the Pali lookout and film it from the bottom. I hope it explodes. That would be so cool. This chick, Lisa, already said she’d get naked.” He drools a little and catches it with his hand. “It’s gonna be... audacious!” He sticks out his tongue and makes rock and roll hand signs out to his sides. He stands above me on the bed. Fuck, it’s so weird. I remember him talking about this same movie when we were kids.
“When’s that Tammy girl coming?”
Clay jumps off the bed to the floor. “Tomorrow, I think. She’s from here.” He takes a cricket out of a small cardboard box and throws it into the aquarium.”
“Oh.” I roll over face down. I hate her already.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The phone rings. The eyes of a frog-shaped phone on Clay’s shelf light up, and the ring sounds like a ribbit. I remember it from years ago and always wanted one ‘cause he made it seem cool.
He ignores the frog phone and stares at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hammerhead! Phone!” his mom calls from the other room.
He walks to his phone, sits on the floor with his back to me, and picks it up. He holds it gently, like it’s fragile, close to his face. “Hey…just hanging out.” He lowers his voice. “What are you talking about? I am too. Yes, I can’t wait. I am not. Yeah. I’ll pick you up. No, I want to. Did you tell Susan the flight? OK, me too. Yeah! Me too. Why are you acting like this? What? No. I’m not mad. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up quickly.
That was undeniably the sound of a boy talking to his girlfriend. There’s no other way to interpret it. I feel sick. I think this is what betrayal feels like. I want to cry, but I can’t in front of him. He’ll think I’m a pussy.
He looks at me defensively, his chest out, like I’m just one of his surfing brahs hanging out in his room and he’s afraid I’m gonna make fun of him for taking shit from his girlfriend. “What?”
“You sound different when you talk to her. Kinda fake. Like a kiss-ass.”
“Fuck you. I already have one bitch nagging me.”
“Fuck you, asshole. You don’t have to be a dick.”
“Then don’t be such an annoying little shit.”
I get up off the bed, and throw his pot canister across the room as hard as I can.
He jumps up, and slams me into the wall. He shoves my shoulders up against a poster of a guy surfing a huge wave.
He stares into my eyes. His face is red and his eyes are watery. I can feel his breath on my face. What if he’s a psychopath? I picture him methodically cleaning up my guts.
The veins in his temples are pulsing. A layer of sweat coats his skin. His eyes look like they’re going to pop out. “Fuck you,” he whispers. “Don’t do this to me.” He drops his head and stares at the ground. His face softens and his eyes fill with tears. Tiny hairs on his arms stand up and he starts sobbing. He squeezes me close and tight to his body. He rubs his nose and chin and cheeks against mine. The stubble on his chin rubs against my lips.
I push back into him, trying to feel all the resistance I can, the pressure of him on my body. He rubs his mouth along my cheek and across my lips. He kisses me and sticks his tongue in my mouth. A rush of adrenaline surges through
“When’s that Tammy girl coming?”
Clay jumps off the bed to the floor. “Tomorrow, I think. She’s from here.” He takes a cricket out of a small cardboard box and throws it into the aquarium.”
“Oh.” I roll over face down. I hate her already.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The phone rings. The eyes of a frog-shaped phone on Clay’s shelf light up, and the ring sounds like a ribbit. I remember it from years ago and always wanted one ‘cause he made it seem cool.
He ignores the frog phone and stares at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hammerhead! Phone!” his mom calls from the other room.
He walks to his phone, sits on the floor with his back to me, and picks it up. He holds it gently, like it’s fragile, close to his face. “Hey…just hanging out.” He lowers his voice. “What are you talking about? I am too. Yes, I can’t wait. I am not. Yeah. I’ll pick you up. No, I want to. Did you tell Susan the flight? OK, me too. Yeah! Me too. Why are you acting like this? What? No. I’m not mad. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up quickly.
That was undeniably the sound of a boy talking to his girlfriend. There’s no other way to interpret it. I feel sick. I think this is what betrayal feels like. I want to cry, but I can’t in front of him. He’ll think I’m a pussy.
He looks at me defensively, his chest out, like I’m just one of his surfing brahs hanging out in his room and he’s afraid I’m gonna make fun of him for taking shit from his girlfriend. “What?”
“You sound different when you talk to her. Kinda fake. Like a kiss-ass.”
“Fuck you. I already have one bitch nagging me.”
“Fuck you, asshole. You don’t have to be a dick.”
“Then don’t be such an annoying little shit.”
I get up off the bed, and throw his pot canister across the room as hard as I can.
He jumps up, and slams me into the wall. He shoves my shoulders up against a poster of a guy surfing a huge wave.
He stares into my eyes. His face is red and his eyes are watery. I can feel his breath on my face. What if he’s a psychopath? I picture him methodically cleaning up my guts.
The veins in his temples are pulsing. A layer of sweat coats his skin. His eyes look like they’re going to pop out. “Fuck you,” he whispers. “Don’t do this to me.” He drops his head and stares at the ground. His face softens and his eyes fill with tears. Tiny hairs on his arms stand up and he starts sobbing. He squeezes me close and tight to his body. He rubs his nose and chin and cheeks against mine. The stubble on his chin rubs against my lips.
I push back into him, trying to feel all the resistance I can, the pressure of him on my body. He rubs his mouth along my cheek and across my lips. He kisses me and sticks his tongue in my mouth. A rush of adrenaline surges through
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