False Start (Boyxboy)

36: SLAPDASH

I'd led us to the abandoned paper mill.  It had always seemed like a secret place, a place meant only for me and my best friend.  But the look of excitement on Hiro's face when we approached was worth the tiny pang of guilt in my chest.

He dropped the bag in the dirt, the cans clanking together and a cloud of sawdust puffing into the air.  My eyes and thoughts wandered along to the woods where I'd been last night. 

What was Keiji doing right now?  What did he think about what happened?  Was he still waiting for me to text him back?  Why hadn't I?  Would he feel weird if he knew I was with Hiro?

"Okay," Hiro said, rolling up his sleeves.  "We're going to expand your comfort zone."

He squatted and tossed a can at me over his shoulder.  Just as it landed in my hands a car passed by, only a few feet behind us on the backstreet.  We both panned from it to each other. 

My hesitation appeared to ask, You sure about this?  To which Hiro smiled with half his mouth, tossing up his black hood to cover his head.

I copied him, the sounds around me muffled by the cotton, amplifying the inhales in my lungs.  Adrenaline tickled at my gut.

We stood side-by-side as we shook up the spray paint, scanning the decaying building for good spots to tag.  Then Hiro bounced forward, all hyper, before I'd even begun to consider what to create.  He approached one of the windows, holding his can out at eye-level, and masked his face with his other arm as he wrote the word "faker".  Something about this caused him to chuckle.

"Come on," he coerced, holding the side of his hood as he looked back at me.

"I'm trying to decide what to write."

The letters were oozing black down the glass, and he smacked one of his hands down on the wet streaks, ambling over to me.  Then he grabbed at my cheek, smearing the stuff across my skin while he playfully bit his tongue.

"Just do something.  It doesn't have to be perfect."

I rolled the cold can around in my fingers, clutching tight as I popped off the lid.  "You're right."

There was a relatively clean spot on the wall, a little to the right of the window.  I stared it down like it was an enemy, digging inside for words that felt worthy of vandalism.  Keiji kept stealing the spotlight in my mind.

I feel like I've been changing, he'd croaked out last night.

The sun slid down the sky like butter melting in a pan, hitting the side of my face beneath my hood, but there was no glare.  The paint on my cheek acted like a shadow.  My gaze didn't waver, looking out at the red hues that leaked all over the world.

I limped up to the wall, staining the wood with my thoughts, slapdash into reality.

I'm changing too.

The fumes stung my nostrils, causing me to sneeze, and just as it released I heard Hiro shout, "Kaz!"

Squinty-eyed, I peered over my sleeve toward him, instead seeing a cop car pulling to a stop on the road.

"Shit!" Hiro hissed, frantic to find an escape route.

The door to the car opened, the heavyset officer angry but in no hurry, believing he had us cornered.

"Hey!" he thundered.  "Just what do you punks think you're--"

I clutched Hiro's shirt, yanking him out of his stupor.

"This way!"

Panic caused my voice to crack.  Dropping my spray paint, I blasted off, slipping on the soft soil that gave way beneath my feet.  Hiro reared back and chucked his can near the cop, gloating, then wheeled around to follow me.  He looked unsure, not knowing about the broken gate behind the mill.

We heard the cop announce to his radio, "I've got two runners," before his loud steps began to pursue us.

Both of us dashed with terrible form, my view a mirage slurred by the heat in my head.  There was no noise but our shallow breaths and the pounding of blood in my ears, no coherent thoughts, just the feelings of fear and thrill.  This was fight or flight mode.

I collided with the fence, hooking my fingertips into the rusty chains and clambering up as its rattling assailed my senses.  Hiro was at my heels, I knew without slowing to look, and our exhales hitched as we hit the earth on the other side.

I tried to stand up, but my clothing snagged on the barbed wire, and my neck folded as I craned to see what was stuck.  The cop was a bound away from the fence.

Hiro rolled over where he'd landed and reached for the zipper on my hoodie, yanking it down and rushing to grab at the cloth by my shoulders.

"Hurry!" he ordered, and I understood, slipping my arms free and reaching to help him up.

This time he was the one that clutched at me, urging me to follow.  I'd anticipated heading for the river, but he steered us to the left, batting away branches, and the views whirred by maddeningly again, but only for a minute.  Hiro abruptly stopped and dropped low, panting for breath, and I did the same.

Now I had time for my thoughts to catch up to me, thoughts about how this could mean big trouble, how within a minute I could be in handcuffs and given a criminal record.  Hiro's hair was stuck with sweat around his temples, a vein protruding on his forehead.  The intensity of his silence made me want to know, so badly, what he was thinking.

It was then that I noticed the throbbing in my thigh, one eye shutting tight as the pain pulsated.  Hiro noticed, brows furrowing with worry.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, quiet as the breeze.

Still squinting, I nodded, somewhat dismissively.  "But almost in a good way."

A slow smile pulled apart his lips.  He seemed to get what I meant.  An almost pleasing sort of soreness.  I shot a boyish grin back at him, body heaving as I regained steady breaths.  The pain subsided.  My sweat began to dry, the hairs on my bare arms raising against the brisk wind.

Up ahead we could hear the cop stomping through the trees, going in the wrong direction.  We stayed like soldiers, half my face blackened as though I were camouflaged.

"Come on," Hiro finally grunted.  "Let's do what we do best."

He was crawling to his knees.

"What do we do best?"

He glanced into the woods, then back at me.

"Run."