Bad Haircut. Tom Perrotta

I must have been staring, because she smiled at me and stuck out her tongue.

      “Hey,” Kevin said. “Let's play spin the bottle.”

      It was a surprising suggestion. None of us had ever played before, and Kevin had to explain the rules. I got Sue on the first spin of the game. Embarrassed, I craned my neck and planted a quick dry peck on the corner of her mouth. Kevin booed.

      “What kind of a kiss was that?”

      Sue spun next and got Kevin. Their mouths were so wide open it looked more like artificial respiration than making out. When they finally unstuck their faces, Kevin collapsed to the floor. Sue wiped her mouth and grinned.

      Angela's kiss had a sweet, complicated taste. I felt her tongue working its way between my teeth and then something else, something soft and loose, and the next thing I knew her gum had slipped into my mouth, a secret gift. We kept going until Kevin wrenched us apart.

      Angela fanned her face with one hand. “Whew,” she said. “Who turned up the heat?”

      The game ended on the next spin. Kevin and Angela started on their knees, then tipped over and stretched out on the floor. Five minutes passed, and they still hadn't surfaced for air.

      Sue smiled apologetically. “Well,” she said. “Looks like you're stuck with me.”

      We kissed for a while, then decided to go for a walk. We ended up sitting on the swings at a playground down the street. It was a beautiful night, the whole world at room temperature.

      “I'm sorry Kevin dragged you here,” she said.

      “He didn't drag me. I wanted to come.”

      “Right.” She pushed off and started swinging lazily back and forth. “Angela always tries to fix me up with her boyfriends’ friends.”

      “Does she have a lot of boyfriends?”

      “Pretty many. The last one was nineteen. Her father threw a shit fit when he found out.”

      “Nineteen,” I said. “That's incredible.”

      “I know,” said Sue. “But I think she really likes Kevin. He sends her flowers and writes her these sweet little poems. I wish someone would do that for me.”

      I didn't say anything. I just sat there chewing Angela's bland gum, thinking about her and Kevin.

      “I'm scared of going to high school,” she said. “Aren't you?”

      “I'm not going yet.”

      She seemed surprised. “How old are you?” “I'll be thirteen next week.” “Huh,” she said. “I thought you were older.” She hopped off the swing and cartwheeled into a handstand. Her shirt came untucked, exposing a band of creamy skin.

      “Come on,” she called out. “Let's go home.” Sue walked effortlessly on her hands for an entire block, her palms slapping out a rubbery rhythm on the sidewalk. At the corner she arched forward like a Slinky and snapped into an upright position. We went back to her house and played Ping-Pong until Burnsy showed up to drive us home. Kevin was quiet in the back seat. Midway through the ride, he tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a ten-dollar bill.

      We had planned to go to Bowcraft Amusement Park on Monday night—play a round of miniature golf, take some cuts at the batting cage, feed a few quarters to the pinball machine. But when Burn-sy's car swung into the Little League parking lot, I could tell something was wrong.

      “Where's Kevin?” I asked.

      “Back here.”

      I leaned over the headrest and saw him lying on the floor between the seats, his head poking out from underneath a green army blanket.

      “I'm dead,” he told me. “The accountant came today and Paul found out about the money.

      I think he knows it was me.”

      “Did he say anything?”

      “No, but you should have seen the way he was staring.”

      I felt myself getting angry. It was fun being rich, doing something different every night, writing stuff for money. I wasn't ready for it to end. In less than a month I'd managed to save almost fifty bucks, but that wasn't nearly enough for the ten-speed bike I was hoping to buy.

      “I thought you said it was foolproof,” I snapped.

      “Christ, Buddy. I didn't know he had a fucking accountant.”

      “So what are you going to do?”

      “I can't go home,” he said. “Paul's gonna kill me.”

      He spent the night in Burnsy's car. The next morning Burnsy drove him to Seaside, where Kevin figured he could stay with his brother until Paul had a chance to cool off. But when they finally located the house where Jack was supposed to be staying, they found out that he had split for Florida with this chick he'd picked up on the beach.

      “So where's Kevin now?” I asked Burnsy later that night.

      “Come on,” Burnsy said. “I'll show you.”

      He parked his car on Center Street and led me into Indian Park. At the edge of the bike path, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The signal was returned from inside the woods.

      “Go in about a hundred yards and take the left fork,” he told me.

      “Aren't you coming?” I asked.

      Burnsy shook his head. “I'm going back to Seaside. They said I could have Jack's room.” He kicked some gravel and told me to take it easy.

      Kevin was waiting for me on the main path, his blond hair and white T-shirt radiating a ghostly light, seeming to float disembodied on the darkness.

      “Boy,” he said. “Am I glad to see you.”

      He had a pup tent set up in a small clearing, its fluorescent orange fabric camouflaged by a web of tree branches and uprooted weeds. We sat together on a half-rotten log and made plans for Kevin's new life as a fugitive. I promised to keep him well-stocked with food, to deliver messages to Angela, and not to reveal his hiding place even if Paul tried to torture me for the information, which Kevin claimed was a definite possibility. Everything was okay as long as we kept talking. But as soon as our conversation died out, the woods turned spooky. A million insects hummed together; small animals darted through the underbrush.

      Kevin slapped his leg. “Damn! I wish I had some bug spray.”

      “I'll get you some tomorrow,” I said, standing up from the log.

      His fingers wrapped around my ankle. “Hey,” he said, “why don't you go home and tell your parents that you're sleeping over at my house. Then you can get your sleeping bag and come back here. It'll be like that camping trip.”

      “Not tonight, Kev. I have to fold my papers.”

      His grip tightened. “Please, Buddy. Just this once?”

      I shook my leg free. “I can't.”

      There was a long pause. The insects turned up the volume. I was glad I couldn't see Kevin's face.

      “Thanks a lot, Buddy. After everything I've given you, you can't even do me this one little favor.”

      “Hey,” I said, “no one told you to rip off your own family.”

      I went home and folded my papers on the living room floor. My parents sat behind me on the couch, laughing along with the canned laughter on television.

      “Happy birthday!”

      My mother woke me the next morning with a lipsticky kiss on the cheek. It was August 8,1974, and I was officially thirteen years old. It was something I'd been waiting for for a long time.

      “Don't make any plans for tonight,” she said. “We have a surprise for you.”

      After