The Flynn Effect

43 | pretty tight

Jo

DREW'S BEAT-UP truck isn't so beat-up anymore. He has managed to get it repainted from its dead, peeling blue to a shining red. The fender has been replaced and even though there are still a few cracks on the windshield, it's still oddly presentable.

He steps on the brakes and the car slows to a pause but he doesn't kill the engine. By the time he looks away from the students chatting outside the window while some head into the hallway, he finally speaks.

"I haven't been to this shithole in years. Nice to see it hasn't changed a bit."

I don't respond, so he turns to me and frowns when he meets my stare. "Is there something on my face?"

"Now, do you want to tell me why you decided to drop me off at school this morning? Very randomly at that."

He scratches his chin out of habit. His beard is properly trimmed today. "It wasn't a random decision. Why walk to school when I've got a car that could drop you off? Plus, it's nice to return to a school that you used to go. It's nice to remember and shit like that."

"Déjà vu." I say and he nods.

"You're the English guru, not me."

"You just sounded like you cared." I say like an accusation and he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "You've been home for almost two weeks now and I've been walking to school since this week started in your presence. Why do you suddenly give a shit about me walking or not?"

He groans and shoots me an unhappy look. "Why do you have to whine so much?"

"I'm not whining. I'm curious."

"Fine." He grits. "I got some stupid job at an auto shop. That's all I wanted to say."

I perk up on the seat. "Have you told mum?"

"No." He grumbles.

I roll my lips together to stop a smile from spreading. "She's going to be over excited."

"I know." He says. Then he coughs once and takes a deep breath. "That's why I told you first. Don't ask me any questions. Figure the rest out."

When Drew and I were little, we told each other everything first. Even before we told our any of our parents. He'd tell me something that happened to him and then I'd do the same. It was like we were exchanging information and it was something we always did even while we became older. That was until we grew apart.

And now he's told me something he hasn't told mum and I'm assuming he wants me to say something back. We haven't done it in months but it doesn't stop my heart from lifting in excitement.

I lick my lips and stare at my hands. "You already know I like a boy. But I'm scared, for many reasons."

"Most boys are shit."

"Like you." I interject and he grimly nods.

"But not every one is an asshole like your dad."

"For the first time in a while, we're having a decent conversation and you just had to ruin it."

He feigns a confused look. "Have I said something wrong?"