Page 71 of Collect the Pieces

“Good quality for the treasurer.” All of his reminders and prompts to help me keep track of everyone melt my heart. I tipmy head and brush my forehead against his soft, cotton shirt. “Thanks.”

Ignoring the interruption, Birch continues. “It was early morning. Before school. I put on my snow-shoveling pants.” He bends and rubs his hands over his thighs, down to his knees. “They had this warm, fleece lining that made it almost tolerable to be out in the cold for so long.”

“Nice. I love those,” Teller says.

Birch ducks his head and lets out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, I did too. So, it was dark-ish when I started but as the sun started coming up, the neighborhood got busier. Lots of folks up early to make it to work on time. Driving slow through the barely plowed street. And I’m out there clearing the driveway for my mom.” He touches his chest and curls his lips into a neighborly grin. “I know most of the neighbors and stop to wave as everyone passes by.”

“You used to befriendly?” Sparky asks with exaggerated curiosity in his voice.

Birch playfully snarls at Sparky. “It’s cold out, right? But like, I’m unnaturally cold…down south.” He drops his hands in front of his body, framing his crotch. “But I’ve got a long sweatshirt on and my big puffy coat. I’m thinkin’ I’m all covered, maybe it’s just colder than I realized.”

“Oh no,” Rav moans. “I know what’s coming.”

“My next-door neighbor was a cutie,” Birch continues. “She lived alone with her grandmother.” He presses his fingertips to his chest. “I’m a nice guy. Thought I’d go over and score a few points with Grandma by shoveling their driveway when I was done with my own.”

“Grandma got an eyeful, didn’t she?” Charlotte asks.

He holds his hand out in aslow downgesture. “Easy, Sunshine. I’m getting there.”

“Wait, this was in the middle of a snowstorm? How was your dick not shriveled up?” Stash asks.

“He’s a shower, not a grower,” a red-headed, freckled guy says with an approving nod.

“Thanks, Hoot. But actually, I’m both,” Birch insists, a slow grin spreading across his face.

The girls across from us fall into a fit of giggles.

Jigsaw leans close to me. “I should’ve warned you—half the stories my brothers tell end up being sagas about their dick or balls.”

“Men obsessed with their genitalia. You don’t say,” I tease.

His expression melts into something warmer and less tense. “Glad that’s not a deal-breaker for you.”

“I’m having fun,” I assure him.

“As I’m walking over to the neighbor’s,” Birch is saying as I tune back into his story, “I waved at someone passing by. Instead of waving back, they shouted at me and drove off. And I’m like, whatever. I was kind of walking out in the road, so I thought they were just pissed I was in the way.”

“Here we go,” Shelby mutters.

Shaking with silent laughter, I duck my head.

“Like a gentleman, I clear a path to the front door.” Birch’s voice lowers so most of us have to strain to hear him over the crackling fire. “As I’m finishing…” He pauses for a few beats. “Grandma comes to the door and calls me over to thank me and pay me a few bucks—which I was going to turn down.”

“Yeah, yeah, Saint Birch, we know,” Z chuckles. “Come on.”

“I’m gettin’ there, Prez.” Brich grins at him. “Okay, where was I?”

“Grandma saw your dick!” someone shouts from the other side of the fire.

Birch laughs, grinning so hard crinkles form at the corners of his eyes. “I’m cold by this point. I’ve been shoveling for like anhour. My legs are numb. I had gloves on, but they were wet and cold. Grandma calls my name. And like a dumbass, I stomp my way up to the porch, grinning like an idiot. Here I am, thinking I’m gonna get patted on the head and told I’m a good boy.” He runs his hands over his face. “And as I approached, Grandma’s sweet, angelic old lady face transformed into this look of horror and then anger.”

A low murmur of laughter ripples around the fire.

Birch stops and squeezes his eyes shut as if he regrets bringing up these memories. “She starts yelling at me, ‘Everest! Put your penis away, young man! What’s wrong with you!?’” he finishes in a scratchy, high-pitched tone.

“I think my soul left my body.” Birch wraps his arms around himself and shivers. “In slow motion, I glanced down.” His head drops as if he needs to reenact each movement to tell the story right. “And there’s my dick. Poking through my broken zipper, bobbing free in the ice-cold morning breeze.”

Everyone who’s been following the story explodes with laughter. The ones who’d tuned out now turn toward Birch, checking to see what they’ve missed.

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