Pretend

It was Friday night. And on Friday night, the teenagers of Point Chase would converge in groups and usually go to Link.

Link was a popular Friday night haunt. It was the local roller skating rink at the end of Forest Hill Road. It was housed in one of the old wheat factories, with an extended parking lot and a glowing neon sign. It was owned by a man named Carter Rock, who was a formidable man. He was just reaching six foot four, with numeral tattoos roping around his muscular arms. He had a beastly scar running down the left side of his face and gauges in his ears. Yet despite his redoubtable gaze and rigid shoulders, there was something about Rock that demanded respect.

"I'm not fit enough for this," Zachary Bricklane huffed, his fingers ringing the hem of his fine cotton shirt. Zach was my other best mate, besides Corry. He was short, plump, and fidgety. His thick swab of ginger hair was usually characteristically unmanageable, and his big brown eyes were hidden behind horn rimmed glasses. His family was the owner of a prestigious Bricklane restaurant that catered personally for the Lake Side View Hotel. You could tell by the certified labels on his clothes that he came from a wealthy family.

"We're only standing up," I replied, quirking an eyebrow.

Zach scoffed. "Exactly."

It was usually Zach's and my thing to go to Link on Friday night. Since we met coincidentally on our way to Switch, the local arcade on Oak Street, we'd formed a friendship that was both quirky and relaxed. Zach knew everything about what was going on in my life, apart from the whole chaotic theory that my parents were trying to kill themselves with the amount of alcohol they consumed each night. He knew about my confusing feelings for Cora. He knew about Darren's death. He knew that my tendency to disappear from school wasn't because I was slacker, but because of the shit going on at home.

Zach covered our entry charge, which was ten dollars each, and I felt that stupid hollow feeling build up inside me again. One day, when I had enough money, I was going to pay him back. Zach was always paying for my stuff. He'd even offered to get me a new pair of shoes, seeming as my All Stars were practically coming apart at the seems.

"Why is it so empty?" Zach ominous question drew me out of my thoughts and I noticed that, indeed, the roller rink was eerily deserted.

"Hell if I know," I replied, turning and scanning the minuscule crowd for Rock. He was leaning casually against the wall, flirting with a blonde girl who had three piercings in her nose. I ambled over, tripping over a pair of skates in my act of casual curiosity.

The girl departed, sashaying past me in a haze of perfume. I never really got why girls and women alike found it nice to smell so overpoweringly spicy. Sure, it was exotic. But it was also overwhelming. Cora's perfume was sweet and innocent, but also strangely intoxicating, and it made her seem even more unique.

I shook myself. Tonight was the manly night out. No girls allowed.

"Hey Rock," I said, coming up beside him and leaning on the counter of the food stall that was in good business on Friday's.

"Hey, pretty boy," Rock's pretentious nickname had come around one time when I'd been wearing a particularly new pair of jeans and a girl had come up to me and called me 'pretty boy'. Unfortunately, Rock had thought it would be endearing to use it himself. "What's up?"

"Pretty empty tonight, isn't it?" I raised my eyebrow, questioning him. Rock sighed.

"Some big party out at Southside, on Pebble Beach. They had the bonfires going at like six," Rock shoved his hands in to his leather jacket pockets and grinned. His grin was slightly off putting, the sight of all those teeth was somewhat creepy. "I got a question for you, pretty boy."

I raised my eyebrow again, taking an inconspicuous step back. Rock's usual questions were quite crude and disgustingly directive.

"Why weren't you invited?" Rock gave me a pointed look. Sure, I was attractive . . . I guess. But I wasn't popular. Not like Cora was. I didn't like the superficial girls that clung to their jock boyfriends. I hated the stereotypical attitude of the cheerleaders. I couldn't even stand the casual banter of hair products and cosmetics that nearly every girl (even, occasionally, Corry) conversed about. Personally, I found socialization boring when you didn't know half the people you were 'friends' with. "Strapping young man like you. Seems odd, don't it?"

"I don't like parties, Rock," was all I said in response, and turned back to skate with Zach.

When I reached him, the girl who had smelled like an Abercrombie store was standing next to him with a smile on her face. As I neared them, I heard Zach cracking on of his lame pick up lines. They were seriously pathetic.

"What has one hundred and forty teeth and can hold back the Incredible Hulk?" His eyebrows were raised slightly in a suggestive fashion. I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. I don't know why he kept persisting with this one.

"What can?" Her voice was high and squeaky and I pinched the bridge of my nose, waiting for the response.

"My zipper," his voice went all deep on the last word, and then there was the sharp sound of a slap ricocheting off the walls. I winced, and then suppressed a smile as I came up beside him. There was a red hand print on his pale cheeks, and he was fiddling with the hem of his cotton button-up shirt.

"What is it with women?" Zach complained, rubbing his cheek and wincing. "They have no sense of humor."

"Oh, they do," I replied, thinking of Cora and how much joking we'd been doing today. The tragic sand castles. The profuse talking. The divulging of secrets, from Corry's side only. The tired resting. The indulging lunch. And then, before we'd parted ways, there'd been the swim at Albatross Bay. The insides of my legs still ached slightly from the effect of wet jeans rubbing against my skin, but at the time, just splashing and relaxing in the water with Corry was enough to relieve some of the tension from my shoulders. "They definitely do."