Boys Will Be Boys (v.2)

chapter eleven - the shore

chapter eleven — the shore

 LUKAS HAD DECIDED TO KIDNAP ME. He'd locked me inside the car with that stupid smirk of his, disarming my Mum with a hug. All I wanted to do was to go inside and play video games, but Lukas was adamant about us going to the shore. My hands slapped down on the dashboard, fingers fumbling to find the button that unlocked the doors. I pushed on a lever, jumping back with a shout as the radio sputtered to life and the windshield wipers started flailing. Lukas shot me an amused look from the porch, turning back to the door to accept a cliché-looking picnic basket from my Mum. I hastily waved my arms at her, screaming for her to unlock the door since I didn't want to go to the beach. I figured that wide eyes and panic was the universal sign for 'help me', but my Mum just smiled cheerily and waved before going back into the Schmitt's house.

I scowled, letting my head fall onto the dashboard with a concussing thump, regretting the decision immediately as a headache sprung up. I heard the driver's side door open, nose twitching as it picked up the smell of Mr. Schmitt's infamous sourdough. Everyone in the Schmitt household smells like fucking bread.

I wanted to hate the smell so bad, but I found myself drowning in it. I didn't even bother to put up a fight, slumping back into my chair as Lukas thrust the basket into my lap, turning the windshield wipers off as he backed out of the driveway. I nuzzled the basket close to my chest, sighing at the comforting warmth emanating from it.

"Don't fall asleep on me, Keke," Lukas' hand slapped at my thigh and I jerked away with a scowl.

"I've planned for us to have a wonderful afternoon on the sandy dunes of sand, water lapping at our feet like a Cocker spaniel with a foot fetish"

My lips twitched and I quickly ducked my head so Lukas wouldn't see.

Lukas spoke like a stupid intellectual whenever he got excited. He'd layer on a terrible British accent, hand brandishing in the air around him like it was pedigree oxygen and he owned the shit. I'd normally play along, mimicking my Mum's faint Irish accent, or, if I was feeling particularly excited, my Dad's unintelligible pseudo-Irish-British accent. Mum was from Ireland Ireland, land of the leprechauns and Molly Malone. Dad said he was from Northern Ireland, which, weirdly enough was connected to mainland Britain and not Ireland, so I blamed his mixed accent on that. There was also the fact that he tried damn hard to Americanize his English, so he ended up sounding like an absolute mess.

Not that I'd ever call him that to his face.

It was Lukas and I's secret.

But I refuse to humor the jerkwad today.

"Aw, c'mon, Keke," Lukas frowned, eyes darting over to me.

"It's not that bad, right? We would've been hanging out anyways, but now outdoors"

I stayed silent, determinedly looking out the window. When I was little, I used to imagine a little ninja running beside the car I was in. With a mix of incredible acrobatics and a fuck-you to the Law of Gravity, he'd leap from cartop to cartop at insane speeds. Now that I was grown, I liked to imagine the road falling apart as our wheels crossed the tar. It was a little darker than my ninja but much cooler. We whizzed past a decaying carcass— some animal stupid enough to cross the freeway— and my gut twisted uncomfortably. I looked away, foot-tapping as we took the exit to the shore.

I looked over at Lukas quickly, realizing that it was far too quiet in the car. He was gnawing at his lip, the skin a bloody red as his nerves ripped through him. White-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his dark eyes scanned the road for something. Lukas didn't give a shit about what others said about him, but the same couldn't be said for people he liked. His family. His friends. Like me. Fuck. Is he sad because of me?