Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

10

Bennett

“What did Michael say?”

“Nothing.”

“So, he did say something.”

Ruby gives my hair the smallest of tugs.

“Ow!”

She giggles, threading her fingers through my long hair once more and grabbing another section to braid.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Your hair always smells like strawberries.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes, I am.”

I lean my head back, resting it in her lap. Ruby is sitting on the mattress in my bedroom, and I’m stretched out on the floor in front of her. This might normally be relaxing because I like her hands playing in my hair, but all I can think about is our birthday party last night. And I haven’t been able to shake the image of her in that closet with freaking Michael Waters.

“Just tell me one thing,” I say. “Did he say something bad?”

“Bennett.”

“Why won’t you tell me this?”

“It’s just … weird. I don’t know.”

I grumble out an incoherent noise, and Ruby giggles again.

“I just don’t like how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?” Ruby asks.

My blood pumps at the thought of seeing his dumb face looking at her. If it were anyone—literally anyone else—I wouldn’t care. But it’s him.

“He looks at you with … greed. Or something like that.”

“Greed?” Her hands stop mid-twist, and she laughs out loud.

“I’m serious.”

“What, is he gonna steal me, like Bowser?”

“Maybe, Princess Peach,” I tease back. “From me.”

“He won’t though. You’re my only best friend.”

Sure.My best friend who I think about kissing a lot.

I’ve kissed more girls now—Shannon, Sadie, Sarah—but none of them were like that kiss in The Canoodler. The only one that came close was the kiss with Sarah after wrestling practice late last year. She’d met me in the locker room once cheer practice ended, and her hands drifted below my belt.

Of course I told Ruby after because I tell her everything.

“Did it hurt?” Ruby had asked.

“No,” I said. “It felt good. I think.”

Ruby laughed. “You think?”

“The teeth hurt a little.”

“There were teeth involved?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah …”

We reminisced on it—me more than her, I’m sure—but I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ruby that, even with Sarah’s lips on a very enjoyable part of my body, it still didn’t compare to kissing Ruby on The Canoodler. Nothing could compare to kissing my best friend.

Which is so unbelievably messed up—and I know that. I felt so guilty about thinking about the freaking Canoodler kiss that I broke up with Sarah the next day. It didn’t feel fair to compare her to the girl now braiding my hair in my bedroom.

However, even though I thought I was being a gentleman, breaking up with Sarah was apparently the wrong move because Sarah said I used her, which was not at all what I’d intended.

I told my mom about it, and she made me write Sarah an apology letter, which was very publicly ripped up in my face to a chorus of, “Ooh,” in the high school lunchroom.

Relationships are weird.

“So,” Ruby says, loosening the braid to start a new one, “I was thinking about the first thing I want you to build me in your apprenticeship program.”

I smile. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. A little treasure chest. For all the maps we have. That’s the first thing they teach you, right? Building pirate chests?”

“You’re right. I looked at the curriculum and everything.”

Honeywood’s general manager, Fred, approached me last week about joining an apprenticeship program after high school. He said he could see me moving up at the park once I had some certifications and experience under my belt. I couldn’t believe it. Building things is all I’ve ever wanted to do. He said I was a natural leader and he wanted to keep me on for the long-term. It felt good to hear.

“Or you can build me a pirate ship,” Ruby continues. “I’ll take that too.”

“I’ll have to save for the materials. Or I guess I have the money already.”

I glance over at my computer desk with the envelope—a gift from my dad for my seventeenth birthday. The most communication I’ve ever gotten from him. My mom almost passed out at the sight of all the cash. She laughed and joked that I should write him back and ask if it’s drug money. I almost did.

“Isn’t that for college?” Ruby asks.

“Sure,” I say. “Or … I could build a pirate ship.”

“Spoken like a true buccaneer.”

“What else do you do with sorry I’ve been a shit dad money? Maybe I’ll get a house. Or a motorcycle. Or tons of tattoos.”

“You want tattoos?”

“I think so, yeah.” I trace a thumb over her freckled knee, watching goose bumps slowly shiver over her thigh. “I like the look.”

Ruby grabs another strand of hair and starts a new braid. “I think you’d look great with tattoos. God, I’m gonna miss you in college.”

“Hey,” I say. “You’re gonna do great in college without me.”

“Whose hair am I gonna braid?”

“You’ll make friends with hair.”

She pushes my arm, and I laugh.

“Really though, when have I ever been great at making friends?”

“You’re friends with me.”

She blows out a raspberry. “That was all your doing.”

“But you still have me.”

“Yeah, and I wanna keep you.”

I laugh, leaning my cheek on her thigh.

