by Aly Martinez
Quiet and careful not to rustle the leaves, I watched her for what felt like forever. I wanted her to leave. I all but prayed for it. The last thing I needed was for her to look up and catch me with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. But she just sat there, staring at her watch as if it were the most entertaining thing she’d ever seen. About the time she got comfortable and leaned back against the trunk, I realized that the good Lord my grandpa used to preach about wasn’t going to deliver me a miracle. My foot was asleep and my arms were shaking from holding the branch above me. The only thing I could do was dry my eyes on my shoulders, put on my mask, and hope I never saw her again.
Of course, that was before I accidentally broke her leg.
As guilty as I felt about that, especially given that it happened on the same day her mom had died, it turned out to be a miracle in and of itself.
See, with as much as I was hiding about my life, being the new kid in school was going to be hell. Questions. Everyone was going to have questions.
Where’d you move from?
How old are you?
What’s your family like?
And if I didn’t answer or didn’t answer convincingly enough, their curiosity would only grow. Hiding wasn’t an option when dealing with nosy kids who literally had nothing better to do than figure out my life story.
That was where Thea came in. In the weeks after I’d broken her leg, no fewer than ten kids rode their bikes down our road, slowing down as they passed her house. I felt bad for her, always sitting in the window, staring at a bunch of fools who went out of their way to gawk at her pain. But if I wanted to fly under the radar, beating them senseless wasn’t an option.
A few of them stopped to introduce themselves while Nora and I were outside playing. And you know what happened? Each and every one of them told me about Thea’s mom. It was always a different story. Sometimes cancer. Sometimes pneumonia. Heck, one of them even told me it was a snake bite. Whatever they’d overheard or made up based on the town’s rumblings, it was always told quietly and with morbid fascination.
That was when I decided that, along with my smile, Thea Hull was going to become the star of my defensive line.
With the poor, pitiful, motherless girl at my side, everyone was going to be too busy whispering about her to pay me any attention. Just the way I liked it.
For almost two months, it worked. Thea was rotten company in the beginning, but with nosy girls purring around me like alley cats in heat, having her at my side worked in my favor. By the time the curiosity about her had worn off, she’d been a viper to virtually everyone in our class. This included me more often than not, but I was slightly more inclined to forgive given that I needed her for security and all.
Yes, there was a part of me that felt bad using her like that. But she was going to be miserable whether I was hiding behind her or not. It wasn’t like I was being mean to her. I stood up for her and put people in their place when I heard them talking trash behind her back. She wasn’t a bad person or anything. She’d just…been through a lot. Something I more than understood. She didn’t know the smile trick. I’d teach her though.
Around the six-week mark, things changed between Thea and me. Or maybe it didn’t change between us; she was still awful, but it changed inside me. Every wildfire begins with a spark, and for me, that spark was when she left her bike on our front porch for Nora. I had nothing. I was fine with having nothing. But Nora was different. She’d been close to my mom and was taking it hard now that she was gone. Her smile had dimmed a little more each day until it finally vanished. I’d have done anything to make her happy again.
That bike was more than just entertainment. It was a temporary escape so she could get out of the house and do something on the days my dad was too drunk to find work as a day laborer. I couldn’t fix the chain on her bike after it’d broken, and there was no way I could come up with the money to buy her a new one any time soon. I’d figure it out though; I always did. That time, Thea figured it out first. And because she’d done it for Nora, it meant more than anything she ever could have done for me.
After that, I started looking at Thea differently, and you know what? She wasn’t that bad. Sure, she was a smartass, but I kind of liked that about her. Her sniper-quick comebacks made me laugh. She did call me an idiot and it got under my skin like a bag of fleas, but she didn’t mean it. She was just so pissed off and bitter all the time. I couldn’t blame her; deep down, I was raging too.
Thea and I were two of a kind. Lost. Broken. Forgotten. Stuck.
But it didn’t feel like I was stuck when I was with her. She was a code I couldn’t crack, but the challenge alone made me obsessed.
