Emergency Contact(44)
Like for real?
Yeah
In a coffee shop Where your friends go
And your other friend works
Penny smiled at the mention of them being friends. But she also couldn’t tell if this was some kind of test. If she admitted to wanting to see him would that be disappointing?
She wrote:
No?
He responded immediately.
RIGHT?
Whew. Correct response. So why did she feel so . . . sad?
And ruin this?
She mashed the spoon into the Cheeto. It probably wasn’t disappointment she was feeling, but GI distress. Between the hardened protein bars in her belly and this trash, she might never poop again. Penny took solace in the fact that she and Sam would never have to poop in the same city block, let alone the same bathroom.
Srsly
Feels sooooo good to be in our respective metal boxes #sealed
#safe
Free from the mortal coil Yeah
What you said
Lol
So yeah no IRL for me
Why break the fourth wall?
No point
We’re perfect in here
It was true. Everything outside of the box was a mess. Penny’s “un-here” was no good. She shimmied off her bra with her clean hand and flung it onto her bed.
If I could be perfect in here And in my writing
I think I’d be satisfied
Is that pathetic?
Nope
AGREED
I think you only get to be good at two things at once
Do you think we spend too much time talking and not enough working?
He took a minute to answer.
Probably
Penny smiled.
You have to find your movies And you have to write your
big story and let me read it Maybe you only get to have one thing at once Lol
Probably
What if this is our one thing?
Lol
What like texting?
Yeah
Maybe this is what we’re good at I’m not mad
Phones rule
Humans drool
Lol
We’re the best
This is the best
And it was.
SAM.
After the lunch rush, Sam slipped out of work early and borrowed Fin’s car.
He pulled up to the Texas Workforce Commission. The state government office on the East Side was covered with prairie oaks. It was shaded and featured a poured concrete ledge in front of the building with two metal handrails that were magnets for skate rats. As long as the kids didn’t break stuff, drink, or try to catch tags on the property, the cops rarely messed with them.
Sam saw three boys dicking around on their skateboards. The smallest, a goofy-footed kid with chin-length straight hair nose-slid down the eleven-stair handrail. He had the ballsy, wiry, little-dude confidence that comes from a low center of gravity, moving as if he knew exactly what every part of his body was doing. Sam watched the other two, larger boys, attempt noncommittal backside shuvits and bailed kickflips, spending more time retrieving boards than riding away clean.
Sam remembered when he was their age and the city first put the new handrails in. It had been the big news in his crew for weeks. Most of the skaters with money, the kids with the fresh setups and new shoes every month, frequented dedicated skate parks that started springing up once the kids of the Austin tech set became of age. But these three boys were recognizably just as poor as he’d been. One had a board with a chipped tail that was plugged with peanut-buttery wood filler and sanded down, and even from a distance Sam could see their socks through the ollie holes in their soles.
Sam had been out here a couple times over the last few weeks. It was only ever the three of them, and there was something about the littlest one that was transfixing. He flung himself down the stairs repeatedly, as sure-footed as a bug.
Sam got out and walked over to them.
The three scowled as if to ward off a predator or undercover cop. With a dirty towel draped over his head and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the youngest boy resembled those child soldiers you saw on Vice docs—with that thousand-yard stare that’s extra haunted on a kid’s face.
“Relax, I’m not a cop,” Sam said. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
“Yo, let me get a smoke,” said the kid, reaching toward him.
“You’ve already got one,” said Sam.
“Let me hold it for later though.” He flashed a wide grin, cigarette bobbing up.
The two other boys flanked him as if they were his backup. Sam felt conflicted about giving a child tobacco. Then he figured he’d be getting it elsewhere. Sam handed it over, and the kid tucked the loosie behind his ear.
“I seen you,” said the ringleader as he grabbed a lighter out of the back pocket of his filthy jeans and started playing with it. “Always wearing the same shit. You’re not some kind of emo child molester, right?”
Sam laughed and shook his head. “What child molester would tell a kid he was a child molester though?”
The kid laughed. “True.”
“What’s your name? It’s not Lester, is it?” The kid smirked again. “Last name molester.” His friends chortled on cue.
“Sam,” said Sam. “I used to skate here back when I was around your age.”
“What’s up, Sam? I’m Bastian. This is James”—he pointed at the shorter of the two boys, with slicked-back hair—“and Rico.” Rico nodded and cracked his knuckles. Sam nodded, stifling a smile. They were cartoon goons.