Ten-year-old Jason jumped from the bottom step of the bus to the pavement. He didn’t turn around completely. He just walked and waved his hand towards the departing school bus that carried, Billy, Brian, and Jake, his best friends, to their neighborhoods. There were still two weeks left before the summer break, but midsummer heat had settled in. Every day the past week was hotter than the one before. All Jason could think about was slurping down a root beer pop from his dad’s secret stash in the garage. He walked the half block to his house and ran up the drive. He twisted the knob that opened the front door but found it locked. He tried once more. did a doubletake, and, yup, his mom’s car was in the driveway. He went around to the back door, thinking she’d probably just cleaned and didn’t want him traipsing dirty from the living room to the kitchen. The kitchen door was also locked. He pounded on it and then kicked it hard, leaving a dusty sneaker mark.
“Bitch,” he muttered. He was so hot. His face was sunburn red. He threw his book bag on the back step and sat down next to it.
He looked at the cellar window. He could break in. He’d seen his dad do it before.
He stood back up and yell “MOM!!” at the top of his lungs next to the kitchen door’s window. “MOM!” He pounded relentlessly. Still nothing.
That was it. He was going to break in through the cellar window. Screw her. He kneeled down at each window and pushed. The last one gave way and opened. He pulled with both hands on the edges and it came out of its . The window was too heavy. It fell to the basement floor with a crash.
“Oh, Shit.” He was going to catch hell for that. Now he was really pissed at his mother. She was probably inside sleeping, taking an afternoon nap from a hard day of doing nothing. He threw his book bag into the open space that used to hold the window. He stuck his head in to see the distance he’d have to fall. It was a lot. He’d break a leg for sure. What else could he do but go in. He’d burn up if he sat out here any longer. He decided to take his chances. He backed into the gaping hole and gently let his legs dangle while his hands held on for dear life. He closed his eyes and counted to 10. “Geronimo!” he yelled out. He landed on his feet but bounced and lost his footing and eventually fell onto his but. Luckily, it was nowhere near where the broken window had landed. He picked himself up, spit and then blew on his scraped hands.
He was in. He picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder. He took one more look at the broken window. Looking at it made the pit of his stomach squirm. “Gonna catch hell for that.”
He proceeded up the cellar stairs. He tried the knob but it was locked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
He beat at the door with the side of his fist and yelled for his mother. No answer. No response. No noise whatsoever.
He slammed his shoulder into the door once, twice, three times. Nothing. Tears of frustration puddled out of his eyes. “I just want to get a drink and cool off,” he whimpered as he sat on the top step.