Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

When he finished, he stepped back and said I looked hotter than fuck.

Anna agreed, although it killed her to admit it.

I looked in the mirror and realized I looked like a whore. It was weird, because I knew it was my reflection I was looking at and I could still see the faint outline of the real me buried in there somewhere, but this Bear looked slutty and ripped and hot and gross. It didn’t help when I found myself flexing at my reflection just to see what it’d look like. Isaiah came and stood behind me, brushing invisible somethings off my shoulders, grinning at me in the mirror. That grin that said I told you so. That grin that said you love the way you look. I was never one for these things, because what would be the point? It was easier to focus on the reality of life, that Tyson needed a new coat or new school supplies. That the water bill was due. Our cell phone bills. I needed gas. Or food. I didn’t have time to care about the little bullshit stuff that some people get to worry about. But I wasn’t bitter because I’d never had them in the first place. And looking at myself in the mirror, all sheen and pretty and fake, I didn’t know if I wanted it.

And then my phone alarm when off, reminding me I had ten minutes to go pick up the Kid from school. I didn’t have time to change and flew out of the house with Anna

trailing behind me and Isaiah shouting that he’d see me at the club because he wanted to see what happened when the sharks at PDXers got wind of fresh bloody meat in the water. Oh, and that he wanted to meet Walrus for the first time.

I was almost late picking up the Kid, who was standing on the corner impatiently, his eyes scanning the approaching cars, a nervous tilt to his shoulders. He saw me approaching, and the tension released, and he waved at me as he grinned. He opened the door and said, “Hey, Papa Bear! I wasn’t worried at all, you were just a little later than you—” And then he stopped.

And stared.

“What?” I asked him as I started pulling out into traffic to get over to the high school. I glanced over at him, and his eyes were wide and one corner of his mouth twitched. “What’s the matter?”

He just stared.

I scowled at him as I pulled into the high school and waved Dominic over. He got into the backseat and closed the door behind him. He reached up and patted the Kid on the shoulder twice, saying Ty’s name softly in greeting. Ty didn’t move. He followed Ty’s gaze until it hit me, and then his jaw dropped, and he started the same staring weirdness that the Kid was doing.

“What is wrong with you two?” I snapped at them.

“You… you look… different,” Dominic offered.

I looked down and realized I was still wearing Isaiah’s clothes, the douchey leather bracelet on my arm, my hair all over the place that was supposed to be cool but reminded me of pretentious slacker assholes.

“That’s what people wear to gay bars?” Ty finally said. “Good grief, Bear. Don’t you think you should leave something to the imagination? You look like one of those out-of-control teenage girls on Maury Povich who get sent to boot camp to correct their miscreant ways.”

I’ve got to stop recording that damn show. “No more Maury Povich for you,” I said, scowling at him. “Stick with Anderson. At least he reports real news.”

“Be nice,” Dominic said. “Your brother looks good.”

“Thank you, Dominic.”

Tyson looked in the backseat at his friend and frowned. “It’s not very nice to tell lies to people like that,” he said. “He doesn’t look like Bear.”

Dominic shrugged. “It’s just for going out, Ty. He’s not going to dress like that all the time.”

“If it makes you feel better, Kid,” I said, “I think I look ridiculous.”

Tyson rolled his eyes. “The only things you need to complete the outfit is a little soul patch on your chin and a diamond stud in one ear. I’m sure the women over on Miracle Mile would run in the opposite direction because they’re afraid you’re going to bitch-slap them and demand they give you the money they owe you.”

“Tyson McKenna!” I shouted even as Dominic dissolved into that rusty laughter of his. “You need to learn to watch your mouth!”

“Why!” he shouted back, sudden anger flashing in his eyes. “You obviously don’t give a damn about what you look like, so why should I care about what I say?”

“What are you talking about? I care about how I look!”

“No, you don’t,” he retorts. “Not if you’re showing up dressed like that.”

“I was at a friend’s house,” I told him. “He was letting me borrow some clothes, and I didn’t have time to change back. I’m not going to dress like this all the time.”

“Whose house were you at?” he asked suspiciously. “Nobody we know has clothes like that.”

I was exasperated. “A friend from school. Anna was there with me, and she said I looked okay. Kid, just because I look like this doesn’t mean I’m doing anything else different. It’s just dressing up. It’s like… it’s like playing pretend.”

“You’re twenty-one,” he told me. “You shouldn’t have to pretend at anything. And who is this friend of yours, and why have I never heard of him?”

“Because I don’t have to tell you every damn thing I do!” I said through gritted teeth. “Christ, Tyson. Sometimes I think you forget who is in charge around here, that you forget who is adopting who. You’re the kid. I’m the adult. You need to remember that. I don’t have to go over every single thing with you!”