When Everything Is Blue(5)

“I don’t know, Boss. School starts on Monday.”

“Whaaat?” he whines and I shrug like What can I do about it? “Come on, T. I really want you to come with me. We haven’t hung out all summer.”

“I know, but….” I drift off, not knowing how to finish that thought without telling him the real reason—it’s too damn hard to be constantly tempted with something you can’t have.

“I’ll give you Lady Macbeth.” Chris grins slyly, sweetening the pot. Lady Macbeth is my favorite of his collection, a longboard made by a local guy named Casper. We named her that because we’re convinced she’s suicidal. On good days that board can sail. On bad ones she drops me on my ass. I can relate to her temperament.

“I always get Lady Macbeth.”

“To have.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, accentuating the swell of his biceps and the meat of his pecs.

Chris is always giving me stuff. Before I got too tall, he used to give me his old clothes. My bike used to be his, too, and a couple of my skateboards. He’s too generous, especially to me.

“That board’s worth, like, $500. Not including sentimental value.”

“It’s practically yours anyway. I never ride it.”

“So you’re telling me you want me to store it in my garage,” I say to mess with him. I don’t want him to think I’m using him for his stuff, part of why I started working this summer. To give back.

“No,” he says, getting a little flustered. It doesn’t happen often, but I do enjoy seeing Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected squirm. “You can still store it here. You probably should. Don’t want to make the others jealous.”

“Ha,” I say as my eyes land on the ridgeline of his collarbone and the gold chain that rests there with a shark’s tooth attached. I found it way back when on the beach and gave it to him—biggest tooth we’d ever seen. Chris had it made into a necklace. The tooth belongs to a great white, he always tells people when they ask, the same shark that chomps on surfers up and down the coast. Not us, though. By wearing its tooth, it shows the sharks we’re one of them. Like most surfers, Chris is a bit superstitious.

I turn away so he won’t see my face and pretend to inspect Lady Macbeth. “She’s pretty dinged up, though.”

“You little shit.” He shoves me lightly. “You’re the one who dinged her.”

I smile. He’s so protective of his boards. “If I take her off your hands, she might not answer to you anymore.”

“She never did. I’d have sold her if it weren’t for you.” He lays his hand on the board’s edge and gives her an affectionate little squeeze. His ruddy golden hand with his sun-bleached nails, next to mine, so close they’re practically touching. Chris is always just an inch too far away.

“So, you’ll come to Sebastian with me?”

Is it my imagination, or is there some unspoken plea in his voice? I don’t know how I’m going to survive the weekend with him, much less my entire sophomore year. Lots of cold showers. But like most things with Chris, I don’t have the willpower to say no.

“Yeah, I’ll come. But I get shotgun.” I always get shotgun unless there’s a girl in the car, Hopefully he’s not bringing a girl with us.

“Damn, Theo, I go away for a summer and you’ve turned into a shark.”

I shake my head and nudge him lightly with my shoulder, my bare skin brushing against his. I glance over, and even though I can’t see them in this light, I know that’s where he collects his freckles, on the tops of his shoulders. I’ve spent way too much time memorizing them, but it’s partly his fault for never wearing a damn shirt.

“You know you always get what you want in the end,” I tell him. As if there was ever a question.

He smiles with an arrogance that only adds to his appeal. “Don’t make me work too hard.”

That deep, gravelly voice gets me every time. Feels like my heart is being rubbed over a cheese grater. I remind myself to breathe, then make up an excuse about something I need to do at home and walk back out of the shed with his fumes still in my nostrils and his voice humming in my head.

Our summer apart hasn’t changed a thing. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. I’m still hopelessly infatuated with my best friend.

My straight best friend.





Am I Being Punked?


ON SATURDAY we load up Chris’s Volvo station wagon in the purple light of predawn and head north on A1A, which means the trip will take a little longer, but the views are prettier and we can watch the sun come up over the water. Chris has me check Surfline on the way to see what the waves look like. The man-made jetty at Sebastian Inlet creates perfect swells on a good day, great for cutbacks and aerial tricks. When a storm blows through, it’s totally rocking, and all the surf rats congregate in a few tiny pockets of surf. This weekend it shouldn’t be too crowded, though, which is how I prefer it. People, ugh. Exhausting.

“Three to five feet, rolling. Low tide’s at 7:00 p.m.,” I tell him.

“Perfect for the longboard.”

“Yeah, not too shabby.”

“You surf much this summer?”

“Eh, mostly skateboarded. You?”

“Had a couple good days up at this place called Salt Creek. Water’s pretty there, but so cold. Had to wear a wet suit.”