hot to the touch, and the skin is all swollen and shiny. So either you're go

“Shit,” says Da

“I don't think that's a good idea, Chuck,” Mrs. Diamond says to her husband. Then she turns to me and says, “JJ, do you think you could take him? We weren't pla