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Show Carlson Ferguson Lives 9 "Fenn," I add. "I think you ought to just wear your glasses." Fenn is coming up as I swing onto my bike to leave. "Come back to my house later," Butch says. "Really?" 'Yes. Come back. I'll need some help." He sees my face and says: "Really. It'll be all right. I'll see you." I turn to see Fenn step and tap a line drive against the fence in center field. 2 At home, my father wants to know why I don't spend more time around our house. Why am I always down at Butch's? I say I do spend a lot of time around our house, which is true: I sleep here in a basement made to light and order by my father's own hands; I occasionally play or sleep out in our backyard which is squared by the mower every Friday, no weed in sight, and I love to return after being torn and spun upside-down by the events of this summer to the neat, safe, and and clear worldof my own home. So, as a conciliation, I ask my parents if the guys can sleep out at our house tonight. My mother says yes, but my father is only half glad since he hasn't a full appreciation for sleeping out. It doesn't seem to be why he provided this house, so I could sleep outside of it. It is something, however, that I will be sleeping in our yard. But how can I tell my mother and father across the dinner table where my two little brothers sit that Butch is dangerous in a way I do not understand; that he hates and would like to kill his father |