Page 1 of Greedy Grizzly
Prologue
LANDON (GRIZZLY), AGE 8
Chocolate ice cream slowly dripped down the corner of his mouth. I tracked the melted yumminess to his chin like a desperate, thirsty dog. My mouth watered as I stared at the brown, gooey liquid. Salivating, I wished I could have one small taste—just one lick. I’d never ask for another thing if my wish came true.
Mesmerized by what was happening in front of me, I wondered if Monty’s summer treat would make its way onto his chest. I’d bet all my Hot Wheels it would.
Why I hoped to see Monty make a mess on himself was weird. Right? Like why would any of this matter to me? These were things I’d recently questioned, but I didn’t have an answer.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sticky liquid dropped onto him as I predicted. I squeezed my hands into fists as I tried to control my excitement. What if the chocolate slid under his tank top? I couldn’t be positive, but it might drive me wild. Make me crazy, just like yesterday when he ate a vanilla ice cream cone in front of me.
Monty’s mom was the best. He had no idea how lucky he was. All summer, he had some kind of frozen treat when he met me at the park down the street from my house.
Jealousy had been pumping through my veins for weeks as I watched him gobble up ice cream sandwiches, orange sherbet push-ups, fruity popsicles, and an assortment of ice cream cones. The dude’s mom should win Mother of the Year. She was truly the awesomest.
I cringed inside as I heard my foster mom scolding me for saying awesomest.That’s not a word, dumb ass. It’s most awesome!
A drop of the creamy, chocolaty ice cream hung on the edge of his chin. The drops on his chest were streaking toward his shirt. My heart stopped. His yellow tank top would get dirty. Maybe stained and ruined.
Oh, no!Monty might get spanked. Or worse.
Quickly, I searched his arms and legs. Not one bruise, unlike me. Maybe his folks didn’t care if he ruined his clothes, unlike mine.
My heart raced and my hands were slimy with sweat. I’d hate for him to get into trouble. I was about to say something when…
His tongue darted out and swiped across his bottom lip. He was like a lizard, reaching his chin with no problem at all.
Next, the back of his hand wiped off the chocolate on his chest. It kind of bummed me out. He’d saved himself instead of needing my help.
I mimicked his behavior, moving my tongue from side to side, then top to bottom, just like Monty was doing to clean his mouth, except mine was already clean.
“Do you wanna lick?” Monty’s blue eyes sparkled like shiney marbles. Beads of sweat covered his freckled nose and his red hair seemed brighter with the sun directly above us. “It’s really good.”
Monty’s question made me freeze. His offer was tempting on a hot day like today. A small taste of his ice cream would be amazing. But, no. I couldn’t have even one lick. What if somebody saw and made up lies about us?
My face heated up. Shame rushed through me like a giant wave. The very thought of someone calling us gay or fags struck fear in me.
“No, that’s okay,” I replied in a low voice.
Forcing myself to avoid Monty’s intense stare, I focused on his hair. He was the only redhead in the neighborhood and in my class. My foster mom had called him a carrot top because of the orangy-red color. I never liked how she laughed after saying “carrot top.” She’d cackle and snort. Snort, then cackle. Nobody thought she was as funny as she believed herself to be.
Even though I was eight years old, I knew she was being mean and making fun of Monty. As if he had control over what he looked like when he was born.
Words were powerful. They could make us feel happy, sad, or angry. Usually at home, the words my foster mom said would hurt me so much I’d cry. I had tried to ignore her like my teacher would tell the class when talking to us about bullies.Just ignore them, she would say.
But I couldn’t. The yelling and bad words happened everyday. It was too much for me to ignore. If I wasn’t such a chicken and afraid to be alone, I would run away and never see my foster family again.
“I don’t mind sharing.” He shoved his cone in front of my face and scooted toward me. A chocolaty grin stretched across his face.
“It’s yours.” I fidgeted with my Hot Wheels cars on the sidewalk.
“So? I can share if I want to.” He sure seemed determined to give me a lick of his ice cream.
