“That doesn’t sound like fun.” Guess that was better than him saying something he wasn’t good at didn’t exist. “If that’s all.” He turned back around and gestured to the door.
“This is our last year of high school,” I continued. “So, I guess, fine. Be the insufferable, annoying, smug asshole you are—”
“With pleasure.” He smiled serenely.
“Maybe you could try something different in college? Maybe you don’t think there’s room for improvement, but.” I looked around, gestured to indicate this small room we were in. “Then that means this is it. All you are, all you can be.”
See, this was a reason I’m good at being a captain. I could motivate people. Zach frowned at the thought that his greatest years were behind him.
“You’ve reached your limit,” I continued. “You can’t tell me you’ve peaked, can you? Inhigh school. Is the great Zach Ahmad the kind of guy who peaks in high school?”
He shook his head, as if to clear my words from it. “I see what you’re doing.”
“Even if you’re better than everyone else,” I continued gravely. “You’re not better than the man you could be.” I thought about repeating the last part again for effect but probably shouldn’t push my luck.
He considered me intently for several moments. Almost thought I had him. “Profound,” he responded dryly. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”
“Well—” A while. “Wait, no. You can’t distract me. There’s nothing wrong with actually caring about something,” I insisted. “If you were only willing to try, you could probably change the world or something.” For better or for worse. Hope he decided on better.
“Okay,” he said. Better than saying just his presence in the world every day had already changed it for the better.
Still though. “That’s all?”
He sat there and almost looked a little unsure. He shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” He started to turn back around to the desk but then stopped and sighed. “I have thought about it, actually,” he admitted quietly. “How to make the jump from an awesome big fish in a small pond to swimming in a gigantic, impressive ocean, full of things I’ve never seen, other species. I just.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t generally fail.” Sly, like an afterthought, he added, “I’m not like you.”
“Asshole.” There wasn’t anything I could throw at him, so I imagined throwing stuff at him.
“The thought of expending actual effort and not succeeding? It’s a little terrifying.” Guess that was too much realness because he continued with, “But I don’t want to be Peter Pan either.” The boy who never grew up. “Green tights? No, thank you.”
“Actually, I agree on that.” Any tights seemed like too much tights. But if you had to have tights for some reason? No green.
Hitting his Serious Conversations with Luke quota for the next 83 years, we stopped discussing important stuff or Peter Pan. I didn’t leave though. I hung around and distracted him for a while. Pringles came in smaller sizes than the big can now, so Zach and I got one of every flavor and taste tested them. We bothered his cousins who were working and then he pointed me in the right direction with some homework.
Unlike Ted, I didn’t think Zach and I were going to lose touch after high school. He was one of my terrible friends and he would be for life, unless he decided to stop being terrible. That would be cool. If he did decide to change the world, I could be around pointing out that being not evil was better than being evil.
16. Moving on
It’s healthy. And occasionally, really, really stupid.
Ryan
When it came to Ryan Miller and his dear old Dad, yeah, we were child and parent. Our basic roles. But when it was only him and me, there was a lot of other stuff too. One of us had to cook and the other cleaned. When one of us was busy, the other person made sure everything else ran smoothly. Wasn’t a tug of war, a balance maybe.
When he was introducing something new, someone, he was the one to check in, make sure things were okay. When something went wrong in his life, it was my turn to check on him.
Dad was in the barn, moving some hay. Not what I’d want to do after a day at work. Seemed like he just wanted something to keep him busy. I watched him for a moment. We were going to have a horse or two here soon, and there was a guy who wanted to use the space for overflow.
“Are you okay?” I asked Dad.
“That’s what I’m supposed to be asking you,” he spoke while carrying one bale into the stable. He set it down and didn’t move to get another or do something else, so I stepped in there too.
“I wasn’t dating her.” My nose wrinkled without me being able to help it, but my heart wasn’t in it. That would be weird if my heart was in my nose. Still. “Ew, dating a girl,” I tried wanly.
He sat on the square of hay, looking at me seriously. “I’m so sorry.” The force of genuine parental affection and regret threatened to knock me over, but I managed to hold on and look back at him. “This is the last thing I wanted to happen.”
“So how did it work out like that anyway?” I muttered bitterly and then I felt like a terrible person immediately after when Dad hung his head.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I really thought... Well, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
