We leave the store with Brett still humming "Time of My Life" under his breath and Bowen tossing gummies up with our joined hands. Like, my arm being attached to his isn’t a bother at all. I’m just the dummy getting his arm raised and lowered over and over while I rip into my Snickers with my other hand.
Maybe itispuberty.
I contemplate that, balancing on the curb as we make our way back home.
I’ve never been the most coordinated person and nearly fall twice when Bowen’s other hand reaches over to hold onto me, gummies tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.
He’s chewing a mouthful of them when I look over. He’s already watching me, his crooked smirk on his face.
Kit
Age 12
“So, your dad is at the ready, grill tongs aimed and in nothing but his skivvies,” Brett says theatrically, holding one arm out like he’s wielding a sword, knees slightly bent as he circles an imaginary enemy.
“Skivvies?” Tucker asks after he catches the ball that Bowen tosses him. He tucks the football under his arm to give my best friend his full attention.
Brett huffs, breaking character to throw his hands in the air. “Have you ever watched a pirate movie, Tuck? Underwear!” Then he pivots, jabbing his imaginary sword. “Pat yells, ‘Brett! Arm yourself!’ so there I am,” he says, hopping to the side, “nothing but a garbage can lid for protection. It’s Patty and I against one very, very dangerous creature.”
I snort, snapping off half a baby carrot between my teeth.
Bowen drops down to sit next to me in the grass, and I glance over at him when he nudges my shoulder with his. He smirks, leaning back on hishands, and opens his mouth. I scrunch my nose at him but stick the other half of my carrot between his lips.
“Dad said it was just a raccoon,” Tucker says, a slight sigh in his voice.
“Just a raccoon? Tucker, your dad and I had to fight for ourlives. It was a good thing I was awake and heard him out by the trash, or he…”
I’m only half listening, digging in the bag of baby carrots. I don’t realize that Brett has gone dead silent until I look up to see him staring at me.
“Hey, uh…Kit?”
I frown. “Yeah? You okay?”
Brett doesn’t go silent…ever.
“Me?” he asks, eyes wide, as he drops his imaginary shield-holding hand and scratches the side of his head. He lets out a forced laugh. “Yeah, man, but don’t freak out.”
‘Don’t freak out’ is exactly what you say to someone before giving them something to indeed freak out about.
“What?” I snap, alreadyfreaked out.
I see Bowen coming for me with his hands as Brett says, “There’s a spider in your hair.”
I suck in a sharp breath, choking on little bits of carrot in the process, and wheeze my panic through tiny yelps, shaking my head violently and slapping my hair.
Somewhere through my moment of full-body panic, I can hear Tucker laughing, but it’s cut off by my screech when something tickles my neck. I try to scramble to my feet, but arms wrap around my waist and yank me down.
I land on a pair of legs, and Bowen huffs from behind me.
“Would you calm down?” he grumbles, pushing my hands away from my head.
“Boe! Get it off me!”
Brett is also wheezing. But his are wheezes of humor while mine are pure terror.
Bowen isn’t laughing. He just grabs my head and pulls it back, then his fingers are brushing through the strands.
“Got it,” he murmurs after a few seconds, flicking it away in the grass.
