Becoming Brett

23. City

I'm late.

My mom stopped me while I was trying to leave, wanting to go over the next few days. Specifically mid week when I actually have family plans, unlike today.

I'm not looking forward to them either. When I have to sit and listen to their close mindedness and their judgements. They always seem to land on politics and then out come their very conservative beliefs. It's not that they aren't kind, they are. And my family is loving. As long as you fit neatly into their standards.

I look like I fit into their prepackaged boxes. Quite well in fact. With my good grades and squeaky clean record. But per usual, I'm a fox.

The thought tugs a smile on my face as the tires of my wagon scrap against the concrete and loose rocks that have gathered in the less traveled areas of the road. James' face at the forefront of my mind, gray eyes full of happiness and mischief. This dark eyebrows arched slightly as laughter silently tumbles from him and even though it's just in my mind, my heart beats erratically.

My palms wring the fake leather of my steering wheel, the textured material worn smooth from years of fingers wrapped around the same spots. The library fills my view, the building sprawling in every direction contained only by the bordering streets.

I make the turn for the alley, righting my wheels when my eyes find him. He's leaning against the bricks of the library, head bowed as he stares at his phone. One foot kicked up against the brick as the other bares his weight. At the sound of my car his head lifts, his hand drops his phone into his pockets while his foot shoves himself off the brick wall in preparation for his dive into my car.

And I'm just desperately waiting to see his smile. To be close to him. Touch him.

We're not going to our spot. Not today, we've got something better planned.

My foot presses down on the brake, my wagon happily obliging as it slows to a crawl. And just like every other time we've done this James is in my car in a blink of an eye, my foot slipping from the brake back to the gas as my wagon whines in protest.

"Hey." The sound of his voice, low just slightly softer than all the other times he greets people because this hey isn't for anyone else. It's just for me.

"Hi." I'm never as smooth as he is, excitement gripping my chest, creeping up my airways causing all my muscles to tighten without my consent because I'm dying to be with James.

To really be with him. To hold his hand and kiss him and tangle ourselves up in one another.

My face flushes at my inability to hide the fact that James causes my whole being to go haywire. He laughs through his nose, subtly and amused and even though we aren't out of town yet, not even close, my hand finds his from across the console of my wagon.

His fingers slip between mine, warm against my cold skin.

"How long do we have today?" He asks.

I spare a glance at him, his eyes focused on our hands. I wonder if he's trying to memorize the way our fingers fold together, seamlessly, like they were meant to hold one another. If he's trying to commit it to memory so when we can't do this he can still see it. He can retrieve it from the files of his mind, a picture so vivid it must be true.

That's what I do anyway.

"I said I was going to Wes' dad's for dinner. So at least until eight, maybe nine." I'm pleased with myself. Maybe a little guilty too.

I use Wes as a cover more than he realizes. Concocting lies because I know my parents trust me and I know they'll never question me if Wes is involved. We're best friends. But more than that, they think I'm a good influence on him. My mom will never say it aloud but I've heard them talk. About her divorce. About Wes and his Tourette's, OCD and ADHD. They think it's some tragic thing, all of Wes' "problems" if you will. And Grace's divorce, don't even get me started. She's just asking for Wes to turn into some misguided thug.