I let out a huff of air in confusion. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
We reach the rocks and we both drop our shoes and then climb up onto the biggest rock, which has a smooth flat top big enough for both our asses. My toes can reach the sand when I sit here now. Last year they didn’t. Abbott’s graze the sand but just barely. I shot up in height last year to over six feet. Abbott is still hovering a little under it. But he’s thick and solid looking whereas I look like an overstretched piece of gum. The word lanky might as well be my middle name. Abbott told me to come do some weights with him because just running all the time in track wasn’t going to bulk me up. But I hadn’t done it yet. I felt weird about working out with him for some reason I didn’t get.
I hold up the bag of cotton candy. There’s one chunk left. He shakes his head. I take the chunk and split it in two and hand him half. He smiles and takes it. I pop mine in my mouth and savor it with my eyes closed. Why is this so fucking good? Abbott speaks again. “Okay, so I’m guessing you gave Miranda the tongue? Because I saw that kiss on the dance floor with Chelsea at homecoming. It was PG. Disney Channel-type bullshit.”
“Because it was on the dance floor with assholes like you watching,” I retort, and he laughs. “No. I didn’t French kiss Miranda. It was someone else. Before Miranda.”
“I’m so fucking confused,” Abbott declares. “Why not French kiss Miranda if you’d done it before?”
“Why do you care?”
“I didn’t say I cared. I said I was intrigued,” Abbott argues and grins, his perfectly white teeth glinting in the moonlight. He’s lucky he hasn’t lost one in hockey yet. He says he wants to because it gives him ice cred, which is like street cred for hockey players. “I mean I first gave the tongue to a girl in seventh grade and never looked back.”
“Probably because you’re good at it,” I mumble.
“What?”
The first firework explodes and a wave of hoots and claps echoes from somewhere down the beach. We both turn to watch the sky and I figure that, thankfully, this conversation is over. But ten minutes later, halfway through the fireworks, Abbott decides to revisit the topic. “Did you say because I was good at it?”
“Shut up and watch the show.”
“Declan, seriously.” Abbott’s voice is low and pleading, which pulls my focus from the colorful display in the sky. His eyes are laser-focused on me, ignoring the reds and blues and purples of the fireworks exploding in the sky right now. “Do you think you’re a bad kisser?”
“I’m fine,” I reply. “Watch the fucking fireworks.”
He turns away and tips his head back. As he puts his arms behind him and leans back on his palms, his shoulder bumps mine accidentally. I feel a tingle. The kind of tingle I shouldn’t feel for my best friend. It’s happened before and I ignore it this time like I have in the past.
After about a minute he makes a noise. It’s like this disgruntled groan or something and I turn and find he’s looking at me again. He sits straighter and pulls his arms back into his lap. “You can’t drop a bomb like ‘I’m bad at kissing’ and fucking ignore me.”
“I didn’t say I was bad. I said you must be good.”
“That implies you aren’t good.”
“I had a complaint,” I blurt out, and I can feel my cheeks getting hot and I hate this moment suddenly. “And I am so not going to talk about it with you.”
Abbott’s normally happy, easy-going face is creased with concern. “Who the fuck complained?”
“I am not talking to you about this.”
“Jesus Christ, Deck. I’m your best friend,” Abbott says hotly. “Who the hell else will you talk to about this?”
“I won’t talk about it.”
“So, you’re going to do what? Become a priest or something so you never have to play tonsil hockey with a girl again?” He’s kidding, I think, until I look at his face and see his expression is actually serious.
“You know I hate church. I’m not about to join in,” I remind him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine with women. Eventually. Just fuck off, okay?This is weird.”
Another firework explodes. It’s pink and white and looks like a flower. I feel like it looks how cotton candy tastes in my mouth, brilliant and gorgeous and fleeting. Suddenly Abbott’s hand is on my knee. Every muscle in my body tenses. “Deck. This is only weird because you’re embarrassed.”
My cheeks get hot again. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Yeah. But I would also tell you about it,” Abbott replies firmly. “I tell you absolutely everything, Deck. If you asked me anything. If you needed help with anything, I’d be there.”
“I know. I just…” I close my eyes. The fireworks light up the inside of my lids. “It was Aspen.”
His hand is gone from my knee so fast the motion ruffles the hem of my shorts like a gust of wind would. “My sister?”
“Yeah. That Aspen. The one and only.”
