Samantha waits by the bus. Glossy brown hair, tied into a bun, frames her face with messy curls. She has freckles dotting across her face, dark brown eyes, and olive skin.
The invisible barrier shatters, and I walk alongside my friend. Her hands shake uncontrollably in front of me, and she looks antsy with anticipation and energy.
“Dylan and I went bowling last night. He kept getting gutter balls. It was hilarious!”
I twitch a smile as I imagine Dylan’s “cool” persona he puts up in front of Samantha shattering after he kept getting gutter-ball after gutter-ball.
“Oh, and I joked he should put up the barriers, and he did! I nearly peed myself when he went to the lady and asked!”
My smile strains at her enthusiasm.
Samantha then points to me and says, “How was work?”
“Good,” I reply shortly. “I'm working again tonight.”
“Dylan and I might swing by. Are you working at the register tonight?”
I shake my head and say, “No. I am stocking shelves.”
Minor lie. Quinn does that job, but I tell her this because I don’t want Samantha and Dylan showing up to watch my work.
“Ah…bummer.”
Our friends avoid teachers and students by hanging around the back of the school block. Dylan, Samantha, and Andy are smokers. We know the teachers know they smoke, so we have a mutual, if-we-don’t-see-you-you-won’t-get-detention kind of deal with them.
The back of the building overlooks the next street, and further down the road, there’s a mini shopping centre with a supermarket, a post office, and a tobacco shop. When we arrive, Andy, who is a year older than I, hops back over the waist-high chain-link fence, plastic bag in hand. He gives Dylan a pack of smokes, and in exchange, Dylan hands him a fifty-dollar note.
Wylan then gives Andy his money, and Andy hands Wylan a foil packet.
My focus moves across the road to the house with the untouched lawn. There’s a car out the front, someone underneath, and a tool kit beside them.
“So…I told Noya about bowling,” Samantha declares.
Dylan’s eyes widen as he hands Sammy a smoke, his face burning red.
“Oh, what’s your version, Sammy?” Andy asks.
Disinterested in the conversation, Wylan turns his back on us and takes a drag of his cigarette. I lean against the red brick building while Samantha explains their date again. It seems to be the opposite of what Dylan told Andy. The version he shared with Andy makes Dylan seem “cooler” rather than pathetic and terrible at bowling.
I look to the road, their conversation bleeding into the wind. I imagine myself hopping the fence, like Andy did, hailing a cab until a car stops. I’ll then jump into the car, begging them to take me to the train station.
Then, I will use the money I have saved to repair the air conditioner, find a place to stay in the city, and quickly find work.
Maybe a hotel until I can find a studio?—
“Noya,” Andy calls, touching my arm. I flinch, stepping away from him. “Dude, sorry. You were out of it again. The bell rang.”
I soak everything in. Samantha clings to Dylan as they walk. Wylan is gone, and Andy softens his expression when I look to him and murmur, “Sorry.”
As I go to my class, he reaches for my arm again. “Did something happen last night?”
I avert my gaze because it’s difficult to conceal my awkwardness and discomfort around my childhood friend.
“Did he come home drunk?”
“I’ve got class,” I announce, holding firm to conceal what happened last night. Andy scowls at me, embodying that older brother persona, and he fits it perfectly. So, the guilt gets the better of me, and I say, “I’ll tell you about it in art, alright?”
“You'd better.”