Lucas. He's a nice boy and he'll stay in your room until we can spruce up the spare room." "In other words," my mom called from the kitchen, "move ou... the junk." "It's not junk!" My dad yelled back. I studied him. He was blonde, had unreadable grey eyes, and seemed a little quiet. He was only about an inch taller than me which was fine. Now there was someone I could hide behind in photos. We stood awkwardly together as my mom and dad argued whether or not it was junk. I sighed and walked. Kmart Cowboy immediately accelerated and sped away from the house. “I take it that things didn’t go so well,” I said to my friend, as he angrily drove down a dirt road toward home. He did not respond to my comment. I watched him drive for a bit and then noticed that his right hand was bleeding. “What did you do to your hand, man?” “I punched the truck,” Kmart Cowboy responded in a monotone. “That must have been that loud banging sound I heard.” I paused. More

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