Page 80 of Finding Delaware

“We could start filming YouTube videos.”

“Of us doing stunts?”

“Yeah. Like, really cool ones.”

Salem shakes her head. “I already post on YouTube for you guys.”

“Damn.” Christian lets out a low whistle, “give this chica a raise.”

“You don’t even pay me.”

“What about clothing?” I suggest, watching them from the corner of my eye. Salem sits up straighter, looking like a light bulb just went off above her head, and Christian raises his brows.

“Clothes?”

Shrugging, I look down into my mug. “Yeah. Like t-shirts and shit. We can find an artist and make some sick stuff. Maybe even sell them at the rally next year.”

Salem gasps, turning to grip my arm. “We can open an Etsy shop!”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever that is.”

“I’m in.” Christian punches me on the shoulder. “Only one problem. Who do we know that can draw?”

“I mean, I know someone.” Inhaling deeply, I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes. “But you guys aren’t gonna like who it is.”

Huckslee

The hospital PA system crackles to life, causing me to stiffen and hold my breath.

Logically, I know they wouldn’t announce anything about my dad’s surgery over their intercom. Still, it doesn’t stop the pulse from quickening in my veins whenever some disembodied voice ripples through the speakers.

When all I hear is a call for some doctor to dial line three, I relax where I’m sitting in the waiting room. Dad’s already been in surgery for three hours now, but they’re removing his entire bladder, so I suppose that takes time. Even though the longer I wait, the more nervous I get. Maisie is across from me, nose buried in one of her magazines, while Joel and Logan are out grabbing us some food.

My body aches from the last three hours spent hunched over my sketchbook and the couch at Logan and Salem’s. It’s the most uncomfortable couch I’ve ever slept on, adding to the insomnia rearing its ugly head.

Arching my back into a stretch, I scowl at my drawing of Dad standing next to the Nova in the garage. It’s still good, but nowhere near the level it should have been. I’ve hardly drawn so much as a stick figure in four years.

It’s crazy how I fled to California for the freedom to be myself, yet I left so much of who I was behind—drawing, motocross, swimming. Don’t get me wrong; I still swam in the ocean every chance I got, but pools were strictly a no-go.

As my pencil glides across the paper, I can’t help but wonder if I left all of those things back here on purpose. Like parts of myself that no longer fit who I needed to become, which is wild because I fell back into football the minute I got into Berkeley. The one part of my life here that I never really had a passion for, yet I made it my whole world out there. Why?

Because it’s easy, a voice inside my head states, one that sounds strangely like my therapist. And it’s absolutely right.

Football is easy. It’s the ruse around myself I’d created in high school, and even though I’ve been openly gay in college, making my life all about football meant that I didn’t have to confront these other parts of myself that I never really gave space for. And where has that gotten me? Nearly a college graduate in a field I’m not really interested in, and a whole steaming pile of missed calls from my coach at Berkeley about the NFL draft in April. Which I’m also not looking forward to.

Yeah, that feeling of every day being a waste? After seeing how passionate Taylor and Christian are about what they choose to do for a living, I can’t help but feel like I’ve wasted the last four years of my life.

Taking another glance at my sketchbook, I toss it onto the seat next to me in disgust just as Logan and Joel appear in thedoorway with bags of fast food. There’s a noticeable tension between them, from Joel’s expression and how Logan’s shoulders are hunched. Likely arguing about Salem again.

“Any news?” Joel sits beside Maisie, fishing a sandwich out of the bag to hand to her, while Logan picks up my sketchbook and sits beside me.

“None yet,” I shake my head, taking a burger from Logan before devouring it. Dad’s surgery was scheduled at the butt-crack of dawn this morning, so we barely had a chance to grab pop-tarts before we were out the door.

“No news is good news.” Maisie gives me a small smile, but I can see the strain in her features. The battle won’t end for her and Dad today. If all goes well, recovery from a radical cystectomy takes a while–

Notif. When.Whenit all goes well.

“This is really good,” Logan says softly. For a minute, I think he’s talking about the food until I catch him gazing down at my sketch.

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