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Reeling in the Years	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 5080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House or its characters and I am not profiting from this story in any way.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Lyrics to At the Hop by Danny & the Juniors (1958)
It was July 12, 1958, and Lincoln was turning twelve...the big 1-2, the age after eleven and before thirteen. For months he'd been looking forward to today, thinking that some way, somehow, twelve would be different, magical, the beginning of adulthood: A Jewish guy he kind of knew at school said that in the Jewish faith, twelve-year-olds are considered men. Cooool.
Yeah...twelve felt exactly like eleven, and as for being a man...no hair magically sprouted on his face or chest, and his voice didn't deepen at the stroke of midnight. It was still high and reedy, and his skin remained smooth. Sigh.
This year was kind of different in a way: It was the first time he had a party attended by people other than his family. Clyde was there, and so was Ronnie Anne. They both brought him gifts, too, Ronnie Anne the record Little Richard and Clyde a hoola-hoop. "I know it looks kinda dumb, but it's really fun once you get into it." Before Lincoln could try it out, Lynn snaked it, and spent the majority of the party swiveling his hips and trying to keep it from falling.
Since it was summer and a nice day, they had the party in the backyard. Dad grilled hamburgers and hotdogs while Mom and the girls sat at the picnic table and made the sides: Coleslaw, potato salad, and macaroni salad. "So, square-for-brains," Ronnie Anne said, "how does it feel?"
They were standing side-by-side in the backyard while Lynn and Clyde took turns with the hoola-hoop: Clyde was the better of the two by a lot.
Lincoln shrugged. "Alright, I guess." His hands were in the pockets of his slacks and his head was bent. Looking at her was hard, because she was wearing a white dress with thin straps, and something about the way the fringed hem brushed across her bare, sunkissed legs made him feel funny.
"Enjoy being older than me while you can," she said, and playfully elbowed his arm. Her birthday was September 28. Lincoln had been wracking his mind for something to get her for months now, and each day that passed without a resolution added to the anxiety in his chest. Yeah, he had over two months, but he didn't want to wait until the last minute. Call him impatient, but he wanted the perfect gift now.
"I will," he said, then grinned as he added, "little girl."
She slapped his arm, and he laughed. She hit like a freight train. "I might be younger but I can still whip you."
Lincoln hissed over clenched teeth. "I don't know. Lynn's lessons are really starting to pay off."
There were times during their training sessions in the backyard that Lincoln got the upper hand on his older brother. They didn't happen all the time, but they happened more frequently than they did when they first started back in December. Just yesterday Lincoln was able to slip out from under him, get on his back, and wrench his arm up until he cried uncle. Literally.
Ronnie Anne crossed her arms and cocked a brow. "I'd clean your clock, lame-o, and you know it."
At the table, Luan nudged Luna in the ribs and nodding toward their brother and his not-girlfriend. Luna, his hands covered in potato salad, glanced at her younger sister. "What?"
"Look."
"What am I looking at? They're talking and smiling."
"Exactly. Any day now, Lune, we're gonna have a sister-in-law."
Luna shook her head and rolled her eyes. Luan beamed. "Kind of cool he's with a Hispanic girl." She glanced at Clyde. And kind of cool he has a colored friend. It was...what was that word? Progressive? Yeah, it was progressive of him. It also didn't hurt that Clyde was kind of cute.
"I hope Lincy likes our gift," Leni said as she cut a watermelon into triangular slices.
"I'm sure he'll love it," Mom said, mixing a bowl of coleslaw with a wooden spoon. Lincoln's gift wasn't cheap: They all pitched in to get it. Rita felt guilty that he had only one, but it was a big one, so she couldn't feel too bad.
At the grill, Lynn Sr. cussed as grease splattered the front of his shirt. As Luna had pointed out earlier, he looked extra square today in a pair of plaid shorts and black socks pulled half way to his knees.
"Language," Rita sighed.
