He was walking toward his limousine, shouting orders into his cell phone. A slovenly boy in baggy jeans and a wifebeater shuffled along beside him. I wasn’t going to say hello, but Ashley called out his name. Elliot looked up, swallowed, and closed his cell phone. “Well,” he said. I followed Ashley down the sidewalk, and for the first time since we met, Elliot and I shook hands. “This is Doug,” Elliot said, gesturing at the oafish-looking boy standing behind him. “’Sup,” Doug said. He held out a fist and Ashley and I bumped it. “Doug’s accompanying me to Harvard next month,” Elliot announced, “despite a 2.3 grade point average and three arrests for public intoxication.” “Congratulations,” I said. Doug nodded. “I’m going to smoke up behind that dumpster,” he said. “Very well,” Elliot said. He let out a long sigh as Doug lumbered off toward the alleyway. “He might actually be retarded,” Elliot said. “But I’ve gotten him into the greatest college in the world.”
