When Everything Is Blue(39)

I tell my sister happy birthday, and she does the same for me. Neither of us apologize or even bring up yesterday’s fight, but I can tell she feels bad about it, and I do too. I tug on her ponytail on her way out the door, and she elbows me in the gut—hard—before running off to catch a ride with her friend Lizbeth.

“You want me to take you down to the DMV after school?” Mom asks. “I can take off early today.”

“I was thinking to just have Chris take me.” I haven’t asked him, but I know he probably would.

“He’s a good friend,” she says with a soft smile. “I’m glad you have each other.”

“Me too.” I didn’t have too many friends before Chris. Other than my sister, I didn’t want to play with anyone else. My mom worried about me always being by myself. Like she was raising a future serial killer. Turns out I was different, maybe because I’m gay? I don’t know. More likely I’m just awkward as hell. I should tell my mom I’m gay—she’d be cool about it—but I’m pretty content to keep it to myself for a little while longer.

“You’re getting so big,” she says softly and brushes the hair out of my eyes. I haven’t done much with it lately, and I’m afraid it’s gone feral again.

“Only on the outside,” I assure her, and she laughs.

“On the inside too.” She nods, looking pleased with herself. I’m flattered that she thinks she did an all right job raising me. All my good qualities I attribute to her.

“Have a happy birthday, baby.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I lean down and kiss her cheek, then plop a piece of cake on a paper plate for Chris on my way out. He’s already waiting for me at the top of his driveway. I’m balancing all my stuff, including his slice of cake, so it isn’t until I hand it over that I notice the skateboard resting under his foot. He pops it up so I can see the underside of it.

“Happy birthday, Killer.” His voice is a little husky, like it gets whenever he’s feeling sentimental.

“Is that a Bruce Lee Fury deck?” I ask, astonished and pleased and unworthy all at once. He nods. “For me?” I ask, just to make sure because, wow.

“Yep.”

I drop my stuff and kneel down to inspect it closer. I didn’t think they made this deck anymore. One of my favorite skateboarders, Paul Rodriguez, used to ride one just like it. I’d always thought it looked sick, but I haven’t talked about it in ages. Chris must have remembered.

“Where’d you find it?” I ask him.

“The UK.”

“Must have cost a lot to ship it over.” Not to mention the Tensor trucks and Bones 100 wheels, which are my preferred brands for skateboard hardware.

“I’m sponsoring you.”

“For what?”

“The Plan Z tour. I want to see you compete.”

Ryanne mentioned it when we were surfing in Sebastian. I’d loosely considered entering, but then thought better of it. A lot of the entrants will be pro or semipro. Total badasses. I’ll look like a total goof compared to them.

“I don’t know, Boss. That’s some stiff competition.”

“You’re the competition, T. I want to watch you land a sick trick and then tell everyone you’re my biffle.”

“Biffle?

“Best Friend For Life. Tabs taught me that.”

I smile. “And if I land on my ass?”

He shrugs. “Then you’re just some kid who needed a ride.”

I smile, knowing he’d never do me like that. “I’ll think about it. I’m going to need to practice, though. You going to drain the pool for me?”

“I was thinking park might be your best bet.” Park is a mix between street, pool, and vert, short for vertical, or in other words, half-pipe—the big kahuna. Park is basically a little of everything, where style and originality count for more than being able to execute a standard book of tricks.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Chris drops the board and rolls it over so it nudges my ankle. I kick it up, like I’m He-Man picking up his Power Sword. I pull Chris into a one-handed bro-hug. “Thanks, Chris,” I utter into his still-damp-from-the-shower hair.

“You’re welcome, buddy.”

When we pull into the school parking lot twenty minutes later, I’m riding high. Maybe it’s because I basically ate sugar for breakfast, or maybe it’s because of my new kick-ass skateboard, or the fact that Chris said he’d drive me to the DMV after school. Life is looking up for Theodore Wooten III when we arrive at our lockers. But once there, I notice something’s off right away. The vibe is strange. Our friends are all weirdly quiet, with their eyes glued to their phones. And I have this sensation that everyone’s looking at me, only when I’m not looking at them. My paranoia must be reaching an all-time high.

“Something’s up,” I say to Chris and immediately search the halls for Dave. I’m not sure why, instinct maybe, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Chris says what’s up to Corbin, who barely acknowledges him, so Chris goes up to him. “What’s going on, man?”

Corbin’s shaggy, reddish-brown hair is mostly covering his face when he glances over at Chris, then me. He opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head. “No way, man. It’s not gonna be me.” He shuts his locker and hurries away in the opposite direction.