Without really excusing herself, Lou shoves her chair backwards and strides over to her skateboard.
“Imma go for a ride. Thanks for the ice cream, Freak. I’ll pay you back later.” Tipping her frozen cup towards Freak in a kind of “cheers”, he returns the gesture, raising his plastic cup in the air. “Let’s meet up later when you come up with something that is actually rebellious and fun to do with our day off.” Dropping her board to the floor, Lou scoots out of the hut, her skater’s physic catching the eyes of a few guys as she leans into the corner, effortlessly balancing with her backpack slung over one shoulder and ice cream in her hand.
A tap tap on the table grabs my attention away from Lou, only to realize it’s just Andrew grinning like a kid who just got away with something truly devious… Though I do suppose that is exactly what he is at the moment.
“You do realize that you have officially doomed me, right?” Unbelievably, his smirk grows. “Quit smiling, you just made Lou fizzle out on our rebellious school-skipping day.” Nothing I say will make him any less proud of himself at this point, though, I’m sure.
“Rebellious?” His smile cracks, crazy and crooked. Pointing the white utensil at my face with meaning, Freak leans across the table. “We skipped class to walk a mile and eat ice cream.”
“You know very well that ice cream is my cocaine.” Leaning in towards the threatening plastic spoon, we both make an attempt at seriousness - thank god we aren’t theatre kids, we wouldn’t last a day with our telltale giveaways at emotions. Breaking, we return to our delicious treat. “What did you have in mind, exactly then, you rule-breaking thug.”
“You could pull your punches a little, man! I don’t steal, so I ain’t a thug. For a genius you sure are dumb.” Another large scoop meets his mouth, the ice part of the cream melting in the heat, causing him to slurp the remaining out of his little bowl. “I don’t know what I expected, I guess… Believe it or not, I’ve never cut class before.” I’m shocked (please sense the sarcasm). The guy may be into sports, but he is just as easily into his academics - and no matter how much Lou and I tease him, he’s pretty bright. Not as bright as me, but we can’t all be perfect. “But when other kids skip, they usually go to the movies or something. At least, that’s what I hear.”
“I don’t have the bank for that, dude. Besides, nothing good is out during the school year, all of the good releases wait until summer.”
“I know that! You asked.” He snorts as he scoots his loud chair away from him just by standing up, his long legs shoving it away from him as he heads to toss the now empty and dilapidated ice cream cup. “I don’t have any other good ideas,” when does he ever? “So unless you wanna do drugs - because that’s all high-schoolers do, apparently.”
“Nah, drugs cost money, too.” Freak chuckles as he gestures for my half-eaten ice cream. With a nod I stand up and we head for the door as he practically snorts up my leftovers. See what I meant about ice cream being like cocaine? Geesh.
After walking a ways in desperate search for a trash can (so Freak can puke since he ate two huge cups of ice cream on one of the hottest days of the year), I take notice that the air is so still, so stagnant that it really isn’t all that enjoyable to be in the sun. I’m sure Andrew would agree if he weren’t dry-heaving.
“Wanna go to the pier?” I offer, it’s usually extremely cool and the sound of the waves is enough to drown out some of my thoughts.
“Sure!” He burps, half-hunched over with a fist to his mouth. “Then you can hold me like in Titanic, and we can get married!” Sick and sarcastic, ever the Freak. “I thought you wanted to have fun.”
I roll my eyes so hard that it’s nearly audible. “No, I wanted to take my mind off of everything.” Freak’s dramatic posture changes as he straightens up. I can tell he is looking at me, probably concerned and curious like he always secretly is about everyone. I do my best to keep my eyes ahead of us on the sidewalk, but my peripheral allows too much and I see that he really is worried. A small sigh escapes.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he begins, “but you can.” Karen always tells me that talking is healthy… What does she know, though? She’s only been a receptionist at a doctor’s office… and a therapy center… And an old folks home… Jeez, I wish I didn’t think so much.
“My old man called, I guess.”
“Butthole.”
“Yeah.”
“What’d he want?” Even Andrew knows that if that d-bag calls, it’s not to check in, or to ask for pictures of his son, or say he is sorry or offer anything, it’s always to take.
“Me.” I don’t realize for a split second, but I no longer hear Freak’s footsteps in unison with mine. He stopped and stared, face red and angry. “He wants me, dude.” I clarify.
“No offense,” Andrew begins, marching back towards me, “but since when? The guy doesn't know a freaking thing about you, and now he wants to own you? What the he-”
“No, no I don't know since when or why. Probably so he can get money off taxes or some crap. I don't care.”
