I marvel at that. “Isn’t it funny how you can be so close to something, you don’t even see it?”
She smiles. “Yeah.”
Then I get to thinking about Chris and how, if he’s my boyfriend, then I really don’t have any friends left. My sister’s cool but not always that easy to talk to. There’s something about Ryanne I really click with. Kismet.
“I don’t have a lot of friends,” I tell her.
“I’m your friend.”
I smile at that. It’s kind of exactly what I wanted to hear. “Cool.”
She glances at me over the tops of her sunglasses. “I don’t know if you remember, but you asked me to go with you to Plan Z.”
It’s kind of awesome she remembers that and still wants to go with me as a friend. “Yeah, I want you to. I think I’m going to enter.”
“As a contestant?”
“Yeah. I try not to think about it too much. If I do, I might punk out.”
“You nervous?”
“Yeah.”
“About the tricks or something else?”
“I don’t know, but since coming out, I feel like I have this responsibility or something. Like I’m less a person and more a figurehead. This is what a gay kid looks like eating his lunch or walking down the hallway, smiling at his teachers. Or this is how a gay kid pulls off a kickflip. It’s kind of weird. Maybe I’m a narcissist and no one really gives a shit. Just, the thought of being in front of all those people is already pretty terrifying, and if I screw up, then what if the bros are like, ‘yeah, he sucks because he’s gay’? Seems like the stakes are higher or something.”
She tilts her head thoughtfully, and I worry I’ve overshared. That was a lot to unload all at once, more than I even realized I was holding on to.
“I can see why you’d be freaked out,” she says. “But what if you’re this really talented skater, who happens to be gay and has the courage to compete against some real ballers? I mean, those punks judging you either don’t have the balls or the skills to do that.”
I nod. “That’s a good way of looking at it.”
“Haters gonna hate, Theo. If people have a problem with you being gay, fuck them. That’s their problem, not yours.”
“Punk rock,” I tell her and give her fist a bump where it rests on the steering wheel. She smiles. Ryanne has a good attitude, and she’s so laid back about everything. I should ask her advice more often. “Hey, how’s your sister?”
“She’s a mess….” Ryanne tells me how they’ve checked her into rehab—I’d heard as much—and she’s not handling it well. She doesn’t want to see them, and when she does, she’s hateful and bitter. “It’s like she doesn’t want to get better. And my parents are spending all this money. It’s really frustrating.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, and meanwhile I’m working my ass off to save up for school and get good grades. I know it’s selfish, but I’m sick of her getting all their attention and resources.”
“Squeaky wheels, man.”
“And she hates me, Theo. I mean,hatesme. She thinks I’m this goody-goody suck-up. Trust me, I’m not, but that’s how she sees it.”
I think about my own sister and how we don’t always see eye to eye, but I know she has my back. I hope it stays that way. I wouldn’t want to be on her bad side.
“It probably has more to do with how she feels about herself,” I tell Ryanne. “It’s hard being the screwup of the family. Hopefully she’ll get better and get over it.”
Ryanne vents a little more about it, and I try to offer help where I can, wishing I could do more to help her out, but maybe listening is enough for now. She pulls into a subdivision that used to house military families during World War II. It’s modest by West Palm comparison, but it’s tidy and well-kept. It looks like the kind of neighborhood where the men spend their weekends mowing the lawn because taking care of your yard is a source of pride and not an inconvenience.
Ryanne pulls up to a small, boxy house the color of a Creamsicle. She goes up to knock on the door while I check out the Accord parked in the driveway. Looks even better in person, all sleek and shiny. The rims are customized too, which is a nice bonus.
Ryanne introduces me to her cousin, Rob. I ask him some questions—How does it run? How long have you had it? Anything wrong? Rob says it belonged to an elderly neighbor who hardly ever drove it, and he bought it off her when she got too old to drive. Mechanically it’s solid, he says, and I can see for myself how it looks. He shows me the stereo system and a couple of subwoofers in the trunk, which is a nice little add-on. I ask him if I can take it for a test drive, and he agrees. I climb in, and the seat’s already kicked back to fit my long legs. Ryanne was right about the headroom. It’s pretty spacious. I adjust the mirrors, even though they’re mostly good, then get a little nervous because this is the first time I’ve ever driven alone and what if I, like, hit a mailbox or something? I pull out, taking it extra slow. Rob asks Ryanne if I have my license, and I pretend I didn’t hear him.
In the actual driving of it, I do fine. I like how it handles, not a boat like Chris’s Volvo, where I’m always worried I’m taking the turns too fast and going to clip someone or hit a curb. This car turns on a dime. I reach an empty straightaway where the subdivision butts up against a canal. I floor it and appreciate its get-up-and-go. Not bad for a compact car.
