When Everything Is Blue(11)

By the end of the day, I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this weekend ever happened. Ryanne tells me about a skateboard competition coming up that I might be interested in going to, either as a spectator or a competitor. I ask her if she wants to check it out together since it was her idea. She says yes, so we exchange numbers.

On the car ride home, I pretend to be asleep so I won’t sulk the whole way or make it more awkward than it already is. About halfway home, Chris clears his throat. Super loud. Like everything else he does, it commands my attention.

“Theo,” he says.

I keep my eyes closed. I’ve already committed to it.

“Theo,” he says again, louder, and then, “Come on, Theo, I know you’re not sleeping.”

I sigh and stretch and slowly open my eyes so he might wonder if I was sleeping or not. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

“I don’t want it to be weird between us,” he says.

He’s already tried blowing me off, so what else is there to talk about? If he wants to pretend like it didn’t happen, I will too.

“Why would it be weird?” I say like a shit. Maybe I am a bad friend.

He shoots me a look like Don’t be an ass. Chastened, I sit up a little straighter and stare at my hands.

“Last night was just a weird mood,” he says with purpose. Like he’s trying to convince himself of it.

“I think we covered this already,” I say sourly.

“No, I covered it. You haven’t said a word.”

I suck in my bottom lip and stare at the dashboard with my arms crossed. Ugh, the feelings. So many goddamned feelings, all swirling inside me like an undertow. None of the things I want to say to him feel safe. Chris has an agenda—he always does—so why is he trying to make me go first?

“What do you want me to say, Chris?” I finally ask.

“I want you to say it doesn’t change anything.”

I glance out the window, at the purple dusk blanketing the water and tucking it in for bed. I’ve relied on Chris for so much over the years. This summer when he was gone, I felt the loss of him deeply. It kind of scared me how much a part of my identity he’s become. How often I look to him for approval, acceptance, and a shoulder to lean on. I love him as a friend and more, but I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship.

“It doesn’t change anything,” I repeat.

“You believe that?”

No, but it seems he wants everything to stay the same, so what choice do I have?

“I guess so,” I mutter.

He sighs, frustrated with me. For what, I have no idea. My lines aren’t convincing enough. Once more, with passion….

“Look, Theo, I’m sorry,” he says.

Now he’s apologizing? He must think it was a huge fucking mistake.

“Whatever, Chris. We were horny. I’m sure other dudes have done it before without the world ending.”

“I’m really—”

“Don’t apologize,” I cut him off.

He stares at the road. I’ve been too harsh. He’s trying to make things right between us. Even if it’s having the opposite effect, he’s doing his best.

“It’s cool,” I say. “It was a stupid mistake. So let’s forget it ever happened.”

“You think it was a mistake?” He glances over at me. The fear and uncertainty in his eyes look strange on him. My best friend, who would take on ten bullies, tackle a twenty-foot wave without a second thought, punch a shark in the gill, is scared. Whatever his feelings, I’m not about to ruin five years of friendship just to prove a point.

“Yeah, it was a mistake.”

He nods slowly, then settles back into driving, visibly relieved.

He’s off the hook.





Enter Asshole Dave


I START my sophomore year with a bad attitude. I blame it on the weather—hot, humid, and overcast, the trifecta of shitty for Florida climate. It’s like being trapped in somebody’s armpit. I meet Chris at the top of his driveway on the first day of school and climb into his Volvo with minimal chit-chat. I’m not a morning person and also, it’s still a little weird after the weekend we just had. On the way to school, Chris tells me about a video he saw online of some kids surfing through the flooded streets of Miami during a king tide while tethered to the back bumper of a jeep.

“Urban skurfing,” Chris says. “Next time there’s a storm, we’re totally doing it.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” I say to him. “I’m in.” It’s a running joke between us whenever Chris comes up with one of his crazy stunts. This, at least, coaxes a smile from him. Besides, it does sound like fun.

“You talk to your dad lately?” Chris asks. He and his dad are pretty tight. Chris usually spends his summers in California, where they surf and camp and climb mountains and do all that father-son bonding you see in Patagonia catalogs—probably even work in a little game of catch here and there.

“Not since Easter,” I tell him.

“He hasn’t called?”

Chris is an only child, the apple of everyone’s eyes, including his stepdad, Jay. Two sets of awesome parents for one kid. And Paloma, who dotes on him as well. Chris doesn’t know what it’s like to have to compete with a bubbly twin sister and younger, cuter models.