“Baby, Iamon your side, but if you lower yourself to being a mean girl, you’re no betterthan she is.”
“But, Mom, Flashis gonna fail all his classes if he keeps letting her boobs dictate his life.”
Mom stroked myhair. “Flash will figure it out, Tate, but at the end of the day, you need toworry about who or what’s dictating your life.”
“Well, it’s nother boobs, I’ll tell you that.”
Mom chuckled.“Flash is your best friend, and I’m sure he’ll apologize when he’s ready, buttry to remember that both of your bodies are flooding with hormones and—”
“Oh my god, Mom,gross. I don’t want to know about Flash’s hormone flood.”
“Fair enough.”
My phone buzzedon my nightstand, and I glanced at the screen. “It’s Flash.”
“I’ll leave youto take the call. Then come down for some ice cream, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.Thanks.” I answered the call. “Hey, French Fry.”
“Hey, TaterTot.”
We sat insilence for a few seconds and then I heard his sigh through the phone.
“I’m sorry Ididn’t listen to you,” he said.
“Sorry youdidn’t listen because Madison’s a slu…” I caught myself and channeled my innerkindness, limited though it was. “…um, a not so nice person, or because you gotan ‘F’ on your test?”
“Can it beboth?”
I shrugged. “Iguess so.”
“I don’t wantyou to be mad at me anymore.”
“I never wantedto be mad at you in the first place,” I pointed out. “If I’m really your bestfriend, shouldn’t you listen to what I have to say before Madison shoves herboobies in your face?”
“But… they’re boobs.”
I glanced at mystill flat chest and wrinkled my nose. “Gross, Parker.”
He chuckled.“Sorry.”
“I have to go.”
“Wait,” Flashsaid. “Seriously, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be better about listening to youradvice, okay?”
“Actions speaklouder than words.”
“I know. I swearat god.”
I sighed.
“Swear at God”was an expression used only between me and Flash. Sacred words born from achildhood pact.
When we werelittle Flash would come to my house every day to play. We weren’t school ageyet, so our days were filled with seeing which of us could swing higher on myswing set (usually me) or ride our bikes faster (always Flash). His motheralways said Flash was born on wheels. He was only two when he learned to ride abike and never once used training wheels. His pride and joy, until recently,had been his first 50cc mini-bike. It was a Christmas present and his firststep to being a grown-up biker like his dad.
One day whenFlash did come around to play like usual, I walked over to his house to findhim alone in his back yard crying. His face was covered in muddy mixture ofgardening soil and tears.
“What’swrong, Flash?” I asked, planting my knee in the dirt beside him. “How comeyou’re out here by yourself?”
