Page 44 of Sicken of the Calm
“Mmh, not really. I mean, they’realright, really. We just…we don’t see eye-to-eye on some things. You know whatparents are like,” he says. I don’t, actually. My parents would have bought mea dozen nightlights if I were scared of the dark, even to this day, let alonewhen I was younger. My mum would have scooped me up and let me sleep betweenher and dad if she ever heard me crying in the night. I can’t say that, though,not wanting the unhappy tilt to Ezra’s mouth to deepen.
The urge to wrap him in theblanket and take him back home with me swells. To feed him one of my mother’s cocidos,let her fuss over him with the sound of a dreaded Telenovela coming from theliving room. To let him be wrapped up in the warmth of where I grew up. I wantto hold him as we go to sleep, his nightlight in the dark.
One day, I promise myself. Nomatter how this ends, I’ll take him there one day.
“Anyway, no film can compare tothe fucked-upness ofThe Truman Show. Fucking hell. Like anybody needsthatparanoia in their life,” he says, clearly changing the subject.
“Fuck, yeah. I can still hear thethunkof his boat hitting the edge of the sky in my head,” I say,playing along.
“Oh my God, yeah!” he laughs, thetenseness from before leeching out of him, his easy smile returning. I take achance and kiss it. His mouth is sweet, pasty from the chocolate, and the lastof the childhood memories are out of his eyes as I pull away.
“Wait,” I mumble, climbing overhim in search of a glass of water. I trip over slightly on one of our jeans andstart picking up the clothes on the floor to avoid either of us brainingourselves on the desk, although I leave the pillows and remaining sweets wherethey are. I turn around, looking for a place to put them, when I see Ezrasitting up on the bed, his eyes on the clothes. The look on his face isshuttered and it takes me a moment to realize he’s assuming I’m about to kickhim out – in the middle of the night, no less. There on the bed, the glintingarmour of his confidence is suddenly stripped, and the flesh beneath is just assoft and vulnerable as anybody else’s. I’m starting to catch on to the factthat I may have built Ezra’s confidence up in my mind, may have made him seeminvincible and unshakable, when, in reality, his skin will bleed as easily asmine. The realization humbles me, makes me want to keep him safe, makes me-
I stuff our clothes on a chair,rolling it under the desk as I turn to the kitchen.
“I’m going to get us some water,”I say, giving him a moment. When I return with two glasses in hand, he’s lyingback again, only slightly propped up on his elbows. If I hadn’t seen hisexpression a moment before, I would never have guessed it had happened, hissmile open as he takes one of the glasses from me.
“Thanks,” he says, gulping someof it down before I join him on the bed. We tangle together again, and I pullhim close, needing him to know that this is exactly where I want him. He goeseasily, resting his head on my chest. We just breathe for a while, feeling therise and fall of our bodies pressed close.
“Ok, worst movie you’ve everseen. Go,” he says eventually, and I snort.
The smell of sage must havedisappeared by now, but I swear I can feel it lingering in the air as we talkdeep into the translucent hours of the night. When the birds outside join ourconversation, we realize the sun is already stretching its sleepy limbs towardthe horizon, turning the blue transparent at the edges, like we could fallright through it if we reached the brink.
“You know what I feel like rightnow?” Ezra murmurs. I hum a question. “Special-edition Captain Crunch,” hesays, and I laugh. I lean over his glittering, sunrise eyes, and kiss himdeeply. “What about you?” he asks.
The truth is, there’s nothing Iwant in this moment but this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I can still feel the aftermath ofthe adrenaline burning in my blood. My teammates are a cacophony of victorioussounds around me, slamming lockers, slapping and ribbing each other, one ofthem belting out a song I don’t recognize at the top of his lungs. Even Mooreis sporting a massive smile on his face, elbowing others as they slap his backin congratulations.
