8. age twelve #2
Without so much as introducing me to the new guy, or even acknowledging my existence, Atlas tore into his house. The other boys followed, and I spent an embarrassing amount of time, sitting on the steps and staring at the ajar doorway.
They were going to come back, right? Or was I supposed to follow them?
“Vi!”
I startled and looked to the fence line. Phoebe was sprawled out on her stomach, reading a book. Nat was on her back, propped on her elbows and squinting in my direction.
“What?” I yelled, admittedly snappy. If Nat screamed never mind! back at me, I wouldn’t have held it against her. Instead, she made an ‘O’ shape with her fingers and held it loosely against her forehead. It was a code we’d come up with years ago, when Mom and Dad’s fighting first got bad.
‘O’ shape meant: are you okay?
Tapping your chin meant yes.
Tapping your nose meant no.
“I’m fine!” I yelled. I wasn’t in the mood to do our secret signals. My best friend had just ditched me, and it wasn’t like Nat could fix it.
She tapped her nose twice, silently calling me out.
I clambered to my feet. I’d go back home and play the ukulele. I’d get good enough that I’d go on one of the singing competitions, play my music, and get famous. Then, when Atlas was desperate to hang out with me, I’d tell him I was too busy. I’d have famous friends by then, and he’d be too—
“Vi!” Nat shouted again. I couldn’t see her face well from here, but I imagined she was giving me a sympathetic frown. “Go get your bikini. Come tan with us!”
She was definitely pitying me, but I wasn’t too proud to take the offer.
Nat rarely invited me to hang out with her and Phoebe, so I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
Maybe I could use this to redeem myself.
I could show her I’d grown up in the past year, and that if she wanted to talk about her geriatric boyfriend, I wouldn’t make it weird.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked back to Atlas’s house, wearing my turquoise bikini with a thick beach towel wrapped under my armpits.
It was only June, but it was hot enough I could feel the sun reflecting off my sweaty shoulders.
I wasn’t really a fan of sunbathing, if I was honest. It was boring, and after approximately five minutes, I knew I’d feel like a burnt strip of bacon.
Today was going to be different though. I’d already decided.
Part of getting older, hopefully, was gaining the patience to lay outside and absorb skin cancer for at least an hour straight.
Or however long Nat and Phoebe planned to stay out here.
They’d gotten a head-start, so hopefully they’d get bored before I did.
The Blake house was quiet. The layout was similar to ours, but it was nicer.
Where we had simple countertops and dated carpet (Mom’s words, not mine), the Blake family had all hardwood floors and an island counter with waterfall granite.
Their kitchen appliances were new and shiny.
They’d upgraded in the last couple years, and according to Mom, it made all the difference!
Maybe we should look into upgrading this summer…
I didn’t think the main difference was the fancy floors and counters though.
It was the vibrant splashes of color throughout their home that made it nicer.
The living room had a blue couch and green throw pillows.
Yellow and orange artwork hung in the kitchen with quirky chicken sculptures above the cabinets.
Our home was black and white and grey. It looked dead in comparison to their explosion of color.
I paused at the doorway to their basement. Atlas and his friends were probably down there, playing video games in his room. I couldn’t hear anything. Too suspiciously quiet for three boys.
I considered going down to join them, but I was inexplicably nervous. Atlas had been my best friend way longer than he’d known Ryan. I was pretty sure he didn’t even know the other guy. And still, a sourness in my stomach warned he didn’t want me to bother them.
Whatever. Let them play their stupid games.
I lifted my chin and marched to the backyard, ready to sunbathe and finally get an invite into Nat and Phoebe’s club. Instead, I barely made it onto the back porch when they came barreling toward me.
“I’m telling Mom!” Phoebe shouted over her shoulder.
I blinked in surprise as they reached me. They were both soaked, their hair and bikinis drenched through.
“What—”
Before I could ask the question, the answer came from around the corner of the house. Three boys with water guns, spraying each other and laughing like hyenas.
“You’re idiots!” Phoebe screamed at them.
“Come on, let’s just go inside.” Nat looped her elbow through Phoebe’s and tugged her toward the sliding door. Then, to me, she added, “They’re being jerks, Vi. You should come inside.”
She was right, of course. The boys were riled up and I had no interest in joining this game, particularly because I doubted they’d have a water gun for me.
If I knew what was good for me, I would’ve turned right around and followed them inside.
It would’ve earned me a few points with Nat too. A solidarity of sorts.