Skaterboy

“I hate Tuesdays.” I would complain to my brother sometimes, when we had all been living together— our parents, him and me. It was before he had gone away. He would look at me and smile, and he would hold out his hand for some bolt or another, and while he’d fix his skateboard, I would vent about my stupid teachers and my horrible friends.

“So what if there were no Tuesdays?” He would ask when he was done, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What then?”

It would take me a moment before I could reply, breathlessly, “Everything would be fixed!”

            Today is a Tuesday, and as I let my eyes flutter open, feeling the blissful warmth of my own skin in its cocoon of bed-sheets, the memory floats back to me. I sit up in time to hear my phone doing its little dance as it clatters in circles on my bed-table, vibrating. I snatch it up before it has the chance to wake anyone up.

“Hello?” I murmur into the phone, pulling the sheets up above my breasts. I feel suddenly transparent and lucid as I realize the warm light that has found its way into the room, turning everything summery shades of yellow and white. I am naked. I can’t remember why.

“Morning, Skye.” 

“Morning, Ricky.”

“How you feeling today? TJ says you left Pammela’s party early last night.” His voice becomes increasingly anxious as he goes on. “You never said goodbye to me, Skye. I got really worried. I had TJ and Robin search the entire house looking for you.”

“You know I hate parties.” I tell Ricky. I remember the sweaty bodies pulsing, grinding together into a roiling, noisy sea, the smell of weed and the red cup, still full in my hand-- and I heave over the side of my bed, the phone falling from my abruptly clammy hands.

As I feel my body shuddering around me, I can only hear Ricky’s tinny voice calling my name again and again until the call drops and I am left, scared and alone, naked in my bed.
 
* * *
 
Ricky is quiet as he folds me into his arms at my house. I have nothing on but my brother’s old boxers and a sports bra. I think I put them on while Ricky pulled into my driveway. He doesn’t care. We stand in my kitchen and he holds me.

“I think somebody put something in my drink.” I say, and it doesn’t make me feel any better to say it out loud. Ricky is quiet. His hands are clasped behind me, carefully above the sensitive skin where my back arches.

“You’re still a…?” Ricky trails away, and I feel him shift awkwardly. “You still have it, Skye? Tell me you do."

I know what he’s asking me and I glance down the hallway, where I know my parents are fast asleep. They sleep like a couple in love, like two spoons that are kissing. My mother is turned away from dad, and he tucks his knees into where hers fold and there they sleep. I used to walk into their room when I was little and just look at them. I remember asking my mom why she slept that way. She would smile. That’s a secret, she would say, as if it really was.

“Yeah. I already checked.” I say after a moment. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” Ricky whispers into my shoulder. “It’s a great day for skating.”

“I’ll get my board.” I tell him, and before I can argue, he has slipped his sweater over my head and he is climbing the stairs to get my board. I want to thank him, but I can’t wake my parents, so instead, I bite my lips and scribble down a note to my parents, with a heart, my name, and the words, Grammercy Park: back before dinner.
 
* * *
 
At the park, TJ locks me into a bear hug, and he slaps Ricky on the back as if to tell him, “Good job, bro.” The two of them start to discuss their boards, what trucks they’re saving up for, which brand is best. 

            As I glide away on my board, I glance up at the sky and thank my lucky stars for having Ricky. It is a great day for skating. The sky is laced with clouds, and shadow and sunlight flit over the pavement like some sort of video game. I am closer to the new part of the skate park now, where yellow tape  litters the floor like confetti and the sounds of other skaters fall away. Before I can react, my board is no longer below my feet. I can see nothing under me—the pavement is sickeningly far under me, but before I can fall, a strong hand has thrown itself across my stomach and pulled me close. My board tips over the edge and rolls down the half-built ramp.

“Ricky.” I gasp, and I turn into his chest, my fingers clutching the fabric there into my fists as I breathe hard. “Oh Christ.”

“Ryan, actually.” A voice snickers. My eyes widen. I shove away from him and stumble to a rail.

            He is wiry, strong, with laughing blue eyes that watch me while I recover. I realize he has a piercing, and think dizzily that Pammela would not approve. He winks and drops from my sight. Before I can run after him, he has appeared again, and is coasting towards me with my board in hand. He lets it coast to a stop at my feet. 

"Thank you." I force myself to say. My teeth chatter and I an very scared that I'm going to puke. Oh Christ, I hope I don't puke on this Ryan boy. 

"How about you give me a kiss and I forget about this Ricky guy?" He says, and ambles towards me with a winning smile. 

I take a sharp step back as he advances again, my lips twisting into an ugly sneer. "Don't be a jerk." 

"Don't girls like you like guys like me?" He grins wickedly and his hands find my waist. I am so dizzy. I can't pull away or I know I will sink to the floor and start to heave. 

I can only shake my head and stare hard at the pavement behind him. 

"Cute." He says, and very slowly, he cocks his head towards mine. My lips part in surprise, to say no, but I am caught mercilessly by his soft hands. I could pull away. I know I could. But I don't. 

"Stop." I breathe. He doesn't. He knows I am lying, that I want very badly for him to keep going. I haven't kissed a boy in forever. Since fourth grade, under the monkey bars, a kid from my math class had given me a weed-flower and pressed his lips to my cheek. In an accident, fate maybe, his lips had brushed mine. It grossed me out so much that I had punched him in the stomach. No more kisses for Skye since then. No more weed-flowers. 

As we kiss, I feel my fingers go slack on the edge of my board. I release it to twist my arms around Ryan's neck and feel the coarse hair at the nape of his neck, moist with sweat, so that his lips part in a little gasp, and I push his lips open. We breathe into each other. Electricity as we part and take each other in.
 
"Skye?" Calls one faint, broken voice across the empty space. I turn. It's Ricky.