Present-day

"I am taking it upon myself as a half-Jewish person to say fuck Christmas, and fuck this stupid fucking mall, and fuck everyone shopping today and taking up all the fucking parking spots near the stupid fucking ice rink," Vicky grumbles on the other side of Hayley.

"You're half Jewish?" I ask.

"So not important right now, Ryan. Walk faster!" She commands and the clicking of her heels grows sharper and faster, the mall becoming blurrier and Mariah Carey's singing more anxiety-inducing.

An annoying heat is beginning to creep on my cheeks and it's not so much from the brisk walking in this 40-something-degree weather—that would be very pathetic—as it is from the looks we keep getting as we walk by. I can't say I blame people for staring at two panicked individuals pushing a small girl who is both blindfolded and earmuffed through the mall. I keep trying to give closed-mouthed smiles as if that will lessen the suspicion that we're very publicly abducting a child. No need to be alarmed folks, if you look a bit closer you'll see that the blindfoldee is our five-foot-two teenage friend and she is the most enthused of the three of us.

It's all part of Hayley's surprise birthday party plan. Part of the surprise being a celebration two weeks before her actual birthday. It was actually Audrey's idea because she pointed out how shitty it was that Hayley's birthday was completely overshadowed by Christmas when we mentioned her birthday being on the 27th during a facetime call last week.

Brendon, Vicky, and I spent the greater part of the afternoon trying to iron out details like being able to find parking close to the mall's outdoor icerink so we don't have to speedwalk across the entire place under incredibly suspicious pretenses. We, unfortunately, made the party reservation under my name so I couldn't just drop them off. And lord knows I'm not gonna even say a word about how this could have been resolved if only Vicky knew how to drive--that is unless I don't want to keep my head on my shoulders.

The planning part was fun at least. Vicky normally acts less neurotic when Brendon's around which sorta leads me to believe she might like him. One might say I'm just being "jealous", I guess, but Vicky is neurotic with basically everyone so it's not a wild hunch. Also, Brendon is gay and we're whatever we are, so I'm really not jealous. In all honesty, it makes me feel good knowing that other people like him because then I know that I'm not a complete fucking dumbass for wanting him in my life. There's just something special about the little shit.

"Shit, do you remember reading anything on the website about how long they wait before canceling unclaimed reservations?" Vicky asks with hushed frustration.

"Spencer said he spoke to whoever to let them know we're on our way," I respond flatly, noticing another look of concern from a woman exiting the Claire's with her daughter held tightly by her side. "We're only gonna be like 5 minutes late, tops."

Vicky doesn't say anything back but I take that as a sign that she's calming down.

It is a short-lived moment, however. Hayley shocks both of us when she boisterously asks, "Are we at the mall?"

Vicky looks at me with her jaw clenched and nostrils fully flared. We keep our pace. "How could she possibly tell where she is?" he waves her available hand in front of Hayley's face, naturally, getting no response.

"How often does she come here? Maybe she like memorized the driving route or something," I reply, pulling Hayley and - by current association - Vicky a bit to the right to keep them from running into a Wetzel's Pretzel's kiosk.

Vicky gives me a funny look but it's not impossible. I have distinct memories from when my mom was still around of being able to tell how close we were to home during drives back from dinner parties in Summerlin. I'd be lying down across the backseats, pretending to be asleep, while my parents bickered – I don't remember what about, but their voices were always miserable – and certain turns and potholes became a pattern telling me how close we were to our home that always seemed particularly unimpressive those nights. They'd quiet down once we pulled in, just enough to carry me to bed and kiss me goodnight. I remember feeling so amazed by my parents who managed to just transform from something so loud and scary into the most comforting and loving people in my life. I often wonder if my mom saw it, too, and truly believed that I was in completely competent hands when she left. Then again, I could just be giving her too much credit. 

"Ryan, that is crazy unlikely, even if she wasn't high right now"--did I forget to mention that Hayley may have embraced marijuana before agreeing to go on a blindfolded adventure--"Are you sure she can't hear us with th-"

Out of the blue, and just as booming as before, Hayley blurts, "Or maybe an airport." Vicky tilts her head at the same time as me to look at Hayley's scrunched-up face--a sign that she's in deep thought. "No, no the mall makes more sense. I just- I swear I can smell a Wetzel's Pretzels." The bitter memories of my childhood faze away instantly, replaced by a form of respect that only Hayley and a few others in my life have been able to garner.

"You've got to be kidding me." Vicky takes her hands off of Hayley, using them instead to hold her forehead. She's upset but it's the kind of upset that has no place to go because it's circumstantial. It's understandable since she did do most of the organizing for this last-minute project. She's been more stressed out than usual these past couple of weeks, too, though, but that mostly has to do with college application stuff. Vicky applied early decision to NYU and will be hearing back from them in a couple of days. She applied to a bunch of other places, too, but that's definitely the big one.