"I fought Hitler," Lynn said, "I can say what I please."
"You took one step onto Omaha Beach and got shot," Rita pointed out, "Hitler did more to fight Hitler than you."
Lori's jaw dropped. Wow. That was mean.
"One of these days, Rita..." Lynn said, flipping a patty.
Rita chuckled. "Okay, Ralph Kramden."
"He never did it, though," Lynn said, "I will."
For the record: He wouldn't.
Lincoln tried to hoola, but couldn't quite get the hang of it. Ronnie Anne, on the other hand, took to it like a natural, and made him look even worse by comparison. "Alright," Lynn said, nodding appreciatively. He looked at Lincoln. "Guess that means Linc's the only one who can't keep up."
"Ooo, I wanna try!" Leni jumped up from the table and hurried over. Ronnie Anne tossed the hoola-hoop onto the ground and Leni stepped into it. "Now what?"
"Shake your hips," Lynn said.
Leni squinted one eye in confusion, then shrugged and shook her hips back and forth. Lynn slapped himself in the face while Ronnie Anne turned away to hide her smile. "No," Lynn said, "pick it up and shake your hips."
Understanding lit Leni's face. "Oh, okay!" She knelt, the fabric of her polka dot dress flapping in the breeze, and stood, holding the hoola-hoop on either side. She then proceeded to shake her hips...while still clutching it. "I still don't see why this is supposed to be fun."
Lynn threw up his arms and walked away. Lincoln started to tell Leni what she was doing wrong, but Ronnie Anne cut him off. "Here, let me show you." She took hold of the hoola-hoop. "Now swivel your hips." Leni did, slowly.
"Lincoln, honey?" Mom called.
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Can you go get the hamburger buns, please? Your father forgot them in the kitchen."
In the kitchen, Lincoln looked high and low for the buns, but didn't see them. They weren't on the table, they weren't on the counter, they weren't in the breadbox, they weren't anywhere. Hm. He put his hands on his hips and looked around as though he might catch a glimpse of them trying to make a break for it – hey, stranger things have happened, right? Admitting defeat, he went back outside.
"We found them," Luan said, holding them up. They were flat as pancakes. "Leni strikes again." A devilish smile slashed across her face. "Her buns crushed these buns. Get it?"
Oh well. Speaking of Leni, she was hoola-hooping like a pro now, a big smile on her face. "I'm doing it!" she cried. Ronnie Anne stood aside with her arms crossed, watching and nodding in satisfaction.
When the burgers were ready, they all sat at the table and ate in-between idle chatter. After that, Lori and Luan brought out the cake and sat it on the table. It was chocolate with HAPPY BIRTHDAY LINCOLN in blue frosting. Ronnie Anne rubbed her hands together and Clyde licked his lips. "Before we have cake," Dad said, "how about your present, huh?" He started toward the shed. "There's only the one, but it's a doozy and it's from everyone." He opened the door while Lincoln watched intently, his eyes widening when Dad rolled out a red and white Schwinn cruiser with whitewall tires.
"You like it?" Luan asked, squeezing Lincoln's shoulder, but Lincoln couldn't reply; he was incapable of speech and rational thought...all he could do was gape at the beautiful bicycle, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. His last bike died a hard death on the road to the park back in March, and from then until now, he had to hoof it everywhere he went. He first saw the Schwinn in an ad at the back of an Ace Savvy comic, and...well...it was love at first sight.
Clyde nodded. "Now that's a bike."
"Whoa, lame-o," Ronnie Anne said, "she's a beaut."
Lincoln got up and went to his new bike, his heart beginning to pound. "You alright, son?" Dad asked.
In reply, Lincoln dropped to his knees. "This is just the bike I wanted," he said, his voice breaking. He threw his arms around the frame and hugged it. Mom snapped a picture, and Ronnie Anne shook her head. Guess I lost my boyfriend to a bike...I mean Lincoln, not my boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend. Nope.
Well, actually...
