Birthday(25)

“Okay…” Morgan says. He picks his bike up and rolls it beside us. He rubs his nose and pulls his hood up even though it’s like seventy-five degrees. “Me neither.”

“You could tell me, you know,” I say. “If you are.”

My mind flits back to our kiss for a second. How it felt to have his lips on mine. He leaned in, ever so briefly. It felt like he wanted it as much as I did. He kissed me back. But now I can feel his guard’s up—that he’s pushing me away. I rub my ribs and flinch at the growing bruise. It hurts where I hit the ground, but the dull pain distracts from the embarrassment, or the tension, or whatever this is.

“I said I’m not,” Morgan says. His eyes dart to me and his normally full lips thin into a razor-sharp line. His nostrils flare and he lets out a quick breath, then turns to me. “I know I’m not, like, normal. Believe me, I know. But if I ever figure out the specific way I’m fucked up, I’ll tell you.”

Maybe I should say it, what I thought when I was behind him on the bike, about how things would be better if he were a girl, about how I can’t bear the thought of us falling in love with other people and growing apart. The first revelation seemed so perfect and important, and the second so sobering and desperate, and when I was on the ground, looking up, I knew in a flash that I had to kiss him. It felt like the universe was telling me to.

Night sounds rise up, texturing the space between us with the yearning cries of frogs, crickets, and the last of the season’s cicadas. I still don’t have my glasses. I can still see this blurry, feminine outline of him that just feels right.

I take in a breath, ready to say it again, better and more clearly. Morgan’s eyes drift to mine expectantly, but I can’t tell him that. I’ve already acted like enough of an asshole tonight. I can’t lose him. What if it’s just too weird? What if it’s a final straw, and then the last thread joining us together unspools? I let my breath flow out and aim for a casual shrug.

“I don’t think you’re fucked up,” I eventually say instead. I run my hands down my face. I don’t want to be drunk anymore or ever again. “This is so weird. I’m sorry. I’m never drinking again. Are we … are we still cool?”

Morgan takes another step back and for a minute I think, that’s it. This is how my fourteenth birthday begins and how our friendship ends.

“Neither of us has ever been cool,” Morgan says. I look up and his dim smile expands into a grin. “But we’re still friends if that’s what you mean.” The nausea recedes a little, but then he points a finger at me. “Just friends. Which means you sleep on the floor tonight.”

“And tomorrow we’ll pretend it never happened?”

“Right,” Morgan says. He turns his face away from the streetlight and rubs the bridge of his nose with his frayed sleeve. “I’ll lock the memory away in a big warehouse with everything else I want to forget. Have my top men take care of it.”

Half of me is relieved as I hear the words come out of his mouth. But another part, the part that still thinks Thebes is beautiful despite everything, screams that locking away this memory would be like destroying a part of us. But I’m not sure I have a choice.

“Any chance we could watch Indiana Jones instead of The Crow too?” I ask.

His arm snaps out and pops me in the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but I make a show of wincing all the same. He winks and sticks his tongue out.

“Don’t press your luck, birthday boy.”





fifteen





MORGAN



I wish we had a Sephora here, or even an Ulta. I read online that employees there are usually okay helping people like me. People like me. I’m still trying to figure out what that means. But no, apparently neither company saw the profit in setting up a franchise in a town that’s been dying since before I was born, so now I’m standing in probably one of the last Kmarts in the country, pretending to be fascinated by cat food while I watch the cosmetics section from the corner of my eye.

I could have gone to Walmart, I guess, but way more people I know shop there. Half their employees are either my classmates or teachers working nights and weekends—it’s the only other place to work around here, unless your family has a farm, or gas stations, or you want to drop out and work at the chicken processing plant. I mean, a lot of kids do it—Oak County’s junior and senior classes are way smaller than the freshman and sophomore classes. Around here, graduating from high school is a privilege.

Thankfully, the only person walking the brightly lit aisles of the Kmart is an older woman I don’t recognize. But still, I don’t want to take any chances. Maybe she goes to the same church as somebody from school. Maybe she’s somebody’s aunt. It’s too risky. I finger the wad of cash and Mom’s birthday letter in my hoodie pocket and feel my mouth go dry.

This year, Mom wrote for me to use the money to buy something fun for myself, but the thing is, not much is actually fun anymore. It’s hard to remember when it started, or maybe it’s been building up for a long time and I’ve tried not to think about it, but over the last year, more and more, everything just feels kind of … gray. Or, maybe not gray. My favorite band is Siouxsie and the Banshees and my favorite movie is The City of Lost Children, so gray can be fun.