“You’ll keep me,” I say. “I’m yours.” I lift my wrist, tilting it side to side, putting the pink bracelet on display. “See?”

“Very convincing argument.”

“You know what I think? I think you should get a tattoo with me. Let’s tattoo our bracelets on our wrists.”

“Are you kidding? My dad would kill me.”

I blow out a breath and wave my hand. “Tell him to screw off.”

She gasps and pushes my arm again.

I hate the way Ruby idolizes her dad. She’ll trash-talk her mom all day long, but the second he’s brought up, it’s no longer fair game. Mr. Sullivan has cast Ruby aside just as much as her mom has; he just compensates for the absence by putting a roof over her head. Just because he stuck around and her mom didn’t doesn’t make him a hero.

“I can’t talk back to my dad,” she says.

“You talk back to me.”

“Yeah, because it’s fun,” she says with a sneaky smile.

“And I love it when you talk back to me,” I say. “Move over, Parrot.”

Ruby scoots back onto my mattress as I crawl up next to her. I lie on my side, holding my head up in the palm of my hand. Ruby stays on her back, looking up at my ceiling with her hands resting over her chest.

“All my hard work on the braids!” she says, tracing a hand over my hair. It tickles my scalp and sends shivers down my neck. “They’re gonna fall out.”

“Eh, even what’s left will look better than my usual do.”

“I like your hair.”

I blow out air that sends a few strands flying up, then flopping back down. “It needs a trim.”

“No,” she says. “Never cut it.”

I love moments like this—moments when we’re just lying next to each other, talking. It’s calming.

But then I think about seeing Michael and Ruby in the closet. If I found them a bit later, what would have happened? Would he have finally kissed her? Would she have run her fingers through his hair as well?

Why him?

“What did Michael say to you, Ruby?” I ask, bringing it back.

Ruby rolls her eyes with a smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if he was a jerk to you.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, which she never does when it comes to Michael. “He is sort of a jerk sometimes.”

“What if I pissed him off just a little bit?” I suggest.

“Bennett …” she warns.

“Now, hold on. I have an idea I’ve been toying with,” I say with a hand up. “A prank.”

“A prank? Seriously?”

“I’ve been thinking … what if I streak across the football field during his championship game?”

She freezes, blinking at me once, then twice.

“You’re kidding,” she breathes.

“It’d be funny,” I say. “The whole day is supposed to be about him, and I’m just gonna ruin the hell out of it.”

“You’d get in so much trouble.”

I lift a single eyebrow, and I swear her body tenses.

“Maybe I like a little trouble,” I tease.

Her green eyes dart between mine, her breathing erratic and quick.

I swallow. “Seriously, what did Michael say to you, Ruby?”

She sits up, tucking her legs underneath her.

“Okay,” she concedes. “Fine. You did tell me about Teethie Girl.”

My blood rushes to my head. “Wait, is this a teethie story?”

Ruby’s face grows red. “Oh my God, no. I mean … I don’t know. Sort of? Don’t freak out.”

“I won’t freak out,” I say, but my body is tense because the thought of Ruby and a blow job and Michael’s stupid, pint-sized prick …

She squints. “You look like you are already freaking out.”

I probably do, but I shake my head. “Not freaking out. Go on.”

“Well, he said … he thinks about me.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like, when he …” Ruby waves her palms around.

“I’m confused.”

Then, she squeaks out in a hissy whisper, “When he masturbates, Bennett.”

My whole body gets hot. My chest feels like it’s in a tightened grasp—no, in a fist. Just like, well, when I’m masturbating, I guess.

“Okay, well, you don’t have to yell it,” I say with a playful laugh. But I don’t feel playful.

Because Michael told her he masturbates to her?

“That’s a weird thing for him to say.”

Ruby rests back on her feet. “I thought so too. I mean, like, people actually do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Masturbation. Like, do you … do that?”

My face flushes with heat.

“Uh… ha.” I scratch the back of my neck.

She blinks. “Wait, do you?”

I swallow and nod because, “Yeah. I do.”

“And what do you think about?”

“People. Girls. Boobs mostly.”

“Right,” she says quickly. She plays with the pink string on her wrist, twisting it around and back. “God, apparently, everyone does it.”

“Apparently?”

“I don’t.”

Somehow, this is more uncomfortable than my blow job conversation. This is more personal. Because the thought of my best friend touching herself …

“You don’t?” I ask.

“No,” she says quickly. “God, I mean, we don’t have to talk about this. It’s whatever. That’s fine. The whole thing is ridiculous anyway.” The words stumble out of her in a mess of vowels and consonants that don’t feel like words at all. “He was probably lying to me. I’m not …” Then, she laughs out the next word. “Hot. At least not hot enough to imagine … y’know.”

