"Levy-NewHorizons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levy Robert J)

When I got home, my mom was in front of the TV, biting her nails furiously, not
really watching whatever was on the tube, hardly noticing me enough to say
goodnight. Her jaw was grim and clenched, and her eyes were miles away,
obviously still visualizing new ways of dismembering my father.

The following day, around four, Mitch and I and about a half-dozen other guys
met, as we always did, on Burton Street. Mitch had a couple of spaldeens and a
stickball bat. Most of us played bare-handed, though a few wimps with tender
palms and fat piggy banks sported gloves.

The group of kids varied from day to day. There were some regulars, like me and
Mitch and Stu, and every now and again a new kid would show up from lord knows
where and ask to be chosen in. That day was no different -the usual mix.

We were choosing up sides. Somehow, over time, Mitch and I had become the
leaders of the Burton Street Games. As we were also probably the best players,
and pretty evenly matched, we had agreed it was only fair that we head opposing
teams. One or two newcomers got chosen toward the end, being unknown raw
material. Then, as we made our final selections, we looked up to see someone
approaching from further down the street, from the direction of the vacant lot
Mitch and I had rummaged through the night before.

The closer he got, the weirder he looked, until, by the time he stood before us,
everyone was thinking this was the strangest-looking kid they'd ever seen.
Everything about him was just slightly off, but only very slightly -- his
clothes, normal enough except they were of no style with which we were familiar;
his height, tall and gangly, but with arms and legs peculiarly proportioned; his
color, which was ever so faintly bluish because his skin was eerily pale and he
seemed to have an overabundance of fine veins running just underneath the
surface; and his manner of speaking which was not in words but in highly
expressive, breathy exhalations. All that and the constant look of confusion and
loneliness on his face marked him as an odd one, probably a kid who recently
moved to the neighborhood from out of town.

"Hey schmuckface, you wanna play?" Stu said, always friendly to newcomers.

The weird kid made some kind of herky-jerky motion with his head, which,
strangely, we all understood to mean yes. So we chose him in.

"What's your name, kid?" I said.

He just stared back at me, but every once in a while he'd let out a whoosh of
air, and it made a sound like wheeewgh or hyuuugh, so for lack of a better name,
and because he was such a tall son of a gun, I ended up calling him Huge. The
name caught on.

I took pity on the geek, so I chose him for my squad, but I had my doubts. First
off, I had the idea that he might be stupid, maybe not quite right in the head.
Then, as I started putting people in positions, he looked completely befuddled,
and I got this sneaking suspicion.