Page 17 of Since Always

"College. Do you have a lot of friends from school? Your brother has mentioned that you didn't seem to be doing the social aspects of it much."

I roll my eyes. "My brother is too nosy. I have friends; I just don't hang out with people a lot. I like to stay home but, when I can be, I'm with Becca a lot.”

This is a bit of an exaggeration. My best friend, Becca, moved to LA when we were sixteen and is now on a popular teen show and one of Hollywood’s up-and-coming starlets. Being in the same city again, we now try to see one another as much as possible, but she works twelve—sometimes sixteen hour days, so it’s really not as often as either of us would like.

“Plus, I'm still making up for the credits I missed when I was out, so I carry a heavy course load. I'm fine." I want to change the subject. "So, was it good seeing your friend?"

"Who?" He is defensive again.

"No, not...I mean the...the old guy. The Vidtalk guy. He seemed nice."

"Oh, wow." He shakes his head in bewilderment.

"What?"

"It's just...shit, I don't even want to tell you this now but..." he groans. "He's my age. Russell. A year younger, I think, actually."

For a second, I think he is teasing me. Based on the pained expression on his face, though, I think he might not be. "That cannot be true."

"I am sad to say—very sad to say—it is. I guess I have crossed the line. I’ve crested the hill. I'm officially 'the old guy.'"

I throw my hands over my mouth to stifle my laughter. "You're not. I'm so sorry, O."

He is laughing with me, and I can't believe how good it feels.

"It's okay, I have to accept it, I guess. I am getting closer to the big... Oh God, I can't even say it. Just tell me one thing and promise me you won't lie."

I imitate the two of them from earlier, throwing my hand up in the scout symbol and nod.

"Tell me I look younger than him."

I roll my eyes. Look who's fishing for compliments. "Oh, shut up. As though you don't already know the answer to that."

"Are you evading the question? Great, I guess that's answer enough."

I grab the pillow off the couch next to me and hurl it at him. "Stop being an idiot. Do I need to google your name with words like 'hot' or 'sexy' or 'young'? Because we both know there are about four billion hits for all of them."

"Yeah, but I could be losing it."

"You are." I deadpan, drawing my face into a look of concern. "You're completely losing it. In fact, I'm a little worried about you getting back to your room. If you need me to get you a walker, I am sure I can call someone and..."

He throws the pillow back at me, and I descend into a fit of laughter. When I look up, he is smiling at me. It doesn't feel tense, or flirty, or loaded this time. It feels like an old friend.

He falls back into the chair, and it is nice to see him relaxed.

"You're such a brat. You've always been a damn brat. You know what I was thinking about earlier? Remember when I taught you to board? You were like ten, I think?" he asks.

"Yeah, I do. On Snowmass. I was kinda a brat that day, huh?"

He snorts. "Kinda?"

"I was scared. I thought I would be a natural at it since I'd been skiing since I was like three. And you kept yelling the same things at me. You're a terrible teacher."

"You're blaming me? Oh wow. That's impressive. You told me you hoped I would run into a tree."

"Well, I'm nothing if not dramatic."

"No, you?"

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