"Real men do whatever the fuck they want," I say, fastening it around my wrist. The charms tinkle softly, and I realize each one represents us. The flame for Kade, obviously. The heart must be for Jinx, all emotion and chaos. The feather for Tank—the bird he saved. The glasses for Cyrus. And the crown...
"Open Tank's next!" Jinx says, practically vibrating.
"Maybe Cy was right. No more sugar for you," I say flatly.
Tank's hands move quickly, almost frantic.You don't have to.
"Don't be silly." I'm already tearing into the second package, and then I stop. Just stop.
It's a bird. Carved from wood with such incredible detail I can see individual feathers, the curve of its beak, the suggestion of life in its wooden eyes. It's beautiful and perfect and?—
The tears come before I can stop them, streaming down my face as I stare at this piece of art that Tank made just for me.
Tank panics, his signs rapid and apologetic.Sorry. Don't like it? I can?—
"You really don't know shit about girls, do you?" Cyrus mutters. “She's happy, dumbass.”
“I’m not just—” I hiccup through the tears. "I'm thrilled. Tank, this is incredible. Youmadethis?"
He nods, still looking uncertain.
"It's perfect." I clutch the bird to my chest, then throw myself at him for the second time today. I can't even get my arms all the way around his chest. "Absolutely perfect."
His arms encircle me easily enough, always so unnecessarily careful with me. I imagine him in juvie, those massive scarred hands carefully carving each detail, turning a block of wood into something beautiful. Something that represents what brought us all back together, even if it was also what separated us.
"I wish you could have seen it fly," I whisper against his chest.
He pulls back just enough to sign.You made it fly. That's enough.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of sugar and laughter. Cyrus gets frosting in his hair courtesy of Jinx, and Kade threatens to set things on fire no less than six times. It feels like before, but also different. We're different. Older, maybe. More aware of how fragile this all is.
At some point, Tank slips away. Not dramatically—he never does anything dramatically—just quietly disappears while the rest of us are laughing about how the white frosting that somehow ends up in Cyrus's hair makes him look like a skunk.
I notice, of course. I always notice when one of them is missing.
But I don't follow. I learned years ago not to follow when Tank needs to eat or drink. He won't take the bandana off in front of anyone—even us, even me—and making a big deal out of it only makes him feel worse. So I keep my eyes on the argument, laugh at Jinx's increasingly unhinged skunk impressions that make Cyrus turn purple as he tries to scrub the frosting out of his hair with a wet napkin, and pretend my chest doesn't ache knowing Tank has to hide just to enjoy the cupcakes I made him.
He comes back about ten minutes later, and I pretend not to notice the wet stain spreading across the front of his hoodie, darkening the black fabric around his neck. Pretend not to see how he tugs it away from his skin self-consciously, or how he positions himself slightly behind Kade like he's hoping no one will notice him.
I catch his eye and smile. He holds my gaze for a moment, dark eyes softening, then looks away.
We end up on the front porch as the sun sets. Kade grabs beers from Mom's not-so-secret stash, and I snag a soda because I tapped out after half a beer months ago and they never give me shit for it. The evening air is thick with humidity and the distant sound of someone's rock music playing too loud three trailers over.
Tank settles onto the porch railing, arms crossed, watching the rest of us crack open our drinks. He doesn't reach for one.
"So what'd we miss?" Kade asks, sprawled across the steps like he owns them. "Besides Ellie's tragic decorating skills."
"Fuck you, those cupcakes were art."
"Abstract art, maybe. Why'd mine have a dick on it?"
"That wasn't a dick!" I shriek, lobbing an empty can at him. "It was the number four, as in four months without you two."
"Always knew you were a dickhead," Cyrus sneers.
"Fuck off, specs."
Jinx ignores the bickering as he launches into a dramatic retelling of local drama. Who was dating who by the start of summer, how the gym teacher got fired for stuffing a student ina dumpster, the great cafeteria food poisoning incident. I stay quiet, letting his voice wash over me, basking in the golden light from the setting sun.