During cake and ice cream, Lincoln fidgeted. He wanted to ride his bike and he wanted to ride it now, to hell with chocolate. Ronnie Anne left before he was done, saying she had to go help her mom with something. Little did he know she wanted to be alone to think...about whether or not she was ready to make him her boyfriend or not.
"Can I go now?" Lincoln asked excited when he finished his cake. "I'm all done, see?"
Mom sighed. "Yes, you can go."
Lincoln jumped up. "Alright!" He threw his arms around her shoulders and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom." He looked at his sisters and his brother, "And thank you guys, too."
"Just be back in an hour or so," Mom said.
"Right!"
He darted over to the cruiser, got on, and started pedaling toward the front. "Wait for me!" Clyde called and raced after him. Lincoln stopped and let Clyde catch up. "Wanna go to Flip's and play some records on the jukebox?"
"Sure," Lincoln said. That sounded neat-o.
In the front yard, Clyde grabbed his bike and jumped on. "Race ya!" he called over his shoulder and started pedaling.
Lincoln grinned, leaned over the handlebars, and gave chase.
Roberto "Bobby" Santiago lifted a filterless Camel to his mouth and took a deep drag, squinting his eyes into the afternoon sun in a move calculated to achieve maximum cool: He was going for James Dean, but he'd take Joe Camel too.
He was sitting on the front of his pride and joy, a 1948 Coupe painted glossy black with flames racing up the sides, one motorcycle boot propped on a bumper so silver it was practically a mirror. The cuffs of his jeans were rolled slightly up, and he wore a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt. It was far too hot for the jacket, but he didn't think twice before putting it on that morning: It was cool, and he liked looking cool.
Alvin "Daggy" Goldberg stood in front of him, his scrawny arms crossed over his scrawnier chest. He was tall and lanky with dirty blonde hair and a narrow face. He wore black jeans and a green T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Like Bobby, he wore black motorcycle boots. Next to him was Billy "Blades" Richmond. Short and thin with black hair and clear blue eyes, he wore a black T-shirt tucked into his blue jeans. On Daggy's other side was his little cousin, Timmy, but everyone called him Poppa Wheelie because he liked popping wheelies on his bike or some shit. Bobby had never seen him do it, and doubted he could: Kid was so fat it took all day to turn around.
They were outside of Flip's. Being a nice summer afternoon, the place was packed with teens eating burgers, drinking milkshakes, and playing Elvis on the jukebox. Cars as big as boats occupied every spot, and carhops rolled around on skates bearing trays of food. They were all girls, all young, and all good looking. Daggy leered like a dog as one glided by: She wore a blue skirt that stopped just above her knees and a white top with a little white hat. He licked his lips and nodded. "Hey, honey," he said to himself.
Bobby took another drag and shook his head. "Why don't you talk to her then?" he asked, an edge in his voice. He was the leader of this outfit and he wasn't afraid to show it.
"I'm gettin' there," Daggy said.
"You ain't gettin' nowhere, Dag," Blades said.
"I don't see you talkin' to 'em either," Daggy said.
Blades shrugged. "That's not why I'm here. I got a girl."
Bobby snickered. "What girl's that?" he asked around his cigarette, "Rosie Palm and her five sisters?"
Daggy laughed, and Blades shot him a dirty look. "She lives in Elk Park, alright? I see her on the weekends."
Bobby took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a plume of blue smoke. "Yeah? That's what they all say. You got a picture of her?"
"Yeah," Daggy said, and back-handed Blades' chest, "whip it out. Let's see her. I bet she's a real dog."
"She doesn't like her picture taken. She's real religious."
"You're so full of shit your eyes are brown," Bobby said.
"I'm tellin' you," Blades said, "she's a real looker, too. Got tit's bigger'n your head."
"Bullshit," Bobby said, "bigger'n my head."
