Upstander James Preller (best finance books of all time .txt) 📖

And after a while, he said, “Hey.”

What a surprise.

The dog strained against the leash, so Mary came forward to pet its head and shoulders. Eric told her that this one wasn’t his. He walked dogs as a way to earn money. “You live here?”

“No, I just randomly rake leaves at strangers’ houses,” she deadpanned.

The dog, Ginger, looked thirsty. Mary ran inside to get her water. Maybe she just wanted Eric to linger a little longer. They sat down on the curb together, Ginger noisily lapping. “I haven’t seen you hanging out with Griffin and Cody and those guys,” Eric noted.

Mary tore at a maple leaf. “I’m trying to stay away from them. Too much weirdness.”

Eric seemed to understand. He nodded in that thoughtful way of his, as if life were a Rubik’s Cube to be puzzled over and solved. That if he could only think hard enough, and long enough, it would all fall into place. Ginger whined and Eric stood, reluctantly, getting ready to go.

“Do you want company?” Mary asked.

They walked through the suburban streets to the dog park, a fenced-in enclosure where Ginger could run free. Mary found an old tennis ball and hurled it. Ginger raced after it, thrilled beyond all reasonable measure. This was the most exciting thing in the world. A ragged old tennis ball. And every time one of them threw the ball, it was the most exciting thing in the world all over again.

Goldens weren’t exactly rocket scientists.

“Good arm,” Eric noted.

“That’s right,” Mary said, glad he noticed.

Her cell began to blow up with messages.

“Is something the matter?” he guessed.

Mary frowned, showed Eric the Photoshopped image intended to portray Chantel Williams. She confessed that Chrissie and Alexis wanted her to come over. “They want to get her back for liking the wrong boy.”

“What are they going to do?”

He threw the ball. Ginger didn’t move. She rested her chin on the cool earth, exhausted. Eric repeated his question.

Mary tucked back an errant strand of hair. How to explain it? “They are talking about making some anonymous web page. They want me to help. I’m good with computers.”

“You’ve done stuff like that before?”

Mary nodded, feeling a tightness in her chest. “A little bit.”

It was time to go, but Mary wasn’t ready to leave Eric’s side. That would have meant going back to her house, that big pile of leaves, and the choices and consequences she’d been reluctant to face. Besides, she liked being with him.

“So are you going over there?” he persisted. And the way Eric looked at her—and waited for her answer—told Mary that her reply was important to him. Eric wanted her to say the right thing.

“No, I’m sick of it,” Mary heard herself say, surprised at the bitterness that burned beneath her words. “Girls are the worst. We can be so freaking mean.”

Eric asked if she wanted to go for pizza. And she totally did. They dropped off Ginger and went into town. It wasn’t a date, whatever that was. Few people Mary’s age knew what an actual date involved, though she guessed it was probably some combination of eating and chewing and awkward silences and kissing and teeth mashing together. Dates seemed like something from olden times. Getting a slice, on the other hand, wasn’t strictly a boyfriend-girlfriend situation. It was just two people who felt like having a random slice of pizza, Mary told herself. Right? It didn’t mean anything. But it was quietly exciting just the same.

They laughed about school and talked about different classes. Eric told her he was determined to try out for the modified basketball team, though not many seventh graders made it. He seemed, also, to have his own troubles. He talked about Griffin Connelly, troubled by recent events. Mary guessed that he was beginning to see Griff’s dark side. She considered telling Eric about that day with David Hallenback, terrorizing that helpless boy with ketchup packets that scorching summer afternoon when they first met. She decided against it. “Let’s not talk about him,” she finally said. “That guy’s not worth it.”

“Cheers,” Eric said, raising his strawberry Snapple.

He walked Mary all the way back to the front of her house. There was still some light left, the sun almost dropping behind the trees. Mary stepped inside and came back with a bag.

“Peanut?” she offered.

She didn’t want to see him go.

“Um, seriously?” Eric said.

“I’m addicted,” Mary said, immediately regretting the word choice. “It’s ballpark food. Nothing better.”

Eric took one peanut, crushed it between his thumb and forefinger, slid off the paperlike skin, and popped the nut into his mouth. He reached for more, and took a large handful.

“See what I mean?” Mary said. She dropped the bag to her feet and plopped down, cross-legged on the October grass. “I got hooked at my brother’s baseball games. My mother dragged me to every one, said it was important, you know, being a family. And I guess she bribed me with peanuts.”

Mary unshelled a few while talking, never looking down, feeling them with her fingers. Soon there was a small mound of broken shells on the lawn, eight raw peanuts in her palm.

“Do you play ball?” Eric asked.

Mary shook her head. “Used to, softball. Pretty good, too.”

Eric leaned back on his right hand, assessing her. “Shortstop?” he guessed.

Ha, Mary laughed. She jumped up, windmilled her arms, leaped forward, and executed the complex motion of a softball pitcher’s underhand windup.

“Pitcher!” Eric said, clapping. “That’s a hard windup. Do you have a spare glove and a ball? I’d like to see this in real time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I do,” Eric insisted. “Then I have to get going. My mom’s probably wondering.”

“Then she should get you a phone,” Mary countered.

“True fact!” Eric said.

“Jonny’s glove is probably in the garage somewhere. It’s been a while. We throw all our sports crap in a big contraption.”

“A contraption!”

“I don’t know what to call it,” Mary laughed. “It’s just this big boxy netlike thing. Where we shove our stuff. Rollerblades