“Damn, you’re a good-looking kid. I’m saving that one for later.” He winks and gives me a lecherous grin. My neck heats up because I’m not used to the attention to my looks or having dudes tell me I’m hot. Not that I mind. It’s just… different.
I follow Dave inside to the bathroom, where he flicks on the light. I check myself out in the vanity mirror. My hair does look pretty tight.
“You can part it this way too,” he says and combs it over the top. “I gave you a hard part, in case you want to use some product to slick it down for when you’re feeling a little more Dapper Dan.”
“Thanks, man.” I inspect it from a few different angles, wondering what Chris will have to say about it. And my skater punk friends. They tend to rip on anything that looks the slightest bit manufactured.
“You might want to take your shirt off for this,” Dave says and busies himself with switching out the razor on his blade, one of those old-school reusable ones made of metal. He lines up his instruments on the bathroom counter like a surgeon. I pull my shirt over my shoulders, and even though it’s a little weird having Dave right there in the tiny bathroom with me, it’s not so terribly uncomfortable.
“I guess this is something I should be doing with my dad, huh?”
Dave shrugs. “Us lost boys got to stick together.”
I think about that for a minute, then about Dave, the philosopher-slash-barber with a strategy for deciding which guys he’s going to hit on. I could learn a lot from him.
In order to show me proper technique, Dave lathers up his own face and I do mine. He uses a straight razor to shave himself, which is pretty badass. I get the old-timey razor. I mimic his strokes on my own face while he gives me pointers on how to angle the blade. Judging from my upper lip, I probably should have started doing this a few months ago.
When we’re finished, he hands me a towel to wipe off the excess shaving cream. I’m not really that into myself, but I do look pretty damn spiffy.
“Man-eater,” he says, and we both grin at that. My phone buzzes. It’s my mom asking where I am because dinner’s ready. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.
“I feel like I owe you a tip,” I tell him.
“Next time,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. My neck heats up again because I have some idea of what he has in mind.
I pull my shirt back on over my head and straighten it out. It feels a little unbalanced between us, like he’s done this really nice thing for me and I haven’t done anything for him.
“Sorry about calling you Asshole Dave,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Sometimes I am an asshole. You free tomorrow? You should come by again.”
We make plans to meet up tomorrow after I get off work, and I skate home as quickly as I can. With the weekdays being so hectic for my mom and sister, weekends are when the three of us make a point to have dinner together. I get home and climb the stairs to find they’ve already started eating without me. Chris too. He eats over so often, he even has his own seat at the table. Chris glances up from his food, catches me in his piercing gaze, then drops his fork. It clatters to the ground, and I duck into the kitchen to get him a new one. As I hand it to him, he stares at me with the singular focus that only he has. I feel my cheeks getting warm.
“Where have you been?” Mom asks.
“At a friend’s house.”
“You cut your hair,” Chris says, giving me the five-point inspection.
“Yeah, Dave did it for me. He could cut yours too, if you want.”
“Asshole Dave?” Chris asks, then apologizes to my mother for his language.
“Why do you call him Asshole Dave?” Mom asks.
“We don’t anymore,” I say and look pointedly at Chris. My mom doesn’t know much about my personal life, and I prefer it that way, especially with all thefeelingsI’ve been having lately. The expression in Chris’s eyes is stony. He obviously doesn’t like that Dave and I were hanging out, especially since I’ve been blowing him off.
“It looks good, Theo,” Tabs says. “About time for a new look.”
I sit down to join them. Arroz con pollo. I haven’t eaten much all day for all the work I’ve done. I devour two platefuls, and my mom congratulates me like I’m a toddler. She’s always trying to get me to eat more.
After dinner Chris and I go into my room to play video games. Neither of us suggests it. It’s just something we always do. Most of the games are his anyway, and the system used to be his. I think he likes giving me his toys because he knows he can still come over and play with them when he wants. The only game I ever play without him is the Sims, and it’s more like a coping strategy. A while back we made avatars of ourselves, and I spent the summer making them do corny stuff like bake a cake together or go for a drive, give our dog Mike a bath. It’s pathetic, I know, but it did ease my loneliness a little.
The funk I’ve been sensing from Chris all night continues, even though I try to ignore it. It comes out in his grunts and sighs, getting frustrated in the game when normally he’d laugh it off. I’m about to ask him what’s up when he blurts out, “So, you were hanging out with Asshole Dave all afternoon?”
“Call him Dave.”
Chris looks pained by that, like I’ve been disloyal to him. “See any decks you like?”
