More Happy Than Not

“Nosebleed after beating down some Joey Rosa dick suckers,” Skinny-Dave says, hopping up and down and smacking his fists like he was a part of the fight. Whenever we brawled with kids from the Joey Rosa Projects, he always bitched out and hid in bodegas or behind trash cans.

“What the fuck did they do to you?”

Brendan sits Me-Crazy down on the bench. “We were walking by when the usual suspects ran their mouths because we partied on your boy’s roof. Danny blew a kiss at Me-Crazy and got his shit rocked.”

“Me-Crazy wrecked them all!” Skinny-Dave shouts.

Baby Freddy and Skinny-Dave are walking to Good Food’s to grab some tissues, and I hear them recapping their favorite part of the fight—when Me-Crazy made Danny kiss the bottom of his boot—seven times. I don’t even think Danny is gay, but that kind of stuff just sets Me-Crazy off like little white party poppers. He’s fucking insane, but at least he’s on our side.

And here’s one of my problems: if I don’t choose Genevieve, I’ll find myself on the receiving end of a boot to the face.

Before I head out to meet Genevieve, I suddenly have a big to-do list. It ranges from balling up socks to color-coding my comics to add some life to my corner of the living room. But I snap out of it because I’m excited to see her, or at least I’m telling myself I am, because it’s how I would’ve behaved if I were going to see Thomas.

On the phone last night, Genevieve mentioned there’s a flea market opening up today, and I invited myself along because that’s what a good boyfriend does.

When I see her, I make it a point to tell her something really nice about herself, like how much I love the constellation of freckles running down from her neck to her shoulder blade. I’m trying to prove to her that she’s my universe and I orbit within her, simple as that. I learned how to be this way because of my friends. Not directly, of course, since Brendan blasts his way through girls, and Skinny-Dave is always texting multiple prospects simultaneously, but anti–role models are just as enlightening. And at the very least she seems to appreciate the effort. Or she pretends she does.

The flea market is packed. We pass by boring vendors selling buttons, shoelaces, tube socks, and underwear. She tries on some emerald earrings by one table and I walk off a little bit to find a comic worth buying. I check out the next table and there’s a sign that reads vintage video games. They have the old Nintendo cartridges for Pac-Man and Super Mario Bros. 3 and Castlevania, all priced for twenty dollars or more with a marker. I nod at the guy in the Zelda shirt and move on to the next table with all these fridge magnets. I consider buying one for Thomas. But that would just be an excuse to go see him, so I don’t, even though there are words crawling around my brain that I want to come out and say.

I turn and Genevieve isn’t at the jewelry table anymore. I tiptoe and find her waving me down. I make my way to her and she’s holding a blue moleskin sketchbook. “What do you think? I want to make sure you actually like it before I surprise you with it.”

“I don’t need a new notebook,” I say. I still have enough spiral notebooks with loose leaf I haven’t used up yet.

“But do you want a new one?”

“No thanks.” I know she’s not some rich girl, but she’s definitely much better off than I am with her own bedroom and weekly allowances. She doesn’t really understand Want versus Need like we do at home; just because you can afford something doesn’t mean you have to have it.

Things I Want: new video games; trendier sneakers; a laptop with Photoshop; a home with enough bedrooms so friends can stay over.

Things I Need: food and water; coats and boots during the winter; a home to come home to, no matter how small; a girlfriend like Genevieve; and a best friend like Thomas instead of a sort of best friend like Brendan.

Genevieve grabs my hand and I fake a smile. I notice she’s still a little unhappy herself.

Later that night, there’s a knock on the door. Eric’s about to leave for his overnight inventory shift and Mom is laid out from her double. I sometimes catch myself mistaking a knock on the door for Dad without his keys. It’ll be a while until I shake that off, I think. Normally my friends call for me outside the window. I pause my game and pray it’s not someone ding-dong-ditching me because so help me God . . .

I open the door and it’s Thomas. “Hey,” he says with a smile.

I smile back.

“You game to come over tonight?” he asks after I say nothing. “I’ve made progress on my life chart and thought we could catch up. Been a while.”

Yeah, eight days since I last saw him and ten hours since we last texted. I should really stay home and rest because I’m spending the day with Genevieve again tomorrow. But if I stay, I’ll be up all night anxious over how I could’ve been helping him figure out who he is so he isn’t walking around blind and lost. “Yeah, I’m down. Give me a sec.”

I go back inside to turn off the Xbox, and Eric is eyeing me like he knows all my secrets and lies; it’s the same look he had the day I left home to go have sex for the first time. I let Mom sleep since I’ll be home before she even wakes up during the middle of the night to pee. To avoid all our friends in the court, I lead Thomas out of the back staircase. It smells like recently lit weed. I put a hand on Thomas’s chest to stop him so we can listen out for anyone down there.

When I don’t hear anything, we go down and bump into Brendan and this girl Nate. Nate’s real name is Natalie but she’s been reinventing herself as a dude for the past four years with thick braids, fake gold medallions, fitted hats, and basketball jerseys. Brendan looks at Thomas but asks me, “What you doing here, A?”

“Heading out.” I see the packet of weed in his hand. “You?”

“Business,” Brendan says.

“You would’ve been busted if I was a security guard,” I say.

“Nah. Their loud-ass keys always give them up.”

“I could’ve been someone who would’ve snitched.”

“My grandfather doesn’t care what I do to bring home paper,” Brendan says, rubbing his fingers together. “I should finish up here.”