"Where's your girl then?" Poppa asked, speaking for the first time in nearly ten minutes. Usually he kept his mouth closed, but sometimes he opened it, and bad things happened. "You're not too fast yourself."
"I'm workin' on her," Bobby said. He finished his cigarette and flipped it away: It landed on the pavement in a shower of embers. Truth was, he'd been trying to get Lori Loud to give him the time of day since eighth grade, but she wasn't biting. Why the hell not, he didn't know. It kind of hurt his feelings. He wouldn't say to his asshole friends, but he really liked her. She was pretty and the sound of her voice was nice, kinda like music.
Presently, he fingered his slicked-back hair and glanced around. He had a bottle of Jack Danial's in the car. If he used a paper cup, he could...
"Aww, look at that," Daggy said, "he's takin' his pet nigger for a walk."
Bobby winced. "Man, how many times I gotta tell you I don't like that word? It's..." He froze when he saw who Daggy was talking about: Lincoln Loud pulled into the parking lot on a red and white bike while some Negro kid came up next to him on a green one. They both hopped off and started walking toward the front door, pausing as a red convertible passed by.
"Hey, kid!" Daggy called, and Bobby grabbed him by the back of his shirt, already knowing he was going to say something stupid.
Daggy pulled away and turned. "What?"
"That's Lori Loud's little brother. You know, Lori from math class?"
Daggy shrugged. "So?"
Bobby shook his head. "So I've been tryin' to get her on a date, and pickin' on her little brother's not gonna help."
When Ronnie Anne started hanging out with him last winter, Bobby didn't know who he was: He didn't ask, she didn't tell. It wasn't his business, and while he teased her about him being a square, he seemed like a good enough kid (he's nothing like me, so that's a load off!). He eventually gathered that his name was Lincoln. One day in April, he was driving down Main Street with Ronnie Anne in the passenger seat when he spotted Lincoln, Lori, some girl with braces, and another girl with short hair in jeans and a tight sweater (little greaser mama) walking down the street. Ronnie Anne saw him and grinned. "There's Linc."
"Yeah?" Bobby asked, "and who's his harem?"
"His sisters, jackass."
Bobby started. "Lori's his sister?"
"Yeah," Ronnie Anne said, "you know her?"
"Kinda," he replied, playing it cool.
Wonder if little man can help me out, he thought now.
An idea struck him, and a grin spread across his face. "You assholes keep your flaps closed," he said, looking around at his cronies with as intense a stare as he could muster. Blades held up his hands, Poppa Wheelie nodded solemnly, and Daggy spread his hands. Satisfied that they wouldn't make him look bad, he cupped his hands over his mouth. "Hey! Hey, kid! You! Ronnie's boyfriend!"
Lincoln and his friend turned.
Bobby smiled warmly. "C'mere!" He gestured.
They looked at each other, then walked their bikes over, looking like a couple of Catholics on their way to meet God.
"Hey," Bobby said when they stopped, "how's it goin'? That bike is boss, little man."
"T-Thanks," Lincoln said nervously.
"Yeah, it's really nice. Looks new."
"It is," Lincoln said. "I just got it for my birthday."
Bobby blinked. "It's your birthday? Today?"
Lincoln nodded.
"Holy shit, happy birthday." He looked around. "I don't have a present for you, but..." thinking fast, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of Camels, and took one out. "Here, have a smoke." He held it out and Lincoln's eyes widened.
"Uhhh...I don't know..."
Bobby grinned. "Come on." He waggled his brows. "You ain't no square, are you?"
Lincoln and his friend looked at each other. "All the cool kids do it," the friend said.
Bobby nodded. "That's right. What's your name?"
"Clyde."
Bobby looked at Lincoln. "He's right, Lincoln. We all do it." He looked at Blades and Daggy, and they both nodded. "Sure," Blades said.
Lincoln looked conflicted for a moment, then took the cigarette. Bobby handed one to Clyde, then took out a silver Zippo, which he flicked, holding it to the tip of each boy's cigarette. Lincoln inhaled, and coughed. Clyde did likewise. Bobby snickered and snapped the lighter closed. "It gets easier the more you do it."
