“The Plan Z tour. I want to see you compete.”
Ryanne mentioned it when we were surfing in Sebastian. I’d loosely considered entering, but then thought better of it. A lot of the entrants will be pro or semipro. Total badasses. I’ll look like a total goof compared to them.
“I don’t know, Boss. That’s some stiff competition.”
“You’re the competition, T. I want to watch you land a sick trick and then tell everyone you’re my biffle.”
“Biffle?
“Best Friend For Life. Tabs taught me that.”
I smile. “And if I land on my ass?”
He shrugs. “Then you’re just some kid who needed a ride.”
I smile, knowing he’d never do me like that. “I’ll think about it. I’m going to need to practice, though. You going to drain the pool for me?”
“I was thinking park might be your best bet.” Park is a mix between street, pool, and vert, short for vertical, or in other words, half-pipe—the big kahuna. Park is basically a little of everything, where style and originality count for more than being able to execute a standard book of tricks.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Chris drops the board and rolls it over so it nudges my ankle. I kick it up, like I’m He-Man picking up his Power Sword. I pull Chris into a one-handed bro-hug. “Thanks, Chris,” I utter into his still-damp-from-the-shower hair.
“You’re welcome, buddy.”
When we pull into the school parking lot twenty minutes later, I’m riding high. Maybe it’s because I basically ate sugar for breakfast, or maybe it’s because of my new kick-ass skateboard, or the fact that Chris said he’d drive me to the DMV after school. Life is looking up for Theodore Wooten III when we arrive at our lockers. But once there, I notice something’s off right away. The vibe is strange. Our friends are all weirdly quiet, with their eyes glued to their phones. And I have this sensation that everyone’s looking at me, only when I’m not looking at them. My paranoia must be reaching an all-time high.
“Something’s up,” I say to Chris and immediately search the halls for Dave. I’m not sure why, instinct maybe, but he’s nowhere to be found.
Chris says what’s up to Corbin, who barely acknowledges him, so Chris goes up to him. “What’s going on, man?”
Corbin’s shaggy, reddish-brown hair is mostly covering his face when he glances over at Chris, then me. He opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head. “No way, man. It’s not gonna be me.” He shuts his locker and hurries away in the opposite direction.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I notice people passing by us, giving me way too much attention, some smiling and laughing. A football player actually points in my direction and bumps his buddy. Then they both start laughing their asses off. I glance down at my shirt, wondering if there’s a sign stuck there, then run a hand through my hair. I’m still self-accessing when my sister comes storming up to us.
“How could you do this to me, Theo?On my birthday?” she roars, her face an ugly shade of pissed.
“Do what?” I ask, while at the same time thinking I don’t want to know.
Tabs purses her lips and glances between Chris and me. Whatever it is, it’s bad, if even my sister is hesitating. She takes a deep breath and pulls up her phone, enters her password, and turns it toward me, her posture ramrod straight, her arm stiff enough to clothesline someone.
I can’t see what she’s talking about—there’s an overhead light bouncing off her phone and creating a glare—so I take it out of her hand to examine it closer. Chris comes up and peers over my shoulder.
And then I see it.
Holy shit, it’s bad.
It’s fucking terrible.
When I first started going online to look at skating and surf videos, my mother warned me to be careful what I searched for because there are some things I won’t be able to unsee. The picture on my sister’s phone is one of those images I’ll never be able to scrub from my mind. I know immediately Dave must have taken it. No one else has had me at this angle—on my knees, head back, eyes closed, with a mouthful of cock.
Cocksucker.
Uncle Theo’s words come back to haunt me, only this time I’m not laughing.
“Who sent you this?” Chris asks my sister. He’s snatched the phone from my hand and squeezes it as though the force from his fist alone could cause it to disintegrate.
“Who didn’t?” she says, and then only to Chris, maybe so I won’t hear, “It’s too late. It’severywhere.”
