he first thing I do when I wake up is check my phone. Text from Ricky, sent at 3 a.m.: Check fb. List. My heart takes a wild gallop as I untangle from my sheets and head to the computer. My brain is fried and I need some serious caffeine. At least my parents will have a pot of coffee brewing since they’re probably hung over, along with my sister.
I read Ricky’s message. The next options are:
Riding bikes off a jump into a nearby pond or lake
Playing chicken in traffic
Skiing behind a car
Rooftop jump
Underwater breath-holding (weighted down for 3 minutes)
I want to type “WTF?” because these seem insane. The bridge was extreme enough, do we really have to top that? And logistically, we don’t all have bikes and skis, so how in the hell can we do those? And biologically, how can we hold our breath for three minutes? You die after that long. I’d panic before I hit thirty seconds.
I log off and scramble to the shower, hoping it will clear my head. It doesn’t, but seeing that Ginny’s door is still closed makes me happy. Bet she has a raging headache. I stomp extra loud past her room and head downstairs.
My parents are, indeed, huddled at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee between them. Dad reads the paper while Mom stares at nothing. Both are in their robes, not dressed for work. Neither seems to notice me when I reach between them and fill a travel mug. I look at the calendar to be sure it’s Friday and not Saturday. Maybe they’re taking the day off? Maybe they both quit their jobs? Maybe they’re not really my parents and when I come home tonight they’ll have moved on and my real parents will be here? Hopefully they’ll take Ginny with them. I grab a cereal bar and head out the door.
John’s sitting on his front porch when I roll up. “Man, you look like hell,” he says.
I chew on the bar and nod. “I know. Ginny came home last night, so I didn’t get to bed until late. Then Ricky was all messaging me.”
“What’s going on? He hasn’t sent me anything.” John crouches to be at my face, and I feel bad waving him off.
“Nope. I’m not saying jack until we’re all together. I don’t know what’s up, because he wasn’t exactly clear.” I know that’s a half lie, but I’m too groggy for anything else.
“But what’d he say? Did we get the list? The check? What’s the deal with Trevor?”
I pull a hand over my face, and it only makes me feel more tired. “I don’t know.”
John accepts this like he accepts everything else, with a nod. Maybe Ricky was right? Maybe John needs my guidance on this? But right now he’s like a friggin’ giraffe next to me, and I feel like a terrible zookeeper.
“Mornin’, boys.” Ricky’s all smiles and doesn’t look like he barely slept last night. I feel like punching him so his eyes are as dark as mine. Or maybe for other reasons, too.
We nod, but I refuse to speak. I’m supporting John on this. He wants the list.
“So here it is.” Ricky pulls three sheets of paper from his pocket and hands one to each of us. It’s a printout of the message. John reads and I watch his face.
He goes white.
“These are crazy. I don’t ski, and with the season coming, I really shouldn’t do half of these.” John looks up.
Ricky asks, “But what’s more important?”
I think he means for the question to be rhetorical, but John clears his throat. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is agreeing to something and then not seeing it through.”
John nods. “I know, but these are scary, and really dangerous. Come on. You have to understand where I’m coming from.”
Ricky squeezes his shoulder. “I do. But you can’t tell me the car surfing and the jump weren’t dangerous? You want this.”
John chews on his lip and then looks over at me. I stare at the list and ignore him.
“Read those again and number them. You know, which ones you’d most like to do as number one, and so on. We’ll decide at lunch. All right?”
John
I read Ricky’s message. The next options are:
Riding bikes off a jump into a nearby pond or lake
Playing chicken in traffic
Skiing behind a car
Rooftop jump
Underwater breath-holding (weighted down for 3 minutes)
I want to type “WTF?” because these seem insane. The bridge was extreme enough, do we really have to top that? And logistically, we don’t all have bikes and skis, so how in the hell can we do those? And biologically, how can we hold our breath for three minutes? You die after that long. I’d panic before I hit thirty seconds.
I log off and scramble to the shower, hoping it will clear my head. It doesn’t, but seeing that Ginny’s door is still closed makes me happy. Bet she has a raging headache. I stomp extra loud past her room and head downstairs.
My parents are, indeed, huddled at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee between them. Dad reads the paper while Mom stares at nothing. Both are in their robes, not dressed for work. Neither seems to notice me when I reach between them and fill a travel mug. I look at the calendar to be sure it’s Friday and not Saturday. Maybe they’re taking the day off? Maybe they both quit their jobs? Maybe they’re not really my parents and when I come home tonight they’ll have moved on and my real parents will be here? Hopefully they’ll take Ginny with them. I grab a cereal bar and head out the door.
John’s sitting on his front porch when I roll up. “Man, you look like hell,” he says.
I chew on the bar and nod. “I know. Ginny came home last night, so I didn’t get to bed until late. Then Ricky was all messaging me.”
“What’s going on? He hasn’t sent me anything.” John crouches to be at my face, and I feel bad waving him off.
“Nope. I’m not saying jack until we’re all together. I don’t know what’s up, because he wasn’t exactly clear.” I know that’s a half lie, but I’m too groggy for anything else.
“But what’d he say? Did we get the list? The check? What’s the deal with Trevor?”
I pull a hand over my face, and it only makes me feel more tired. “I don’t know.”
John accepts this like he accepts everything else, with a nod. Maybe Ricky was right? Maybe John needs my guidance on this? But right now he’s like a friggin’ giraffe next to me, and I feel like a terrible zookeeper.
“Mornin’, boys.” Ricky’s all smiles and doesn’t look like he barely slept last night. I feel like punching him so his eyes are as dark as mine. Or maybe for other reasons, too.
We nod, but I refuse to speak. I’m supporting John on this. He wants the list.
“So here it is.” Ricky pulls three sheets of paper from his pocket and hands one to each of us. It’s a printout of the message. John reads and I watch his face.
He goes white.
“These are crazy. I don’t ski, and with the season coming, I really shouldn’t do half of these.” John looks up.
Ricky asks, “But what’s more important?”
I think he means for the question to be rhetorical, but John clears his throat. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is agreeing to something and then not seeing it through.”
John nods. “I know, but these are scary, and really dangerous. Come on. You have to understand where I’m coming from.”
Ricky squeezes his shoulder. “I do. But you can’t tell me the car surfing and the jump weren’t dangerous? You want this.”
John chews on his lip and then looks over at me. I stare at the list and ignore him.
“Read those again and number them. You know, which ones you’d most like to do as number one, and so on. We’ll decide at lunch. All right?”
John
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