Lincoln took another hit and didn't cough. He didn't want to look lame in front of Bobby. "Thanks," he said. He felt lightheaded and his lungs hurt.
Bobby nodded. "No problem, man. Say, you guys wanna hang for a little while? Maybe cruise a little?"
Lincoln and Clyde looked at each other like they'd just won the lottery. "Sure!" they cried in unison.
Bobby nodded. Phase one complete. "Good, good." He looked at Daggy. "Hey, Dag, grab these cool cats a couple soda pops, huh?"
Daggy sniffed. Bobby fixed him with a hard look. "I said grab a couple soda pops."
"Alright, alright, damn," Daggy said, throwing his hands up. "Two sodie pops comin' up." He injected the word sodie with a touch of sarcasm, and Bobby shook his head. While he went off, Bobby shook out a cigarette out and lit it.
"I think I'm gonna get goin'," Blades said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."
Bobby nodded. "Tell your girlfriend I said hi," he said around his cigarette.
"Yeah, sure."
Alone with Lincoln, Clyde, and Poppa, who was eyeballing a blonde carhop and drooling down his shirt like a spaz, Bobby took a drag and let it out. Lincoln and Clyde were both taking hesitant puffs of their own smokes, looking as though they weren't sure whether they liked it or not. Oh, but they did. They always did. "What're you boys into?" Bobby asked. "You're, what, twelve? You dig chicks? Fishin'? What?"
"I like riding my bike," Lincoln said, then, realizing how lame that sounded, he added, "fast. Downhill."
Bobby laughed. "Yeah, you like goin' fast? So do I." He patted the hood. "This baby agitates that gravel real nice. It's like you're flyin'."
Lincoln had never seen Bobby go fast, but he had seen him cruising around town with his friends, blaring Jerry Lee Lewis or Elvis Presley and every time he did, he stopped and stared, because his car was beautiful. It was the kind of car he hoped to have when he was old enough to drive.
"It's a really nice car," Clyde marveled.
"Yeah," Lincoln added. "C-Can I touch it?"
Bobby gestured with his cigarette. "Knock yourselves out. Just don't scratch my paintjob."
Lincoln laid his hand on the smooth, slick hood, and his entire body thrilled. He imagined that this is what a girl's bare leg must feel like.
"Here's those sodas," Daggy said, walking up with two bottles of RC. Lincoln took one and Clyde the other.
"Let me get that for you," Bobby said, pulling out a bottle opener and popping the caps off. He nodded. "Enjoy."
"Thanks," Lincoln said, and took a grateful swallow. He had no idea why Bobby wanted to hang with him and Clyde, but he wasn't complaining! Bobby took another drag, held it for a moment, then exhaled it through his nose.
Daggy crossed his arms and looked around. "Where's Blades?"
"He peeled off to see that girl of his," Bobby said. "Rosie."
Daggy laughed. "I think Timmy's seein' the same girl."
"Screw you," Poppa said, "I've made it with a girl, have you?"
Bobby and Daggy both laughed...so did Lincoln and Clyde, because it was kind of funny. Poppa's face got red. "You never made it with a girl," Bobby said. "You probably ain't even made it with yourself yet, you little shit."
"He can't find his willie under all that fat," Daggy said.
"Yes I can!" Poppa cried.
"Without a forklift?" Bobby asked.
Poppa spun around and stormed off. "Where you goin'?" Daggy called after him. Poppa brushed past a man in a suit and held up his middle finger.
"That forklift joke was funny, Bobby," Clyde said.
"It wasn't a joke," Bobby said. He finished his cigarette and flicked it away. "You boys hungry? You want some burgers, fries, hotdogs?"
Lincoln dropped his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. He felt woozy and kind of sick to his stomach: The burgers, cake, and ice cream he had at the party were threatening to come back up. "No, we ate," Lincoln said.
