Where Do We Go from Here?

xxii.

"Careful," Garith whispers and lends me his hand. I take it to pull myself up a few broken and unstable cobble stone steps. 

"Are you sure you're not gonna kill me?" I ask while looking at the woodlot around me and he chuckles.

"Everybody saw us leaving the field. I don't think that's a smart idea," he answers. He takes the last flight of stairs. 

"Right, another Mr. Popular," I mutter as I skip a knee-high bundle of vines, "I never thought the Jordans had a narnia on their backyard."

"Who's the other one?" he asks and I stop on my tracks. The dried leaves under me rustles.

"What?" I scrunch my forehead.

He turns, panting from the journey, "Who's the other Mr. Popular?"

"Oh, uhm, Cobi," I answer. 

Liar. 

I take a subtle sigh realizing that gut-upsetting feeling I have been having since I met up with Garith may, slightly, be about Rocky. 

"Right," he replies as he takes a few more steps, "Here we are," he stops and looks up.

I do the same and I see an old oak tree boasting its trunk. Its branches support a sturdy tree house that seems more upkept than the house on this land we just trespassed. 

I look at Garith; an easier feat than looking at the giant that is Rocky. 

I bite the insides of my mouth. 

Stop it, Nam. 

----

"How'd you find this place?" I ask while my feet dangles through the entrance of the tree house. 

"You know Sean Jordan?" he asks as he offers me his homemade lemonade. 

"The kid with eleven fingers?" I raise my brow hoping he sees it in this fairylight-lit setting.

"Yep, that one. He was my best bud. We used to play here," he begins looking at the big window in front of us overlooking the Jordans' old house. "This was our own world. We had other kids play with us, sometimes the whole street's kids. He was actually the one that introduced me to soccer."

"Must have been nice," I say before taking a sip.

"Yeah, we could've used your sass though. We were just a bunch of dumb testosterones."

"Was never part of this neighborhood though," I utter.

"You didn't miss much, believe me," he says, "anyway, when I was 10, he just broke the news that they were moving but for some reason they didn't sell the house. So yeah, it's just my world now."

"Would he be okay with you having girls here?" I ask.

"He specifically said not to make this a hook up place," he confesses, " and I am still holding on my end of the bargain," he smiles before reaching for the picnic basket beside him.

"So why'd you show me this?" 

"I don't know. At first, I thought I'd treat you to a fancy dinner, but that seems too pretentious," he squints his eyes and I chuckle.

"Then I thought, how 'bout a movie? But that's too passive. How would we talk?" he looks at me and I nod as if he was five, "Then I thought I'd just invite you over, but that's too-"

"Awkward," I cut him off.

"Very awkward," he nods as he passes me a sandwich. "So here we are, in my hide out."