I stuffed my hands in my pockets and kicked rocks around the front yard. Mom had told me to get ready for golf camp and wait for her by the car. I didn’t have to do anything to get ready. What? Did she expect me to put on argyle socks and a sweater vest? Not happening.
The familiar hum of a mail jeep neared. The white vehicle raced down the street, then came to a screeching halt in front of our mailbox.
Crazy mailman. Oh, yeah, I needed to talk to him.
Parker looked to be about Dan, Dan, the Ice Cream Man’s age. He had shaggy white-blond hair. A leather necklace with a pendant dangled in front of his wrinkled uniform. “Yo, dude,” he called to me. “You live here?”
I lifted an eyebrow, nodded, and stepped closer so he could pass me a stack of envelopes and a dance catalog for my mom.
No big box holding a water gun.
“Thanks,” I said. “Hey, I’m expecting a package soon.” How could I say that I didn’t trust him to deliver it to the right house?
“Cool.” The guy’s head bobbed up and down. “What’s in the package?”
“I’m a professional water fighter, and I ordered a huge water gun and a water balloon slingshot for my business.”
“Awesome.” His head kept bobbing. “Why aren’t you water fighting right now? It’s a gorgeous day.”
I made a face. “My mom signed me up for a stupid golf camp.”
“Oh, dude. Golf isn’t stupid. It’s relaxing and challenging at the same time. Have you ever golfed before?”
I shrugged. “At my grandparents’ cabin, my cousins and I take turns hitting pine cones at each other with golf clubs. That’s kind of fun.”
Parker laughed. “I’m sure your parents want the best for you, buddy. Take me, for example. I just wanted to be a surf instructor, but my parents insisted that I go to college. So I went. And that helped me get this job so I can save enough money to move to Hawaii.”
Surfing would be fun. Mom used to call me a shopping cart surfer because I never sat down in the cart at the grocery store. “Well, you better get to work then.”
“Oh, yeah.” Parker blinked and looked out the windshield as if he’d just remembered where he was.
“Hi, Parker.” My little sister ran down the sidewalk from the house. “Did you bring me anything?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Not this time, babe.”
Christine clasped her hands together and tilted her head to the side with an overly sweet smile.
It made me feel sick—as if I’d eaten too much Halloween candy.
“Gotta go.” Parker stuck his thumb and pinkie finger out and wiggled his hand in the hang loose sign. “Remember what I said, little dude.”
“Sure.” Whatever. “If you’ll remember to bring me my package.”