"Well..." Clyde said, "some fries would be nice."
Bobby nodded and turned to Daggy. "Hey, Daggy..."
Daggy rolled his eyes. "Man, I am not going back in there."
Bobby snorted. "Make like a tree and leave, then. Get lost. Your house is that way." He gestured toward the street.
Daggy sighed. "Fine." While he went inside, Bobby jumped off the hood and went around to the driver side. "You boys like music?" He reached in the open window, started the car, and turned the radio up, music emanating from the speakers:
Well, you can swing it you can groove it
You can really start to move it at the hop
Where the jockey is the smoothest
And the music is the coolest at the hop.
Bobby spread his arms. "Yeah? You like this stuff?"
Lincoln nodded. He did like that song. "Yeah, it's cool," Clyde said.
"Good, good," Bobby said. He pulled the jacket off and stuffed it through the window. It was so cool it hurt, but it was also so fucking hot it hurt. The air was like sandpaper on his face, but on his sweaty arms it felt cold. Someone oughta come up with a summer jacket. Lighter or something, with air holes. He went around the front of the car and leaned against the bumper. "What else you boys like?"
Lincoln shrugged. "Comic books."
"Yeah?" Bobby asked. "Comic books are boss, man. Real boss." That was a lie. Comic books were lame. "I like the one with the super guy. You know, with the cape."
"Superman?" Lincoln asked.
"Yeah, that guy. He's cool."
For a while none of them spoke. Where the hell was Daggy with that food? He was getting sick of making small talk with a couple twelve-year-olds. When he finally came out with an order of fries on a tray, Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.
They sat at a table next to the building while Clyde ate, Lincoln eventually joining in; Bobby smoked and Daggy looked bored. He bummed a smoke off Bobby at one point and got up to walk around. Bobby was hoping he'd take off, but he kept hanging around like a stray cat when you feed it. As Lincoln and Clyde finished up, Bobby threw his smoke away and got up. "Hey, Dag, why don't you beat feet? I'm gonna drive these guys home."
Daggy nodded. "Yeah, alright."
"I'll see you later, huh?"
"Sure."
As Daggy left, Bobby sat. "You boys want a ride home?"
Lincoln's eyes got big as saucers. "Ride? In your car?"
Bobby nodded. "Yep."
"Sure!" Then his eyes clouded. "What about our bikes?"
Bobby shrugged. "Eh, just stick 'em in the back." He wasn't hot on the idea of shoving two bicycles into the back of his car, but he was even colder on the idea of not getting Lori Loud to be his girl.
When it was time to go, he pushed both front seats forward and carefully put the bikes in, cursing and muttering under his breath as he scratched the leather. Goddamn it. No pain, no gain. Clyde and Lincoln both shoved into the front seat while Bobby slipped behind the wheel. "Where you live, Clyde, my man?"
"On Ridgecrest," Clyde said.
"Alright," Bobby nodded, pulling out of the slot and navigating into the street. A pick-up truck passed by, and Bobby followed. "You want another smoke?" he asked.
Clyde shook his head. "No, thanks."
"Linc?"
Lincoln hesitated, then shook his head. Something told Bobby he kind of did.
Five minutes later, Bobby pulled to the curb in front of Clyde's house, a little one story ranch. He had them both get out, then carefully removed Clyde's bike, sitting it in front of him, and patting the seat. "There you go, buddy. Safe and sound." He unconsciously glanced at the scratch on his seat.
"Thanks, Bobby," Clyde said, then to Lincoln: "I'll see you later, alright?"
"Yeah," Lincoln said, "I'll come over tomorrow."
"Cool."
In the car, Bobby pulled out behind a Chevy and took a cigarette from his pack, plopping it into his mouth and lighting it. Lincoln glanced at him, and sucked his bottom lip. "Want one?" Bobby asked.
