for in a movement so quick, it didn’t register at first. He pressed the lever to unleash the blade, butterfly quick. “We don’t want trouble. We liked Randolf, and he taught us some Ways.”
Ways. The survival skills of Vagabonds— the secrets and shortcuts that were gifts more valuable than food on the Tracks. Randolf gave us more than Ways though. He gave us friendship, and I missed him.
Xavi kept moving past those memories though, and focused on Roderigo. “We will give you his tent and your blade back, but the girl keeps the pack. The tent will be her gift to you, and it’s generous. Had you not left Randolf, then all of it would have been yours, but you left him. He told us about you— what you did. And, for the record, he didn’t hold what happened against you.”
“Girly. You got ditched!” Roderigo laughed. The ice in the tone put me on alert, and my back ached in the rigidity fear put there. Xavi was my protection against men like him. Xavi was gone.
“No. Going to meet him later at the 12 th .”
“The 12 th ?”
“Yes.”
“On the wrong line? You sure about that?”
The lie was quick and not thought out. The 12 th Colony was in the opposite direction. “Not for long,” I backtracked. “Got a little sidetracked. There was some Militia inspections a bit back, and I had to redirect. Then I ran into this guy.” I thumbed in the flea’s direction. At least his persistence in following turned into something useful, and it reminded Roderigo I wasn’t alone.
The old man took in the boy’s body. He wasn’t as tall as Xavi, but he was just as thick. He didn’t look like someone to mess with. “I wish I could believe you, but I saw Xavi with the blonde just yesterday.”
The information pricked my eyes as if ants were nibbling at the pupils, but I held the tears back. “A boy’s got to sew his oats somehow.” I didn’t even know what the phrase meant, but it seemed to fit. Flippant. Carefree. Two things I needed to embody if I was going to get through the next few minutes, and my attempt made Roderigo laugh in a way that sounded salty and gargled.
“You’ve never forked? I don’t believe you!” Celeste’s eyes were saucer-wide, dark orbs. They matched her brown dreads that fell in cascades of knots and dirt down her slender back. A bandana, blue on red, was tied to her neck, and, as we approached the tunnel, she pulled it up over her nose. It reminded me to do the same. Xavi called it a skank when he tied the red and purple bandana around my neck that first summer. He told me it’d help me breathe when the fumes of the train got trapped in a long tunnel. Celeste’s movements were so habitual, and I wondered if I’d ever absentmindedly remember to put mine on.
Our voices only muffled slightly as we kept talking. Darkness fell over us, and the stagnant wind had a dirty taste that was fresh on the tongue. “I mean, I haven’t— I—“
“Wait. You’re kidding. You? Xavi? Nothing? That’s rich. Just. Rich!” I’d seen the way she watched him— the way she drank in his every movement. Xavi got that a lot from girls, and even some guys.
He never tried to kiss me again. After Randolf, the wall grew taller. He acted like there was right and wrong when it came to me, and, without even consulting me, he decided that kissing me would be wrong. As the year grew bulbous, and I grew my Track legs, I had this conversation more times than not. Girls would eye me jealously, discover I wasn’t competition, then become my friend. I took it. I figured if Xavi didn’t want me, then making Track acquaintances wouldn’t hurt.
“But you share the tent every night.”
“Spooning. Nothing else. He’s my best friend. That’s all.” And that was the truth of it. I had to accept it as such and live with it.
She winked. “Well, then. Mind if I give it a shot?”
The answer was always, “Go for it,” by that point. Xavi never took
Ways. The survival skills of Vagabonds— the secrets and shortcuts that were gifts more valuable than food on the Tracks. Randolf gave us more than Ways though. He gave us friendship, and I missed him.
Xavi kept moving past those memories though, and focused on Roderigo. “We will give you his tent and your blade back, but the girl keeps the pack. The tent will be her gift to you, and it’s generous. Had you not left Randolf, then all of it would have been yours, but you left him. He told us about you— what you did. And, for the record, he didn’t hold what happened against you.”
“Girly. You got ditched!” Roderigo laughed. The ice in the tone put me on alert, and my back ached in the rigidity fear put there. Xavi was my protection against men like him. Xavi was gone.
“No. Going to meet him later at the 12 th .”
“The 12 th ?”
“Yes.”
“On the wrong line? You sure about that?”
The lie was quick and not thought out. The 12 th Colony was in the opposite direction. “Not for long,” I backtracked. “Got a little sidetracked. There was some Militia inspections a bit back, and I had to redirect. Then I ran into this guy.” I thumbed in the flea’s direction. At least his persistence in following turned into something useful, and it reminded Roderigo I wasn’t alone.
The old man took in the boy’s body. He wasn’t as tall as Xavi, but he was just as thick. He didn’t look like someone to mess with. “I wish I could believe you, but I saw Xavi with the blonde just yesterday.”
The information pricked my eyes as if ants were nibbling at the pupils, but I held the tears back. “A boy’s got to sew his oats somehow.” I didn’t even know what the phrase meant, but it seemed to fit. Flippant. Carefree. Two things I needed to embody if I was going to get through the next few minutes, and my attempt made Roderigo laugh in a way that sounded salty and gargled.
“You’ve never forked? I don’t believe you!” Celeste’s eyes were saucer-wide, dark orbs. They matched her brown dreads that fell in cascades of knots and dirt down her slender back. A bandana, blue on red, was tied to her neck, and, as we approached the tunnel, she pulled it up over her nose. It reminded me to do the same. Xavi called it a skank when he tied the red and purple bandana around my neck that first summer. He told me it’d help me breathe when the fumes of the train got trapped in a long tunnel. Celeste’s movements were so habitual, and I wondered if I’d ever absentmindedly remember to put mine on.
Our voices only muffled slightly as we kept talking. Darkness fell over us, and the stagnant wind had a dirty taste that was fresh on the tongue. “I mean, I haven’t— I—“
“Wait. You’re kidding. You? Xavi? Nothing? That’s rich. Just. Rich!” I’d seen the way she watched him— the way she drank in his every movement. Xavi got that a lot from girls, and even some guys.
He never tried to kiss me again. After Randolf, the wall grew taller. He acted like there was right and wrong when it came to me, and, without even consulting me, he decided that kissing me would be wrong. As the year grew bulbous, and I grew my Track legs, I had this conversation more times than not. Girls would eye me jealously, discover I wasn’t competition, then become my friend. I took it. I figured if Xavi didn’t want me, then making Track acquaintances wouldn’t hurt.
“But you share the tent every night.”
“Spooning. Nothing else. He’s my best friend. That’s all.” And that was the truth of it. I had to accept it as such and live with it.
She winked. “Well, then. Mind if I give it a shot?”
The answer was always, “Go for it,” by that point. Xavi never took
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