“See,” Bryce shouted, “you have been masturbating!” Bryce slapped Justin on
the shoulder. “And duh, Hank. Of course it hurts. That’s why it’s a bad thing.”
Justin laughed with Bryce, but Henry thought he was faking it. Henry wished
Justin would say something to change the subject, but he just said, “Fuckin’
A.”
“Then why are there so many middle schoolers pulling their wieners?” Henry
asked.
“How should I know?” Bryce asked. He suddenly sounded bored and turned
back to the computer. “Such a masturbator,” he muttered. “We’re going to be
called “Justin Jagr,” and we’re going to tell girls that we’re Jaromir Jagr’s
brother.”
“They’re never going to believe that,” Henry said. “And why are we using
Justin’s name?”
“I don’t mind,” Justin said.
“Because it’s more believable if you use a real name, and because he’s not
being a masturbator.” Bryce said. He started typing “ASL?” in messages to
usernames that sounded like girls. Henry knew that ASL meant “age, sex,
location.”
As they waited for a response, the door to the garage opened in the kitchen,
and Bryce’s dad shouted across the house for Bryce to turn down the music.
They heard him open the refrigerator. Glass tinkled. Probably a Miller High
Life. He always drank High Lifes when he worked on his truck. “And you
better not be on the internet. You hear me? I’m waiting for a call about my
shift.”
Bryce disconnected and turned off the monitor. “We’re not,” he shouted. He
grinned at Justin and Henry as he left the room to turn down the stereo.
Henry and Justin could hear Bryce’s father say, “Bullshit, you’re not. If your
mother catches you again, she’ll be up my ass, so knock it off.” There was a
pause as Bryce said something that Henry and Justin couldn’t hear.