Lincoln opened his mouth, then nodded instead. Ever since he finished the first one, his mouth felt kind of funny, and the thought of a cigarette made it water. Bobby handed him one then the light. Lincoln lit it and drew the smoke into his lungs. Wow...it tasted really good.
"So," Bobby said as Lincoln sucked his Camel, "you're goin' steady with my sister, huh?"
That made Lincoln's heart clutch. From what he knew, older brothers could be just as intimidating as fathers. "Uh...no, we're just friends."
"Hey, man, it's cool," Bobby said. "You seem like a –" he glanced at Lincoln's orange and white striped shirt and his brown pants – "cool guy." He waited a click. "Speaking of goin' steady, your sister Lori isn't goin' with anyone, is she?"
Lincoln's brow crinkled. Why would Bobby want to know about Lori? "No," he said.
Bobby nodded, his hopes soaring. "You know, I've been wantin' to take her on a date for a while. You know, somethin' classy, like the movies and dinner. I don't think she likes me though."
Lincoln tilted his head. "Well, she likes her guys a little..." he trailed off. He really didn't want to offend Bobby.
"A little less what?" Bobby asked, glancing at him. "A little less Mexican? She racist against Mexicans?"
"No, no," Lincoln said, putting his hands up, "just...if you want a shot with her, you're going to have to lose the jacket...and the boots...and the jeans."
Bobby blinked. "What?"
"She likes her guys preppy and clean cut."
Bobby laughed out loud. Lincoln just looked at him, and he stopped. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, pretty serious."
For a minute Bobby didn't know what to say. His jacket? His jeans? "What am I supposed to wear?" he asked.
Lincoln shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. A nice cardigan and a pair of slacks."
Slacks? A fucking cardigan? Jesus Christ. "So I'm supposed to walk around like I'm Pat Boone or somethin'?"
"Yeah," Lincoln said. "It's either that or walk around like you don't have a girlfriend."
Bobby turned and started to say something about him being a smartass, but stopped himself. Alright. If Lori Loud wanted some peppy square, he'd be a preppy square. He glanced over at Lincoln. "Say, uh, we're friends, right?"
"I guess," Lincoln said, his heart leaping. Friends with Bobby? Wow!
"And, uh, friends help each other out, right?"
"Yeah."
Bobby nodded. "Alright. You help me with Lori, and I'll help you out with those things." He nodded to Lincoln's cigarettes. "I mean...you like 'em, don't you?"
Lincoln nodded. He did. He liked them a lot.
"Good. We'll scratch each other's backs."
"What do you have in mind?" Lincoln asked.
"I got a plan," Bobby said, his mind working. "Does Ronnie have your number?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, I'll call you when I have it all ready. Okay?"
Lincoln nodded. At the end of his street, he threw his cigarette out so no one who knew him would see it. When they pulled in front of his house, Mom was taking paper bags of groceries out of the Packard. She turned at the sound of the motor, her brow raising slightly. "Hi, Mom!" Lincoln said, opening the door.
"Hi, ma'am," Bobby smiled and waved. "I was just dropping my pal Lincoln off." Lincoln pushed the passenger seat forward and grabbed his bike. Speaking lowly so his mom wouldn't hear, Bobby said, "Be careful with the seat, will you?"
"Sure," Lincoln said. He got his bike out and slammed the door, his mother walking over.
"Oh, Lincoln," she said, "you smell like a cigarette. Have you been smoking?"
Lincoln paled. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Bobby cut him off, "No, no, no, that was me." He grinned and held up his cigarette. "I was smoking." He tapped the side of his head. "Guess I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry."
Lincoln's mother nodded slowly. "A-Alright." She spoke cautiously, like Bobby was a rattlesnake who was going to bite her or something.
"Thanks for the ride!" Lincoln said over his shoulder.
Bobby lifted a hand and pulled off. Soon, he would have Lori Loud as his best gal.
He smiled.
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Reeling in the Years