I quickly move to grab both of Hayley's shoulders the moment she starts to veer off to the right from Vicky's absence, like a shopping cart with a screwy front wheel. "How foolish of us. We covered her sense of sight and sound but left out her incredible sense of smell."

"Foolish of us indeed." Vicky keeps up beside me but is noticeably disheartened by the snag in her plan.

Half of me was expecting her to stomp into a calculating tangent like she normally does when she gets charged, but I guess I shouldn't be that dismissive. "Hey," I give Vicky a nudge.

She looks up at me with big, sad, blue eyes. "What?"

"She's gonna love what you've put together for her," I say, still steering Hayley. "And, goddamnit, she is still going to be so fucking surprised. I will get Spencer to put his bare ass in front of her before she takes that blindfold off if I have to."

She rolls her eyes at me but doesn't smother her grin fast enough.

"Hey, I saw that!" I point at her mouth. She hits the side of my arm, not even trying to hide it now.

"Ugh, shut up!"

"Come on, now say, 'thank you, Ryan, for being such a cool friend. I could have never done this without you,'" I say in a doting, high-pitched voice.

Vicky shoves me off of Hayley. Hayley stumbles but goes with it. As do I. "Go ahead and make sure those idiots didn't fuck anything up," her words lack aggression this time.

I jog-walk off and before I'm completely out of earshot I hear Hayley, "Can y'all believe how easily persuaded I was into doing this? I straight up put myself in a possibly unsafe situation."

---

I don't know why, but I completely forgot how inexperienced I am with ice skating–or any real athletic activity that requires balance, to be honest. I definitely won't be forgetting this fact again anytime soon though. I'm feeling pretty certain that the bruises on my ass are sure to remain there for some time.

The private party that I made the reservation for sort of just meant that we got three picnic tables roped off under a shotty festive pavilion. From the benches, I have a pretty solid view of everyone else having a good time on the ice. I definitely feel a little out of the loop not knowing when exactly all of these people that I have known since elementary school had the time to become proficient at ice skating. I mean we wouldn't have made this Hayley's birthday activity if we didn't know about her brief background in figure skating (she quit in middle school because she didn't like competing). And I guess I'm not super familiar with her theater company friends on a personal level, but Jon?? He and Cassie are skating like fucking unit around the rink. Even Spencer had completed a couple of laps pretty seamlessly before hauling ass to the nearest pizza place before Vicky could realize that he dropped the ball on that duty.

But couldn't even make it 5 seconds without meeting the solid, slightly wet, ice. Vicky tried to give me some pointers but I tapped out once we made it to the second rink exit right before the first bend. I could tell that she meant well, but William definitely didn't. Even Vicky got on him for being an impatient sardonic prick by insisting that he didn't need to wait up for her but I made my exit around that time anyway.

Spencer texts me that he'll be back with the three large pizzas in fifteen minutes and, just as I pocket my phone, Brendon appears in front of me. The pavilion is wrapped in white decorative lights, which illuminate his face quite flatteringly. He's slightly out of breath, as indicated by the elevated rise and fall of his chest and the faint pink hue present on his nose and cheeks. Puffs of air diffuse languidly into the space between us from his lips, and I try not to get caught staring at them for too long. He offers nothing but a grin and a nod before lounging against the tabletop right beside me.

In the middle of stomping his skates on the soft, dented, flooring to remove the slush from the blades, he looks around and then back at me with his eyebrow quirked. "Spencer...?" He asks.

"... is a dumbass who forgot to get the pizzas." Brendon snorts and nods cartoonishly.

Besides this brief sway in his hips, one of the first things that caught my eye was his jacket. He's wearing the dark green D.R.E.A.D. hoodie we found at the thrift store a couple of weeks ago–we looked it up and D.R.E.A.D. (Detroit Rockers Engaged in the Abolition of Disco) apparently used to be this organization in 1970s Detroit that was against disco and also gay people and other minorities, so he thought it would be funny for a gay biracial kid to wear it around. This was the day after the football game when I needed to catch Brendon up to speed with Spencer knowing about us somewhere that wasn't my house. "Why aren't you on the ice?" Brendon asks, pulling on his sleeves.

I scoff, already picturing the fully developed bruises that I'll be finding on my hips and arms in the next few days, "You're telling me that you didn't see me eat shit? There were plenty of opportunities to see it."

He purses his lips, even pursed you can tell they're big. "Yeah, everyone saw. I just didn't want to make you feel bad." I can tell he's trying to keep himself from smirking or laughing before he can get a thorough gauge of how susceptible my ego is to slap-stick humiliation. My shoulder is much more damaged than my ego.

"Ice skating requires a level of balance that I, unfortunately, lack," I say plainly. He lets himself laugh. I can feel it warm me up.

His back straightens up as he does a little stretch and I catch a glimpse of a mark I left on him a couple days ago on his left hip. "I mean, you do have the athletic build of a cooked noodle."

"Ouch," I say unconvincingly, though, shortly after, I feel a fleeting tinge of pain shoot up my body when I adjust my seating position. "Just leave it to you to know how to make a guy feel good about himself," I respond dryly, staring off at the rest of the rink. 