“Ruby?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m almost positive he’s not the only one who thinks of you.”

And I can’t believe I said it out loud, but I always tell her everything on my mind, and maybe this is weird, but … it’s the truth.

Sometimes, it’s not Sadie kissing me in my dreams. It’s Ruby. And when I’m finished, I always have to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds after to contemplate what that means because it feels wrong, but then I just fist my cock and jerk it all over again because … it’s Ruby.

Her wide green eyes stare into my face, and we’re so close, only inches from each other. I can smell her sugary-sweet scent. I try to look away—at the floor, at the blankets, at the walls, then back to her. She hasn’t stopped staring.

“Do you?” she whispers. “Think about me, I mean?”

“Rubes … that’s …”

“You don’t.” She says it like it’s a fact.

“Um …”

Her eyes drift south, then back up. My zipper is strained. Hell, I probably look strained.

She looks at my lips, and I look at hers. They’re so perfect and so pink, and I just want to turn them red again.

Can we do that again? Should we?

But then I hear the creak in the far-right ceiling tile—the one that indicates Mom is near the stairwell—and suddenly, the basement door is ripped open, and she’s descending each step.

Ruby and I rip apart as fast as we can, but the sound of the mattress is too loud, and we’re not quick enough.

“Hey, kiddos, I was thinking we could make some popcorn and …”

Mom turns the corner onto the last step, halting in place. Her eyes dart between us. Our knees still touching. The blankets messy around us. The undeniable look of guilt on my face. There’s no way I don’t look like I’ve been caught with an internet browser I need to clear the history from. Or like I’ve been making out with my best friend, which I haven’t.

We always hang out on the bed like this. It’s innocent. At least when we weren’t talking about choking the chicken.

“What’s up, Mom?” I say, my voice cracking before I clear my throat. Damn, I sound so guilty.

“I figured we could watch a movie soon,” she says, throwing a thumb over her shoulder toward the upstairs.

Her eyes are squinting at me, and the pull in my gut is screaming bloody murder.

“Yep,” I say. “That’d be great.”

“Right.” She looks between us. “Great.” She opens her mouth, closes it. “Listen … uh, this isn’t gonna be a fun thing to talk about, but …”

“Mom.”

“I know y’all are getting … older.”

Oh God, I want to die. Please let me crawl into the ground right here.

“Mom.”

“You’re seventeen now,” she continues. “I was seventeen before, and if you remember, I had you at that age.”

Kill me now. I want to die. Oh my God.

“Oh. This isn’t … no, it’s not like that,” Ruby chimes in.

“I didn’t want to have to have”—Mom makes quotation marks—“ ‘the talk’ with you two, but …”

“Then, don’t.” My voice is a groan. A plea. “Please, Mom. Please.”

Her eyes swivel over to Ruby, who looks like she’s transformed into stone, locked on by Medusa herself.

“Rubes?”

“We were just hanging out. Plus, I’ve got the talk from my dad. Thanks.”

This is mortifying.

“Okay then,” Mom says. “Well, I think we should at least have a new rule. As long as you’re under my roof, please do not lie under the covers together anymore.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ruby replies quickly.

Mom’s eyes narrow. I don’t think Ruby has called my mom ma’am since we were ten years old, when she insisted Ruby call her Brittney.

“Uh-huh,” Mom says, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “Right. Well, let’s go, kiddos,” she says, knocking on the doorway. “And make your bed, Bennett.”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

She walks back upstairs, but she leaves the basement door open.

I look at Ruby, who has a thousand-yard stare. My heart is pounding, and guilt is like a hot blanket over my burning skin.

“Rubes? You all right?”

“Hmm?”

Then, I burst into a laugh. It’s hysterical the way it bubbles out. And I think I might be—hysterical, that is. Ruby laughs with me.

“Awkward,” she says.

“So awkward,” I echo.

The tension is thankfully broken. I look down at the blankets like they’re the reason I feel so uncomfortable. The traitors.

“So, how about that championship prank?” I ask, changing the subject. “You all right with me humiliating Mikey?”

I feel myself smile, especially when I see her own smile returning. It’s so pretty. Everything about her is. Her freckles. Her ginger hair that she politely tucks behind her ears. Her. The face that I have, admittedly, thought about in the privacy of my bedroom without her here.

“Whatever you wanna do,” she says.

And for a second, I think she has that hazy look in her eyes—the kind she gets whenever she looks at Michael. Except it’s directed toward me.