More Happy Than Not

Thomas traces the scar too and pokes my wrist twice. His fingers are dirty from the yo-yo and other crap on the roof. But now I see; he’s added eyes with two dark fingerprints above the scar. “I’m glad you didn’t do it, Stretch. Would’ve been a waste.”

He wants me to continue existing. I want that too, now.

I pull my arm away and fold my hands on my lap. “Your turn: tell me who you are.” His eyebrows meet in the middle, like he’s considering the possibilities of who he might be. When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Childish question, but what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I think a film director,” Thomas quickly answers. “Though you’re probably catching on that I don’t have a whole lot of direction in life.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I wouldn’t not say it either. Why a film director?”

“Been interested in it since I saw Jurassic Park and Jaws as a kid. I bow down before Spielberg, whose directing made dinosaurs and sharks even more terrifying.”

“I’ve never seen Jaws.”

Thomas’s eyes widen like I just spoke in Elvish. “I would gouge out my eyes and give them to you if it meant you could see the magic that is Jaws. Spielberg does this awesome thing at the end where—actually, I won’t spoil it for you. You’ll have to come over and watch it sometime.”

A window slams shut behind us.

We both freak out for a second and find Brendan and Baby Freddy standing there. I jump to my feet like someone just caught me with my pants down doing something with someone I really shouldn’t be doing anything with. “Uh. Have you guys been caught yet?”

“Nah,” Baby Freddy says. “What are you doing?”

“Catching our breath,” I lie while Thomas simultaneously says, “Talking.”

Brendan is looking at us funny, but then his eyes widen. I turn to see Nolan coming toward us while Fat-Dave is struggling to come through the window. We run back to the window on the other side. Thomas is beside me one second, down on the ground the next. I have a tenth of a second to decide to keep going or to help him out. I stop to see if he’s okay.

Nolan grapples me. “Manhunt one, two, three. Manhunt one, two, three. Manhunt one, two, three.”

I’m caught but don’t really care. I crouch beside Thomas where he’s massaging his knee. “You good?”

He nods, whistling in and out, and then it hits me that he could push me down and make a run for it and leave me chasing after him the rest of the game. Fuck that. I grapple him. “Manhunt one, two, three. Manhunt one, two, three. Manhunt one, two, three.”

We all go back downstairs to search for Me-Crazy before the game ends. I pair with Thomas while Brendan and the others fan out in the garage. We run up to the balcony—Thomas limping behind a bit—and look for Me-Crazy in empty porches, behind barbecue grills, and under deflated pools.

“So I know a little about you and you know a little about me,” he says, wincing as he tries to keep up. “Tell me Genevieve’s story.”

“I’ll destroy you if you make a move on my girl.”

“Don’t worry about that, Stretch.”

“Genevieve is . . . She is just the fucking greatest. She gets obsessive when she discovers new artists and is always sending me rambling emails about her favorites and why they should be more famous. She stays up late for daylight savings time so she can see the hours change on the clock. Oh, and she used to rely on her horoscope when she was younger and took it personally whenever it duped her.” I look up at the sky and it’s in that weird blue-and-pink phase without any stars. “She wants to go to the park to look at stars tomorrow, but I want to top that.”

“Planetarium?”

“Ruled it out already. I’m scared she’ll want to grab lunch or something like that and I can’t afford it.”

Thomas knocks over a shovel leaning against a wall in one of the porches and it clatters loudly. He quickly hops out and hides against the wall before the neighbors can come and curse him out. I crawl over to him and we wait it out a bit before running back down the stairs. “You have anything planned so far?” he asks, once we’re safe.

“My mom’s coworker gave me a two-for-one coupon for a pottery session. So in the morning we’ll make something cool together, but I just need a good finish.” Something tells me sex in a crappy motel room wouldn’t count as a real gift unless you’re a complete arrogant bastard in a high school prom movie. “Any ideas?”

“Show her stars like she wants,” Thomas says. “I know where to get you some.”

He tells me his plan and it’s so fucking boss.

6

HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I like waking up from nightmares.