Shift

The drive to town hall is quiet, and she doesn’t even make a move to turn her radio on, which for her is extra weird. She’s obsessed with that thing. I think she’s trying to punish me with the silence, and the lack of music makes things that much more uncomfortable. I pat my palms against my knees a few times, playing along with the music in my head. Ha

I race out of the tight shared space, reveling in the lingering smell of her shampoo. I take long strides, glad I know my way around this area so I don’t depend on following Ha

“Oh, hell no,” I say, finding myself caught up in her all over again. She looks over her shoulder, smile wide and cheeks blushed as her purse swings from her shoulder, bouncing off her hip as she speeds away from me. I’m caught up to her in seconds, first grabbing her purse strap that she manages to spin free of before my other arm wraps around her waist and swings her around in circles.

Her laughter booms and draws the eyes of almost everyone setting up at the festival. Her hands form fists that pound gently at my back as I sling her over my shoulder and continue to run toward her mom. I don’t let her down until we’re in front of a table of craft supplies. Her wet strands of hair encircle my neck and slide free from my skin, leaving the cold trail of their presence behind.

Our eyes lock as our laughter fades, and I can’t help but hold on to her gaze when it stops completely. I’m suddenly aware of how we appear to the dozens of eyes on us. We look like two young people doing a shit job at pretending not to like each other. We look exactly like what we are.

“Who wants to paint faces?” Ha

“I’m not a very good artist,” I say as Ha

“Then you can be in charge of taking the tickets and helping people pick out their designs.” Mrs. Judge shoves a binder into my chest and I hug it as she walks away, already on to the next task she needs to get handled for the day.

“Your mom seems stressed,” I say, flipping through the pages of the folder she gave me. There are butterflies and flowers and superhero designs all sketched out in colored pencil.

“She’s always stressed out,” Ha

I follow her down the series of canopies to a booth right next to the park Ha

“Tommy hated it when we did that,” she says, drawing from the same memory.

“He totally did. Served him right, though. He cheated. Fucker always looked while he was counting.”

Ha

“That one,” the kid says, pointing to the page that shows a football player throwing a ball. The drawing seems kind of intricate.

“You got it,” Ha

“You sure you can do all the things in here?” I ask, flipping through the remaining designs that only seem to get fancier.

“I mean, I drew them in there, so not sure there’s much of a difference,” she says.

I flash my eyes to her then back to the book a few times and she laughs.

“What?” she says.

“I didn’t know you were an artist.” I mean, I knew Ha

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Dustin Bridges.” She gives me a sideways glance, her lips puckered slightly as a sinister smile plays at them. I don’t argue with her, and I don’t look away. Instead, I wait for her to return her focus to the wiggly boy sitting across from her. Then I watch her work.

Two hours fly by, at least for me. I’m not sure Ha

“I think the artist is done for the day. How about you?” I fold up the spare chair and dump the water cups into the grass.

“I agree,” Ha

I tuck the binder under my arm and motion for her to give me one of her hands as she stands from her seat. I rub the meat of her palm with my thumbs, squeezing her fingers one at a time, and her eyes flutter shut.

“Dear God, I think you might put me to sleep if you keep this up,” she says.

I take advantage of the moment, looking at her soft lashes as they brush the tops of her cheeks above the satisfied smile that stretches into them. As if under a spell, I lean down and gently press my lips to hers. The second our mouths touch, her hand tenses and she takes a quick step back.

“I thought this was too complicated,” she says, her tone even, soft.

“It is. Incredibly so.” I shrug and look over my shoulder, making note of the people still milling about. We might be out of view of her mom, but everyone at this thing knows the two of us on some level. That’s the thing about a town like this, only two degrees of separation exist between anyone.

“What about our friendship?” she asks. There’s a smugness to her tone, and I look back to her and quickly sink into the pools of blue staring back at me. I swim in her gaze, drown in it. I dive in and come out reborn.

I briefly drop her hand and move to the front of our booth, unlatching the flap meant to block out the sun, giving us privacy. I turn back to stare at this girl I’ve known all my life. Paint speckles dot her arms, a little of it in her hair too. I nod a few times, smiling, and give in. Really, I never had a choice. It was probably always going to play out like this—now, a year from now, someday.

“I think maybe our friendship is the reason this is happening,” I say, reaching forward and taking the white and blue strips of hair between my fingers. I pinch the dried paint and slide it from her hair before dropping the strands and pressing my thumb lightly to her chin. She looks up at me and I can tell she agrees. Ha