Chapter 50That night, Rocco took me to a movie theater close to his apartment. We watched some independent, arty rom-com. I cried. He laughed.
We dined at a corner pizzeria a block from the theater, and I sat across Rocco in a scarred red vinyl window booth eating the best Shiitake mushroom, cheese-filled crust pizza I’ve ever had since my mother’s homemade version.
Over the bad opera music piping out through the dining room’s speakers, Rocco confided in me that he hadn’t spoken to his mom and dad since he moved out of their house, a month ago.
He told me he had been planning his getaway for a while, long before the start of high school. I knew he’d eventually make the jump, and grow up. Straighten out his life, be the person he knew he was without his strict, disciplinarian parents.
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