When Everything Is Blue(38)

“She didn’t mean it,” Chris says.

“Yeah, she did, but that’s all right. I’m sure Tabs would like for me to be more like you.”

“How’s that?” Chris asks, perplexed.

“You know, friendly, outgoing, popular. Whatever it is you do to get you in the cool club.”

“I’m in the cool club?” Chris asks.

I roll my eyes at his presumed ignorance. “Obviously.”

“Then you must be in it too.”

I shake my head. “I’m on the fringe. They only put up with me for your sake.”

Chris squints at me. “You really believe that?”

“Um, yeah.”

I take advantage of his thoughtful expression to steal the ball and score on him. We play like that for a while. I become increasingly aware of Chris’s body when he happens to brush up against me while trying to get the ball or make a run. The slick swish of skin against skin and the heat that radiates off him like a furnace, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck and sending a shiver down my spine. The smell of his sweat and the way it beads up on all that exposed honey brown skin like water droplets on a waxed car.

I’m about to go for a three-pointer when Chris bats the ball out of my hands. We both go running for it and end up getting tripped up on each other’s ankles. I land on the concrete and Chris lands in the grass. My shoulder burns like I just ate it in skateboarding.

“Shit, T, sorry about that.” Chris lends me his hand and pulls me up. He turns me around to check out my raspberry and brush off whatever dirt and bits of gravel are stuck in it. Meanwhile, a car rolls up to the curb. The passenger window goes down, and I see Dave in the driver’s seat. I’m mildly irritated that he keeps coming by here unannounced. He slows to a stop in front of Chris’s driveway. I jog toward his car and lean into the passenger side, hoping I can get him to move along before shit gets weird.

“Hey, Theo,” Dave says with a smile that seems way forced.

“’Sup, Dave?”

Dave makes a point of looking over my shoulder to leer at Chris. “You need a third to make this a roast beef sandwich?”

I glance back at Chris, who’s gripping the basketball with Herculean strength, the tendons in his wrists standing out, biceps bulging, face stormy and scowling.

“Probably not a good idea.”

Dave shakes his head. “How can I even compete with that?”

I sigh, feeling guilty and confused and sorry for Dave in that he wants more than I can give him, and I, of all people, should know how shitty that feels.

“Listen, Dave.” I run my hand through my hair, remembering when he cut it for me and taught me to shave, and then, how to give a proper blowjob. That was nice of him, and I hope after all this we can still be friends, because I do like hanging out with him. “You were right. My heart’s just not in it. I don’t want to play games or lead you on.”

“Are you saying you’re done with me?” Dave asks. The smile is still there, but it looks frozen, covering up something else. He’s hurt, probably a little pissed too. Dave moistens his lips, and for a moment I think maybe I’m making a mistake. Dave was good at making me forget about Chris, if only for a short amount of time.

But I’m not going to be like my dad and take what I want because I want it and not think about how it might affect the other person.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“That’s too bad.” He sighs. “I liked you, Theo. Despite your bullshit, I really did.” Dave shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me, turns away, and focuses on the road. “Ah well. Adios, Papi.”

I back away from his car just as he peels off down the road, which is kind of juvenile but not that surprising. My first breakup, I reflect. I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of what I’ve just done, hoping Dave gets over it in a day or two and we can go back to being friends. When I come back up the driveway, Chris is bouncing the ball with a little too much force for it to be casual. He also won’t look at me.

“What was that about?” he asks tightly.

“You don’t want to know,” I tell him, which is the truth.

Chris palms the ball in one hand, presses it gently against my chest, gazes up at me with his warm brown eyes. He looks a little sad, or maybe it’s just the way I’m feeling. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

We finish the game, and I end up winning because Chris is distracted and grumpy. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but I’m afraid of what I might uncover. I fantasize about just pinning him against the wall with my bare chest against his and kissing him, not a sweet kiss either, but really jamming my tongue in his mouth and bucking my hips against him to make it real for him and find out once and for all if it’s just my imagination or if he’s feeling it too. There’s a moment where we’re standing in the shade of his house, drinking down our Gatorades, when I have the opportunity, but when I glance over at Chris, he’s lost in thought, which makes me think about all there is to lose, and like a punk, I chicken out.





WTF, Part 2


MY MOM greets my sister and me on the morning of our birthday with a Puerto Rican birthday cake, which is like a pound cake drenched in rum with a meringue topping, garnished with strawberries. She started making it for us after my dad and her divorced. I suppose living with an alcoholic, she took every precaution.