“So he just called out of the blue and threatened to take you?!” Exasperated, he starts tripping over his words like he does when he is… we'll say, passionate.
“Oh no, he's done something much better than that!” A smile of gritted teeth and frustration escapes my grasp. “He set up a freaking court case! He wants legal custody.”
“Oh.” Andrew quiets for a moment. “Well that's not so bad, why would the court let you go with him?”
“Money. The man is a douche but he has money. He could send me to college or whatever.” It sounds stupid, to not want a fancy life, but I would rather live under a bridge and starve to death than live a day with that man and his twenty-something-hooker-wife. “It doesn’t matter. In a few months I’m a legal adult, so even if they hand me over to him, the second I hit eighteen I’m booking it right back here.”
Freak asks the question I’d been dreading. “And… How do you plan on doing that? He won’t exactly buy you a plane ticket from Canada back to Cali.”
“I’ll have to get a job, I guess.” I shrug.
“You can’t work two jobs.” For a moment, my brain buffers. Two? How’d he…
“Lou and I know about the shelter man. We have for months.” Reading my mind, Freak continues. “That’s why you don’t hang out after school, that’s why when we call your old Jesus phone your mom says that she thought you were with us.” That whole thing was supposed to be a secret. Nobody was supposed to know how we were struggling… Really struggling. “So you haven’t told Karen?”
“No.”
“How do you do it then? Where does the money go?” We finally stop to face each other, the smell of the ocean alerts us that we are almost to the pier anyhow. “Please tell me you don’t do actual cocaine.”
“Of course not!” After a skeptical look from Freak, I relent. If he knows about the job, he might as well know all of it. “I cash in half of the check every month, the shelter is nice enough to write me two small checks instead of one… Medium one. The cash goes to my lunches.”
“And the rest?” God, this guy is nosey.
“Karen is usually so worn out by the end of the day, I get the mail, I’ll take one of the smaller bills and pay it.”
“Why haven’t you told anybody how… Well…”
“How poor I am? How tired my mom is? How short my showers have to be to keep the water bill low? Oh! How about how even with both of us working, we still skimp on groceries? It’s embarrassing, Freak. We’re a step away from homeless, and it’s embarrassing!” Guys are supposed to be tough, but ice cream and Netflix in a pair of pajamas sounds pretty good right about now. I siphon my tears up, not allowing them to escape. I never really cry when I’m sad, it’s more when the frustration kicks in. It greatly resembles the feeling of walking into a room and forgetting what you were going to say or do, you’re right there, the idea is right there, and you just can’t bring it forward. Karen and I have hit a real wall, and I know she’s taking the brunt of it.
Noticing my clear panic at the idea of… Well of just about everything, Freak changes the tone of the conversation. “Maybe when we get to the pier I can buy you some merch,” I cock my brows, asking without a voice, “y’know, to remember us by when you go leave to date your dad’s new wife!” Laughing and angry and flustered I fake a punch at him, and out of a friendly reflex he yanks my hood over my head and runs in front of me, laughing hysterically.
Before I get the chance to insult my moose of a friend (yes; moose, I’ve got Canada on the brain) my old flip phone buzzes in my pocket, distracting my smile as I remove my hood from my head.
Another buzz.
“Oh God.” Freak slows, noticing my absence from his side.
The little window on the front of the phone reads “Karen”.
“Oh God oh God!” She found me out! No… Maybe she is suspicious, so she is calling to see if I’d answer during class. Well to that I say haha, it’d be lunch time anyways Nonetheless I trust my gladiator senses and refrain from answering. Before I know it, Freak is at my side again looking at the same little “missed call” symbol on my phone.
“Smart.”
“I know.” With a smirk we continue on in the direction of the pier, with a sweaty palm I attempt to flatten out my hair from Freak’s hood assault. Subconsciously we both move further to the side of the road, hearing a car engine struggling up the hot asphalt behind us. Hit by a moron is not how I want to die.
With a whoop whoop our attention turns to see a police vehicle with flashing lights pull to the shoulder behind us, with a beat up blue Thunderbird skidded behind it. To both of our surprise, Lou came jumping out of the back of the cop car, completely abandoning her precious skateboard - something is really wrong.
“You ratted us out?!” Freak whines. Lou marches past him and places both of her hands firmly on my shoulders, her hair is stringy with sweat and her eyes are rubbed pink… Lou was crying? Panting, she swallows hard.
“What?” I finally ask, my head in a frenzy trying to put the pieces together.
“Your mom,” she breathes, and that’s when I see the officer slowly emerging, and Aunt Avril talking frantically on her phone in the driver’s seat of her car. My heart catapults to the bottom of my stomach. “It’s your mom.”
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