The Bright Side

Chapter 11 - Part 2

TRISTAN

When we came to East Coast this afternoon the sky had been a brilliant shade of blue, the contrast to the different kinds of orange, yellow, green and even red the trees are dressed up in sharp and bright. An advert for autumn. The sun – unguarded by clouds for maybe the last time – was still strong enough to calm the salty sea breeze to a lazy airflow and Sky and I spent the whole afternoon working on our tricks.

It's not lack of determination that keeps me from conquering the Tre Flip. I imagine the movements in my head, like I've done it a million times before, hoping that my body will automatically be able to perform them, once I'm going at it for real. I push forward on my board, not too fast – because apparently with me fast equals falling - and the palm of my right hand is already all skinned. I pop my board, shove, flip, pull my knees up as high as possible and, oh my fricking God, catch it on the ground.

"Woohoo!" Sky cheers and hurries towards me. "Nicely done!"

I'm so high that I can barely feel the board underneath my feet and I pass Sky and go at it straight again. The first success seems to have broken my former limitations, I repeat it once more, twice, and once more after Sky pulled out his mobile to record it.

We sit down on the walls on the backside of the factory and watch the short clip over and over. I'm so proud of myself, I feel like clapping my own shoulder.

"Geez, it's just so awesome to be me!" I nudge Sky's elbow with mine. "I don't know how you can stand it. Not being me."

"Yeah, well." Sky bites down on his lip. "If awesomeness comes with managing the Tre Flip, mate, then I'm sorry to tell you that I've already been awesome for two years."

"Yeah, but I have a cast."

"Not for long, eh?" Sky taps against the plaster.

"Four more days! I can't believe it. I think I'm going to miss it."

"Sure."

"No, really." I tear my fags out of my pocket and light us one. "I've gotten so handy with my right – you know what I mean..." I wiggle my eyebrows and Sky coughs out the smoke. "Honestly, it's been like a superhero armour. Like Indestructible Tristan. And when it's off, I'll just be Plain Tristan again."

"Is Plain Tristan as daft as Indestructible Tristan?"

"I'm afraid so. But he's really lovable, too."

My trouser pocket starts vibrating against my leg, the screen light visible through the fabric. I pull it out to find the name I expected to see flashing across the screen. The mobile hums on and on in my hand while I wait for nothing in particular. For someone to decide what to do about it maybe.

"Who is it?" Sky asks.

"Matt." For a few days now, he has resumed calling me again, at least twice a day. And in between a sea of text messages floods my inbox, always saying the same. 'Tris, mate, come on, we really need to talk!'.

"Aren't you going to take it?"

"No. I mean, I know what this is about. So, no. I have enough on my mind already, I can't deal with him right now."

He's persistent. Not only in the frequency of his calls, the ringtone tune goes on and on for what feels like minutes. He gives me every chance to take the call. He even came by my house a couple of times and every time I had Mum or Rory deny me. Which they did without hesitation. When the screen finally turns black again and my mobile goes back into coma I feel like I've lost something.

I lean back and shove the phone back into my front pocket and can't suppress a sigh.

"Do you miss him?" Sky takes the fag from my hands and inhales.

"Yeah." I try to swallow the hollow feeling in my chest down. "He's my best mate. Has been. Forever."

Ever since the sturdy blonde boy sat down next to me on my first day of primary school. The proof of his unbelievable coolness came in shape of a red Power Ranger rubber and I instantly knew that I just had to become his friend. I really miss him. Despite the shit he pulled.

"Oh, well. Doesn't matter now."

"Maybe it does if you miss him that much." Sky's voice is quiet and earnest.

"I don't even want to think about what happened, let alone talk about it."

"Sometimes it's better to talk about stuff, even if it's awkward or painful or maybe both." Sky's eyes are on the bushes at the other end of the park and I'm wondering if we're still talking about Matt.

"I'm not ready," I say. "Yet. I might be someday."

Sky swallows hard, his freakishly blue eyes narrowed as he replies, "Someday is fine".

We're most certainly not talking about Matt and it makes my insides squirm.

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