"Don't worry, your pretty face makes up for it," He muses. His dark brows knit together in thought for a brief second and I'm almost inclined to ask why he's looking at me like that. "C'mon," Brendon finally says.

I look at the gloved hand he's holding out to me and back up at his face. "What?" 'C'mon' where exactly?

Brendon huffs and lightly kicks my skates with his, making a muffled clink sound. "I'm teaching you how to skate."

He's kidding, right? I am not going back out there. He's standing up. He's not kidding.

"Dude-"

"Don't 'Dude' me. You're gonna stop pouting over here by yourself and have some fun because you fucking deserve it."

"I deserve to not crack my skull on the ground and ruin Hayley's birthday plus traumatize all of the small children out there that can ice skate way better than me."

"This can be like part of my way of saying thank you for editing the shit out of my application essays last month," Brendon bats his eyes in an overexaggerated fashion.

"How about you say thank you by buying me a hot chocolate instead."

He teeters in closer to my side and says real low, "Accepting this part of my thank you gift is a prerequisite for receiving the second part of my thank you gift."

"I hate you."

"Tell that to the thing in your pants, noodle boy."

I follow him to the rink entrance.

~~~

Brendon is a surprisingly good teacher. He's patient, with an attentiveness that could almost give Hayley a run for her money. I've still taken a few tumbles but far less per square foot of ice than last time. But now we are sort of fighting about my completely valid reluctance to let go of the wall (a.k.a. the only thing keeping me standing). 

"I think your problem is that you're not trusting yourself. You're not gonna be able to get off of the wall if you trust it to support you more than you trust yourself to support you."

"Look, I just really don't like the falling part."

"I told you how to fall correctly so it doesn't hurt as bad. Plus, if you go into it expecting to fall then you will probably fall." He looks at me quietly, before stopping. "Here," he says, "put these on." Brendon hands me his gloves. "If you do fall it, won't hurt your hands, which will catch you. I promise."

With my elbow still holding me up against the wall, I slide my hands into the gloves. They're navy blue and knitted on the outside, but have a soft lining. It's warm on the inside from his hands, making me realize how cold my fingers were this whole time.

"That better?" Brendon asks.

I take a moment to think because, oddly enough, I do feel a lot better. "Yeah."

"Good," he says, looking satisfied with himself. "I think you should try moving away from the wall now." Before I can ask him if he wants me to die, Brendon grabs both of my hands and drags me a good four feet away from the wall. "Knees bent, feet like a duck, push out. See you're getting it," Brendon glows as he skates backwards, leading us.

"How the fuck are you so good at this?" I finally ask in hopes that I can distract myself from the thought of falling.

"I'm a queer kid from San Francisco, Ryan," he relays to me like this is an obvious explanation. "I've been roller skating and rollerblading since I was little. Audrey even did roller derby for a while."

I look up and see our hands clasped together. Looking around I still don't see Spencer. I do however see Vicky and William and some of the other kids from our theater department and then make eye contact with Jon who is still hand-in-hand with Cassie. He sends me a teasing thumbs-up. I free one of my hands from Brendon's grasp to flip him off.

"Looking good, Ryan!" Hayley's voice nearly shocks me into losing my balance. I tighten my grip on Brendon's hand and he steadies me. I look back up and to the side of her is Ian, who just smiles at the both of us.

"Thanks, Hales!" I muster without sounding too on edge. "Having fun?"

She beams, "How could I not when y'all put this whole thing together for me?"

"Anything for you, Hayley, you almost-adult you." Brendon dotes.

A voice that I am not all that used to hearing sounds from Hayley's side. "I just gotta ask," Ian simpers, "Whose idea was the whole blindfolding thing?"

"I believe that was Brendon," I grin at the boy in front of me.

"In hindsight, it probably would have been enough of a surprise to have a trip to the mall be revealed as a party without the whole kidnapping scenario."

"Oh, you don't say?" I tease.

"I don't know, I guess it was just the sort of idea that seems rational when you're high and then we were just in way too deep before we could actually reassess it." Hayley and Ian crack up at this confession. "Maybe we should have Ian peer review all of our high plans before we go through with them."

Ian shrugs, "I'm game." I notice something in his voice that fills me with the smallest hint of unease. Ian wobbles a little bit but is then steadied by Hayley, whose hand I just now realize has been holding his this entire time. Then I hear a voice that sounds like Spencer's.

Next thing I know, my butt is making painful contact with the ground. 

VVVVV

A/N: hey everyone. sorry this took so long to update. i can't promise that things will be back to normal but i do still intend on finishing this book even if it kills me. also, PLEASE IF YOU'VE BEEN READING SINCE THE BEGINNING, GO REREAD 'CHAPTER 12: GET A GRIP BRO' BECAUSE I CHANGED SOME VERY IMPORTANT THINGS. if you're new, disregard this message lol

- m