Despite being Captain of my highschool team for two years, and earning a scholarship for it, I’m not nearlydedicated enough to be front line in the university’s team. I’m a small fish ina big pond here, and I’m grateful. I like playing football, like the comraderyand tactic and the focus of the game, but I don’t have the passion for it thatsome of my teammates, like Moore, have for it. I’m happy with attendingpractices and being called to play every once-in-a-while, like tonight. It hadbeen a close game with a few injuries, one of which was the reason I had beenpulled in, and our eventual victory had the euphoric edge of relief. When our winhad been announced, after piling on my teammates and jumping on Moore, who hadscored the winning touchdown, I had looked at where Iva normally sat and hadspotted Ezra jumping like a lunatic beside her, waving his arms in the coldNovember air. I had been glad for my helmet because the smile that spreadacross my face was borderline ridiculous.
“Iva says she’ll meet us withEzra at the house,” Moore says, looking up from his phone as we finishchanging, my hair still damp from the shower. I nod, feeling a little thrill gothrough me. Win or lose, the team always crashes into one of the frat houses oncampus to lick our wounds with alcohol, or celebrate with exuberant excess. Ivanormally joins us, but this is the first time that Ezra, to my knowledge, hasattended a game, let alone come to the afterparty. He wasn’t a big fan offootball when we were in high school, to put it lightly, so there’s only onefeasible reason he was there tonight.
It was a home game, andeverybody’s amped up enough to walk most of the way to the house, which greetsus with a wall of cheers. After the compulsory back-slapping and accepting ofdrinks, I detach myself from the throng, heading towards the extensive backgarden, strung with fairy lights I’m always surprised survive the drunkenragers the frat hosts. There’s a lot of people already here, but it’s lesssuffocating than the inside of the house, and it’s not long until I spot Iva’slong, curly hair cascading down her back. She’s standing with a group of peopleI could probably call friends and other simply familiar faces, but my eyes gostraight to Ezra, who is laughing next to her. I feel a little burst ofaffection toward Iva for taking care of Ezra. The feeling is probablymisguided, but I feel a little on edge when my football and my Ezra worldscollide.
I’m about to make my way towardthem when someone suddenly drapes themselves over my back, hooking their armsloosely around my neck.
“You should tell Coach to put youout on the field more, man. You and Moore can work it when you’re together,”the person says, and I recognize him as King. His real name is Geoffrey, butafter Game of Thrones came out, he got teased with “King Joffrey” so often thateventually the King stuck. He’s a benchwarmer like me, although in his caseit’s not for lack of trying. He’s good-natured about it, though, like he isabout most things, one of these all-American boys that have been convinced bytheir inbred privilege that life is easy, so they should take it that way. Heeven looks the part, with his shaggy blond hair, green eyes and easy, widesmile. Although I’m not nearly as close to him as I am with Moore, we getalong, spending a lot of time together at practice.
“I think Moore would be able to‘work it’ with anybody,” I snort. He laughs beside my ear.
“Fact. I’ll eat my helmet if hedoesn’t end up making the big bucks as star quarterback for some NFL team,” hesays. I hum noncommittally, not wanting to reveal that Moore has already beenscouted by the NFL, and is only at Fox Lake to finish his degree as per hismom’s wishes.
Eager to meet up with Iva andEzra, I start moving forward, King’s arm still slung around me. I’m in too gooda mood to push him off, and he ambles along with me.
“Hey, stud,” Iva greets us whenwe reach them, but my eyes are on Ezra, who’s looking at King with surprise.
“Ezra!” King says, and I startlea little. “Man, I’ve never seen you at one of these things. Don’t tell meyou’ve been converted!” he laughs, and I get the sudden urge to step away fromunder his arm as Ezra looks at it still around me. I stay put, however, notwanting to be obvious.
“I was at the game with Iva.Thought I’d drop by, see what all the fuss is about,” Ezra shrugs, taking a sipof his drink.
“Oh – you know Joaquin, then?”King asks, knowing Iva and I are a matched set.
“Yeah, we did a project togetherfor Anthro,” he says, and I feel my stomach drop, looking at him incredulously.Ezra looks away.
“Damn, do you have Efferson? Thatguy puts me to sleep. ‘And now I’m going to read exactly what’s on the slideand describe the picture in detail because you don’t have eyes,’” King says,imitating the professor’s drone. Ezra smiles crookedly.
