𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

26. peachy.

T W E N T Y - S I X
chronic (tropical) depression.

The noise of rusted hinges bounces around the tall walls of the garage that houses this oh-so-amazing feat of humanity – according to JJ.

A.K.A. The Phantom, a boat from the eighties.

A grin spreads across JJ's tan features, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas Day.

My shoes squeak on the smooth cement as I listen to JJ rattle off names, numbers and years that correspond to the boat. It means fuck all to me, but I smile and nod to appease his joy; not feeling like right now is a time to tell him I have no clue what he's going on about.

Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.

When he looks at me to see if I am listening I meet his gaze and smile. "That's cool," I try to sound like I both am actually interested and am actually understanding. I worry if I said I don't know what he's talking about he'll start explaining boats and I hate boats. I also don't want him to feel like he's talking to a wall.

He looks back at the boat, not missing a beat. "The first boat to make the run to Bermuda in under sixteen hours, Mabel." He turns back and points at me with a passion the boy only has for weed and sex. "Forty years old! Forty! But still the fastest thing Kildare has ever seen."

Kie does not look impressed with the boat. "It's kind of a junker," she mutters honestly. Crossing her arms she takes the boat's ageing exterior in.

Now JJ looks a little offended at the harsh words. He throws the set of keys between his hands mindlessly, my eyes watch as they go from one to another.

I like hands, fucking sue me.

"Really? She's right there, Kie. She can hear you. Let's put it this way. You would not be smokin' weed right now if she never existed. Mabel agrees."

Kie scoffs. "Frankie doesn't know anything about boats. Like, anything."

"I do!" I defend myself.

"What's starboard?" She asks with a raised brow.

"Don't make shit up to make me look stupid. I know boats."

"It's a thing, Mabel," JJ mumbles.

"Well, I was joking. It's the..." I glance at the boat, trying to find one aspect to name. "It's where you store stuff. Like the storage area."

"Yeah, that's not even close. Do you really not know?" JJ looks shocked. I don't know what he expected, I didn't do a class on boat anatomy. My family doesn't do the water – I love a bath, that's as far as my love for water extends.

"Give me another guess–"

"Frankie, I love you, you're hopeless when it comes to boats," Kie cuts me off before I take another stab in the dark. "I just hope she runs," Kiara thinks out loud while JJ begins hooking the boat up to the car. Another thing I have no clue about; I do, however, know how to change a tyre. Robbie decided that was knowledge I needed so he spent a week drilling it into me. Getting quietly frustrated at my indifference and lack of natural talent.

My feet take me aimlessly around the airy room, I squeak the bottom of my trainers against the concrete and debate seeing if I can still do a backflip. My mind wanders to other places, I think about happier times, like when I was a bridesmaid at Robbie's wedding, when Sarah and I ate ice cream on the roof of Tannyhill, when I painted my room with my Mum – simpler times. When life wasn't so complicated, full of suffocating twists and turns.

I see the ladder of the boat and begin climbing up it. I wonder if the ladder has a stupid name. If my phone wasn't dead I'd google starport or whatever that stupid boat term was. Walking around the small boat I pull up the seat to reveal the storage space – not called starport, or board, or whatever – hidden underneath is a small bag of weed. The Goddamn Maybanks. Would it really be a Maybank possession without hidden drugs? Maybe under another seat is a brick of cocaine, perhaps a burnt spoon.