Finn glares at him, but Brady says, “You know she can’t feel it anyhow.”
Brady’s wrong. I may not be able to feel Finn’s touch on my skin, but his good intention caresses my heart.
“Let’s go.” I stand, ready to be away from this park.
“But we need to watch you,” Brady says, reaching out a hand to stop me.
“You can still watch me, I just don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Fair enough,” Finn says, hopping off the table. He puts his hands in his pocket and looks around. “Where to?”
“Anywhere,” I respond, reaching for my backpack with my left hand. Brady gets there first, winding one hand through a strap and loading it onto his shoulder. I smile gratefully at him. He dips his head and touches the brim of a pretend hat, like a chivalrous cowboy in an old movie.
We leave the park, winding our way around the neighborhood that surrounds it. We meet at this park because it’s halfway between Brady’s house and Finn’s house. I can feel their eyes on me, their worry pouring over me as if their emotion is liquid.
We round a corner and I stumble on the little scalloped brick edging of a lawn. They both reach out to catch me, and of all things, this is what sends them over the precipice we’ve been balancing on for months.
“I’ve got her,” Finn growls. His hands on my waist tighten.
“So do I,” Brady responds, his normally even voice becoming rough.
Finn removes his hands. Surprise and relief course through me. I don’t want to be the reason for them fighting.
But Finn’s hands don’t stay down. He shoves Brady’s shoulder with one open palm. Brady stumbles back into the street, shock widening his eyes.
For a few seconds, he stands there, his hands dangling at his sides, like he’s trying to decide what to do. Then he launches himself at Finn.
I scream and jump out of the way, and Finn grunts as Brady’s whole body lands on him. Brady’s weight and forward motion sends them both backward, tripping over their own feet and falling down onto the lawn. Fists fly through the air, and it’s hard to tell whose hands belong to whom.
“Stop,” I yell, running over. They don’t listen, or they can’t hear above their own adrenaline.
“Fuck you,” Finn grits out as he blocks Brady’s blows.
“Fuck you,” Brady responds, his breathing labored.
“Come on, you guys,” I plead, dropping to my knees on the wet grass and wincing as Brady finally lands a solid punch on Finn’s cheek.
The sound of a creak takes my attention away from Brady and Finn. I look up to see an old lady rushing as fast as she can from the house, her fist raised.
“Get out of here, you little shits! What do you think you’re doing, fighting on my lawn?”
Her angry voice breaks through Finn and Brady’s tussle. They disentangle and get to their feet. Brady looks sheepish. Finn looks like he’d have gladly continued.
The old lady steps closer to Brady. She barely matches his height, but her expression makes me shrink back.
“Who are your parents?” she asks, her finger poking into Brady’s chest. She has the thick voice of a long-time smoker.
“Uh.” Brady glances at me, his eyes worried. Brady’s dad is a federal judge, and after his sister’s public battle with drugs, Brady can’t afford to bring any more embarrassment to his family.
“Pamela Anderson,” Finn says, stepping up so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Brady. Brady glances at Finn, a question in his eyes.
A laugh threatens to come out, but I swallow it and step forward so that I’m on the other side of Brady. “And his dad is Jonathan Taylor Thomas,” I add, trying like hell to keep my expression solemn.
The old lady squints, looking at each of us in turn.
“I know liars when I see them.” She grimaces and swats the air. “The three of you are beyond the pale. Get out of here, before I call the police and have you arrested for... for... disturbing the peace.”
We scramble off her lawn and onto the sidewalk. Finn’s elbow digs into my ribs and I try not to laugh. We make it three houses down and it’s Brady who breaks first. He doubles over, his hands on his knees, and laughter shakes his shoulders.
