Ask Me Anything

Chapter 14

I sat out on the curb that night, waiting for Lucas to pick me up. Unlike last time, he insisted on driving by the house to get me instead of me just meeting him at the boardwalk. I was hesitant only because I knew things were weird between him and Christian, and since I felt that Christian and I were getting closer, I didn't want to do anything that would mess that up. And to me, this just felt like I was going behind his back. But I kept telling myself that since we were just friends,  this really wasn't a big deal, at least not unless I made it one. And given how things were progressing with Christian, I was going to make sure Lucas knew we were just friends. 

It wasn't long before he pulled up in an old, rusty Ford pick up truck, flashing his headlights at me. "Ready?" he asked, as I opened the door and climbed inside. The door moved with a aged creak that sounded like it needed some WD-40 or some grease. 

"I guess so," I said, buckling myself in as he pulled away from the curb. I mean, it's not like I had any idea what we were supposed to be doing, so "ready" felt like a relative term. 

We drove through the streets of town, mostly in silence with the exception of the radio. It was turned down really low, so you had to kind of strain to hear what song was playing. It sounded like it was just tuned to a Top 40 station. He had the windows slightly cracked, so the cool summer night air was blowing in which felt really nice. The slight salt from the sea in air was a welcome scent. 

About fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot by the pier. He parked the car close by the information building in the center of the square where a huge gazebo sat proudly overlooking the center of town and the bathrooms were located. 

"Alright," he sighed, yanking the gear shift into park and tapping on the wheel slightly, "do you have anything you really want to do this evening?" 

I shrugged. "I guess I'd like to go to buy another book, since I'm almost done the one I'm reading," I replied aimlessly. 

He sighed facetiously begrudged, which is when I realized that one of his many jobs was at the book store. A fact I conveniently forgot.

"Hey, you asked," I laughed, holding my hands up in defense. 

He sighed, amused nonetheless. "Ugh, fine, but we're walking to the one at the end of the pier and not Moore's." 

I rolled my eyes. "If you insist," I chuckled. "I suppose that's only fair."

We got out of the car and stepped up onto the pier, once again joining the flow of people. It felt just like the first night we had hung out. 

"So," he said, swinging his arms as we walked, "how have you been?" 

I shrugged. "Not bad, I guess," I replied cautiously. Don't think I had forgotten everything he had said to me in the projection room. It had me feeling a bit uneasy hanging around him. "I've been working a lot, and enjoying my free time, I suppose. You?" 

He sighed. "Been working a lot too. Wish I had more free time, now that you mention it." He looked out at the ocean for a second and sighed, sounding frustrated when he said, "And I'm getting a little tired of my friends, which sounds awful." 

My inherent "fix it" instinct kicked in, and I felt like I had to ask what he meant by that. It was my Achilles Heel. Even if I was mad at someone like a friend or a family member, if they said something that sounded like they had a problem of some kind or that they were struggling with something, I would ask questions to figure out if there was a way that I could help them. I was a fixer. It was a problem. 

He shook his head. 

"It's going to make me sound horrible," he started, then sighed. "I mean, you live with your group of friends, so you understand what I mean. You're with them all the time, so you know that sometimes their little idiosyncrasies start to grate on your nerves. And they're your best friends, so you don't say anything."