I wasn’t positive she listened when I talked. She gave no reaction and offered me no advice. Sometimes her only acknowledgement was to hum or nod while staring off into space. But something extraordinary happened on that bus when the two of us were alone in the confines of our ugly brown bench seat cocoon.
I forgot.
For thirty minutes every morning and then thirty minutes every afternoon, I didn’t have to think about my dad. Or my mom. Or how I was going to feed Nora that night. I didn’t have to think about math tests or failing fifth grade—again. I didn’t have to think about anything at all.
For one hour every day, I got to be eleven.
I filled Thea’s ears with all things bikes, school gossip, and TV I’d watched the night before. I didn’t mention that it was a bike I could never afford, that the school gossip was something I’d created to take the attention off us, or that I was only watching TV because Nora had woken me up with another nightmare. No. I didn’t mention any of that. And it was hands down the most liberating hour of my entire life.
My stomach would churn every afternoon when the bus came to a stop at the end of our street, cuing my mandatory return to reality. I tried to hold on to her, begging her to come out and play, but she never took the bait.
I’d often wished we had a cool story about when our relationship transitioned from that of tolerating each other to discovering we were two halves of one soul. But the truth is Thea and I evolved much like the seasons: slow, steady, and unstoppable.
With the way we’d met, our friendship was unlikely at best. Then, after I yelled at her and told her I didn’t feel sorry for her that her mother had died, I half expected it to be a nonexistent friendship. But in a twist of fate I’d never be able to fully explain, she hugged me.
I wasn’t a virgin to human touch or anything. Nora hugged me. My mom had hugged me. But I knew down to the marrow in my bones that there was something life altering about the way Thea hugged me. And I fucking loved it.
After that, I caught her looking at me more. And not the usual scowl she shot my way when I offered her gum.
No, this was more.
She’d watch me out of the corner of her eye when we were sitting in class.
I’d feel her gaze on my back when I’d be waiting in line for my county-provided free lunch.
On the bus, she’d turn to face me as soon as she sat down.
And I noticed it every single time because I was watching her too.
Despite the unbelievably ridiculous name, Sir Hairy changed things for us too. Dogs had to pee and it gave Thea an excuse to come out of her fortress at least twice a day. And when she’d hobble out, I was always there, waiting like a junkie for a few more minutes of the emotional reprieve she provided me.
Most of the time, she’d sit on the end of the driveway while I took Sir Hairy into the woods to do his business. But occasionally, after a few minutes of pleading and heckling, I could convince her to hop onto my back and go out to the tree in the Wynns’ hayfield. I loved those nights. A peace I hadn’t felt in, well, ever would wash over me as the cool fall wind rustled the leaves. She’d sit at the trunk with her back propped up against the bark while I’d make myself comfortable in the branches.
Sometimes we’d talk. I’d tell her about my shit day and she’d tell me
about hers. We’d commiserate, make sad jokes about our crappy parents, and act like our screwed-up lives were perfectly normal. And when we were together, they were perfectly normal. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else with Thea, because in some twisted way, I was exactly who she needed me to be.
Other times, we hung out at that tree in silence. She had the most amazing sixth sense for knowing when I needed the quiet. I wasn’t so great at reading her, but she had no qualms telling me to shut it.
“Not tonight, Ramsey,” she’d whisper. “Please.”
No matter how bad my day had been or how much I needed to unload my burdens on someone who would understand, I’d give her those moments, because without a shadow of a doubt she would have given them to me.
Occasionally Nora would come with us. She’d trot Sir Hairy around on his leash while collecting acorns. Those were the afternoons Thea would smile. And God, did I love her smile.
Love changes a man—even when he’s not yet a man at all. We were friends, but Thea was still quiet, stoic, borderline rude a lot of the time. However, in that tree, suffering alone and also together, I fell in love with her like the stars falling from the sky.
Thea made me feel.
It didn’t take long before I was utterly addicted.
The day she got her cast off was terrifying for me. I’d been expendable to my own mother. How was I supposed to expect a ten-year-old girl I’d only known a few months to stick around? What if we weren’t really friends? What if I was as useless as my father claimed? I spent the entire night pacing and panicking that I was going to lose her. She wouldn’t need me to carry her book bag or give her piggyback rides anymore. I wasn’t positive what she had done for fun before I’d broken her leg, but I couldn’t imagine it was sitting under a tree, listening to a boy ramble about meaningless crap.
