Privacy

The deaf kid is good at sneaking and stealing. He really takes advantage of the fact that no one looks up when he enters a room. Mikey is almost jealous of his confidence, the fact that he doesn’t seem to care that to the camp he’s practically invisible. But then he reminds himself that there’s nothing to be jealous of, really. Little idiot probably doesn’t even notice. 

Or maybe Nick does notice, and inside he feels abandoned and alone, and that’s why he went and stole Gail Neighbors’ panties just because Mikey told him to.

Nick beams at him as he holds them up, like he’s handing Mikey a bottle of aspirin or the last freaking Dr Pepper in the world.

Purple underwear dangles from his little hands, swaying gently in the breeze that cuts through the heat in the old cemetery. They’re not even…sexy, or anything. A part of Mikey’s brain whispers, Granny panties.

The image is weird. Wrong. Why did Mikey ask Nick to do that? That couldn’t have been him, right? What does he need with Gail Neighbors’ old lady panties when he’s got, well…the real thing? His face turns hot and Mikey knows that his horribly pale cheeks are downright glowing with it.

He didn’t think the little freak would actually do it.

Nick’s smile falters and he looks at his hands, as if seeing what he’s holding for the first time. His expression turns uncertain and then all of a sudden his eyes fill with tears. Nine years old is old enough to know right from wrong, isn’t it? Maybe he doesn’t know all the implications and why, but he’s got to know he sinned. He shakes his hands at his sides, palms facing up, eyebrows furrowing.

“You little pervert.” Mikey rubs his flushed face, tries to laugh.

Nick shakes his hands again, harder, and makes a noise. A strange deaf-noise, a vowel Mikey doesn’t think he could make if he tried.

Mikey reaches for the notebook they keep out here. It’s in the shack—probably the old gravekeeper’s shed before the gravekeeper went up in flames--where they stash all the things Nick steals. Nick has his regular notebooks he carries around with him, but this one stays here, secret.

It’s open to a page from last week. Nick’s kiddish scrawl covers almost every available space.

I think he was someone’s pet he’s not scared of me, he just is smart and runs away. Maybe they can smell the smoke or something? Cats are really smart. I tryed the tarp so he would fall into a hole and he got the food without touching it! Even if he fell I bet he jumped out but the tarp didn’t move! I don’t know how. He likes the chicken scraps. Aunt carol says cats can have bones raw as long as their not cooked but i picked them out anyway. I wish I had a real cat trap. I saw it on YouTube befor, the cat goes in and wham! so cool. dish soap gets fleas out. Aunt says more chicken on her birthday soon so I need a new trap what do you think?

And Mikey had written back, cramped on the only white space left, at the very top of the page:

I think you’ll get him for sure!

Mikey turns to a fresh page and writes: You little creep. He underlines creep.

Nick snatches it out of his hands. He’s dropped the panties on the overgrown grass and trampled the fabric. He grabs the pen too and writes in huge letters:

NO YOU.

He holds the notebook up accusingly. Mikey reaches for the pen. For a second Nick doesn’t let go, and Mikey just waits. He’s not going to play tug-of-war with Allie’s kid brother. Emotions play out obvious on Nick’s face but eventually he lets go.

Mikey thinks before he starts to write. There’s something he likes about this slow, turn-taking way of communicating. Easier not to mess up when he has time to think. Carol has told him he’s too honest sometimes. God, he has to find the page where he wrote to Nick about panties and rip it out. Asking Nick to steal crackers and baseball cards, that’s one thing. But this?

Maybe he’ll set the page on fire.

You shouldn’t have done that. Girls need privacy. You’re not a kid much longer.

He feels a little bad writing that, given that if the world hadn’t ended Nick would be in elementary school. But kids grow up quick in the new world; not just Nick, everybody. They have to.

I know. Nick writes and Mikey reads over his shoulder. I thot you were serious.

Nick rubs his face into the crook of his elbow. His cheeks are as red as Mikey’s ever get. The notebook and pen fall easily into Mikey’s hands.

It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.

Nick wipes his face with the palms of his hands.

Really?

Mikey puts his hand on Nick’s shoulder so the kid knows to look up at him. He nods solemnly.

Nick nods back, still crying a little. He doesn’t have anything else to say today, though usually he’ll sit on the steps of the shack and write until his hand cramps up and Mikey is bored out of his mind. He runs off, probably to lick his wounds, or maybe to build another trap for the imaginary cat.

Mikey picks up the muddy panties, his stomach all in knots, and stuffs it in the very back corner of the shack underneath a pile of two by fours, crushed into the tiniest ball he could make. Which wasn’t very tiny. They really were ugly, not at all the vague imaginings of lace or silk he’d had in the back of his mind from half-remembered magazine ads.

“Look at me,” Carol had said a week ago while she got back into her clothes, “in my granny panties.” She laughed but there had been something sad in it, Mikey could tell. So he said, “I think you’re beautiful.”

She’d looked at him like she was surprised he was still in her room, though she had a bare foot on his own discarded boxers. Her brow furrowed. It was one of those times that he was too honest for her, probably.

“Oh, Mikey, you shouldn’t watch a girl dress,” she had said, turning her back. “We need our privacy.”