Low men in yellow coats by Stephen King

As he approached Carol Gerber’s house, he took out the orange library card and looked at it. It wasn’t a twenty-six-inch Schwinn, but it was still pretty good. Great, actually. A whole world of books to explore, and so what if it had only cost two or three rocks? Didn’t they say it was the thought that counted?

Well . . . it was what his mom said, anyway.

He turned the card over. Written on the back in her strong hand was this message: ‘To whom it may concern: This is my son’s library card. He has my permission to take out three books a week from the adult section of the Harwich Public Library.’ It was signed Elizabeth Penrose Garfield.

Beneath her name, like a P.S., she had added this: Robert will be responsible for his own overdue fines.

‘Birthday boy!’ Carol Gerber cried, startling him, and rushed out from behind a tree where she had been lying in wait. She threw her arms around his neck and smacked him hard on the cheek. Bobby blushed, looking around to see if anyone was watching — God, it was hard enough to be friends with a girl without surprise kisses — but it was okay. The usual morning flood of students was moving schoolward along Asher Avenue at the top of the hill, but down here they were alone.

Bobby scrubbed at his cheek.

‘Come on, you liked it,’ she said, laughing.

‘Did not,’ said Bobby, although he had.

‘What’d you get for your birthday?’

‘A library card,’ Bobby said, and showed her. ‘An adult library card.’

‘Cool!’ Was that sympathy he saw in her eyes? Probably not. And so what if it was? ‘Here.

For you.’ She gave him a Hallmark envelope with his name printed on the front. She had also stuck on some hearts and teddy bears.

Bobby opened the envelope with mild trepidation, reminding himself that he could tuck the card deep into the back pocket of his chinos if it was gushy.

It wasn’t, though. Maybe a little bit on the baby side (a kid in a Stetson on a horse, HAPPY

BIRTHDAY BUCKEROO in letters that were supposed to look like wood on the inside), but not gushy. Love,Ca rol was a little gushy, but of course she was a girl, what could you do?

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s sort of a baby card, I know, but the others were even worse,’ Carol said matter-of-factly. A little farther up the hill Sully-John was waiting for them, working his Bo-lo Bouncer for all it was worth, going under his right arm, going under his left arm, going behind his back. He didn’t try going between his legs anymore; he’d tried it once in the schoolyard and rapped himself a good one in the nuts. Sully had screamed. Bobby and a couple of other kids had laughed until they cried. Carol and three of her girlfriends had rushed over to ask what was wrong, and the boys all said nothing — Sully-John said the same, although he’d been pale and almost crying. Boys are boogers, Carol had said on that occasion, but Bobby didn’t believe she really thought so. She wouldn’t have jumped out and given him that kiss if she did, and it had been a good kiss, a smackeroo. Better than the one his mother had given him, actually.

‘It’s not a baby card,’ he said.

‘No, but it almost is,’ she said. ‘I thought about getting you a grownup card, but man, they are gushy.’

‘I know,’ Bobby said.

‘Are you going to be a gushy adult, Bobby?’

‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘Are you?’

‘No. I’m going to be like my mom’s friend Rionda.’

‘Rionda’s pretty fat,’ Bobby said doubtfully.

‘Yeah, but she’s cool. I’m going to go for the cool without the fat.’

‘There’s a new guy moving into our building. The room on the third floor. My mom says it’s really hot up there.’

‘Yeah? What’s he like?’ She giggled. ‘Is he ushy-gushy?’

‘He’s old,’ Bobby said, then paused to think. ‘But he had an interesting face. My mom didn’t like him on sight because he had some of his stuff in shopping bags.’