Page 30 of Praying for Rain

“Quint!” I squeal. “I didn’t know you guys were still in town!”

My classmate keeps his gun trained on Wes, but his dark features pull up into a big grin when he sees me. “Rainbow Williams! Got-damn! Where you been, fam?”

I make a beeline for my buddy, but the second I get within arm’s reach of Wes, he grabs me, shoving Lamar toward his brother and using me as a human shield instead. I don’t even realize he’s taken the gun back until I see it stretched out in front of us, aimed at Quint.

Wes’s breath is warm against my cheek when he says, “You can tell him hi from here.”

I laugh in surprise and wave at the kid I used to play Power Rangers with on the playground. “Hi, Quint.” I giggle. “This is my new friend, Wes. Wes, this is Quint and Lamar. Quint was in my grade at school.” I turn my head toward Wes and whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “He’s a lifer.”

Quint rolls his black-brown eyes at me and elbows his brother. “Here we go with this shit again.”

Lamar works his jaw back and forth, which I can now see looks a little swollen, and glares at Wes. He’s grown his hair out since the last time I saw it. The top is in short dreadlocks now. I like it.

Wes holsters his gun but keeps his left arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I like that, too.

“So, you don’t believe in the nightmares?” he asks Quint. His tone is lighter, friendlier.

I know what he’s doing. And it seems to be working.

Quint lowers the rifle, stabbing it into the ground like a cane, and launches into one of his numerous conspiracy theories. “All you have to do is look at who’s dyin’ and who’s gettin’ rich to know that there’s some fucked up shit goin’ on. If you ask me, I think this whole thing, the nightmares and all of it, was planned by the government to get all the poor folks and the brown folks to kill each other off. Let the trash take itself out, you know?”

“Yeah, and the Burger Palace CEO is in on it,” Lamar chimes in.

His voice sounds deeper than I remember. I don’t know if it’s because of puberty or because he’s trying to sound tough in front of Wes. Either way, it’s kinda funny.

Wes snorts in agreement. “That motherfucker is making a killing.”

I laugh. “For real! They tried to charge me, like, eighty-seven dollars to Apocasize my meal yesterday!”

“See?” Lamar raises his hand in my direction. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Quint pushes Lamar’s arm back down. “So, what brings y’all to Buck’s Hardware on this fine day?” he asks, eyeing us a little more suspiciously.

Wes tilts his head in the direction of the front door. “My bike got a flat.”

“And we need a metal detector,” I blurt out, earning me a glare and a shoulder squeeze from Wes.

Oops.

“A metal detector?” Quint repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Y’all lookin’ for buried treasure?” Lamar chuckles and cups his swelling jaw with a wince.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure my dad’s got all kinds of stuff buried in the backyard. Y’all know him.”

Quint and Lamar smirk and give each other a knowing look. Everybody in this town thinks Phil Williams is a crazy, old, drunken hermit who doesn’t leave the house. They’re not exactly wrong.

“What about you?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the subject of my dad as quickly as possible.

“Just came in to grab some motor oil.” Quint gives Lamar the same look that Wes just gave me, but Lamar ignores him. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

“Really? How?” I ask. “The roads are so bad; we couldn’t even get from Burger Palace to here without a flat.”

Lamar grins. “Oh, we ain’t worried ’bout flats.”

Quint glares at his brother, who isn’t getting the hint, and then turns his attention toward me. “Well, we best be goin’.” His dark eyes flick from me to Wes and back again. “You good?”

There’s something in his tone that tells me he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in this white boy if I asked him to. I love him for that.

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