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Vann frowns. “You wanna start your own gaming company?”
I stop putting on my shirt and look at him. “Yeah. Why?”
He chews on that for a second as he pulls on his shorts the rest of the way. “Nothing. Just you never told me that.”
“Oh. Didn’t I, though? I figured it’s obvious. I’m a huge gamer with loads of ideas, and—”
“Not that obvious.”
“Hmm.”
The dreaded awkward silences falls on us again. Vann finishes changing, then heads off without another word. I’m still pulling on my shoes, and as he goes, I can’t help but watch him and fume. Aren’t we supposed to be friends? Isn’t that the whole thing I was trying to tell him at the park that one day? I didn’t say: Let’s be super awkward weirdos from now on who can’t keep a simple-ass conversation going for longer than ten seconds.
This is the exact opposite of what I wanted between us.
And thus begins the 74th Annual Desperation Games: “Do you wanna eat lunch together?” I cheerily ask him after class as we’re changing back into our clothes. I know, it isn’t the most ideal way to communicate to him, when we’re half-dressed and I can barely peel my eyes off his bare chest where I put so many kisses, where I laid my head on for so many nights to sleep. But it’s now or never. If I don’t see him at lunch, I might miss him for the rest of the day, and then when we go our separate ways home, the only way I’ll be able to talk to him for the next six or so days is on the phone.
Vann, gripping his shirt he was about to put on, glowers suddenly. When he looks at me, there is a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Are you and I really going to keep pretending this whole ‘friendship’ thing isn’t a total joke?”
His words are a sledgehammer to my chest. “I’m trying here.”
“What are we ‘trying’ to do, exactly? Not talk to each other? Not spend any time together? Not share our lives with each other anymore?” He pulls his shirt over his head and yanks it down in one fast movement. “Because the way we’re treating each other sure doesn’t feel like any friendship I’ve ever had.”
The old emotions are boiling up again at once. We’re back at the Halloween party, and all I feel is everyone’s eyes on me. “We both knew this wouldn’t be easy …”
“You’re damned right. It’s difficult. Like running a marathon with your shoes tied together.”
“I just feel like … taking a step back is the only way we can work out our personal issues.”
“Personal issues?” He rolls his eyes. “What issues? You mean my anger? How ‘super scary’ I am?” He uses air quotes on “super scary”—as well as a very unappreciated mocking tone. “I love you, Toby, but grow up. The world’s a whole lot bigger than Spruce, and most people out there are ten times harsher or scarier than I’ve ever been to anyone in this town—Hoyt included. If you spent a second of time outside of the bubble of this ‘safe little place’, you’d see how the world’s really like. It’s raw and honest. And just like honesty, it’s rough around the edges and can cut you when you handle it wrong. I’m sorry that I’m made of the stuff that comes from the world outside this small hick town, but that’s who I am.”
I know he’s talking reason. I know he’s trying to connect to me. I know he even started this whole spiel with “I love you”. Yet all I seem to have heard is “safe little place” and “small hick town” and “grow up”.
He’s never spoken to me in that tone of voice before.
I deliver my next words to the floor. “Vann, I know I … might seem naïve to you. Or sheltered. I know I haven’t seen the world out there, but I—” The bell rings. Neither of us care. “—but I’m a kind person. I try to be. And I don’t think my compassion makes me weak. I don’t think my … my limited perspective makes me less of an adult than you. I don’t think it means I have to grow up. It just makes my definition of the world … different than yours.”
“Different. Yeah, okay.” He shuts his locker with a sigh. Then, he coolly finishes: “Whenever you decide what your definition of ‘friendship’ is, go ahead and let me know. Until then, just put me out of my misery and end this game we’re playing.”
I swallow hard, my eyes on Vann’s. I always saw his dark eyes as beautiful, soulful, and deep. But right now, they seem more like a void in space. Like an abyss with no knowable bottom. And on the tip of my tongue sits the words: I love you, too. At the end of my fingertips, the memory of his skin still lives, pulsating with need, a touch I crave so desperately right now. I’m floating off the ground with disbelief. Tears are welling behind my eyes. An apology for everything that’s happened, whether it’s my fault or not, is being stubbornly held back behind a wall of strength.