She wasn’t on the bus that morning and I swear it was the loneliest I’d ever felt. My smile failed me that day as I alternated between doodling stick-figure wars and staring at the door to our classroom, anxiously waiting for her to come walking through.
Lunch passed and still no Thea.
I had friends in class, people I sat with and played pranks on, but none of them were her. By the time the final bell rang, I was ready to peel out of my skin. It was the first time I was ever in a hurry to get home.
Armed with nothing but her missed work for the day that I promised our teacher I’d deliver and a healthy dose of nervous rolling through my stomach, I jogged up the driveway and knocked on her door.
She was smiling when she opened it. Probably because she was happy to have her cast off, but it filled me in unimaginable ways to think that maybe, just maybe, that smile was because she was as excited to see me too.
“Hey,” she said.
It had been twelve weeks since I’d met her, but I’d never felt more awkward in my life. “Hey.”
She tucked a strand of long, brown hair behind her ear. “How was school?”
“Good.”
She nodded. “Good.”
“How was the doctor?”
She lifted the leg of her jeans, revealing a thin, pale ankle. “Good.”
I nodded that time. “Good.”
There was a long pause, my nightmare where she slammed the door in my face only seconds away from playing out in front of me.
I thrust the stack of papers toward her. “Here’s the work you missed today.”
“Thanks.”
We both nodded that time.
Any other day, with any other person, that entire exchange would have been laughable. But that was the day everything would change for us—again. It’s crazy to think a silly piece of plaster around her leg had dictated so much of our time together. But it had. Our relationship had started with that cast, and I was scared out of my wits that it was going to end it all too.
She was smiling. That had to be a good sign.
But then again, Thea didn’t smile often, so maybe this was part of her gentle letdown before she told me to take a hike.
I was losing it. All I had to do was rip off the Band-Aid and ask her if she wanted to hang out. If she said no, I’d have my answer. She was done with me. Or maybe not. Thea always said no. Okay, so all I had to do was ask her, then beg her, then harass her, and if she still said no, then I’d have my answer.
Oh God, what if she was done with me?
“Uh…why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” she asked.
Because I was, in fact, about to throw up. I kept that to myself. “I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do. Any chance you can aim that in the grass so I don’t have to clean it up later?”
“I’m not going to puke,” I bit out entirely too roughly.
Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Jeez, somebody’s in a bad mood.”
I huffed and cut my gaze over her shoulder. It was now or never. My entire life hung in the balance. Or at least it felt that way. Rip off the Band-Aid. Just do it. “Listen, are we cool?”
“No.”
My gaze jumped to hers. “What?”
She looked down at the papers I’d handed her. “Who brings homework for their friend when they get to skip school?” She slapped the papers against my chest. “Take that and burn it. We can tell Mrs. Young that you lost it on the way home.”
The relief tore from my lungs. I didn’t just smile with my mouth—it radiated through my whole body.
I shoved the papers back in her direction. “No way. My friend skipped school today, so I had to do all of those worksheets in class without anyone to cheat off of. The least you could have done was give me a heads-up that you weren’t coming so I could sit next to Tiffany.”
“Tiffany!” she exclaimed, pure Thea Hull disgust crinkling her forehead.
Yeah. We were going to be all right.
“What? She makes good grades.”
She twisted her lips. “Right. You were going to sit next to her because she makes good grades and not because she’s the only girl in the class who has boobs.”
Truthfully? I had Thea. I hadn’t even noticed that Tiffany had a face.
I barked a laugh, anxiety ebbing from my system, leaving the most unbelievable calm behind. “How about we stop talking about Tiffany and take your new leg out for a spin? Wanna ride bikes down to the ditch?”
She groaned. “I’m not allowed to ride my bike for two weeks while my ankle strengthens.”
I leaned back and made a show of looking at her empty driveway. “Your dad at work?”
“Yeah.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Soooo, we riding or what?”
She shrugged, completely oblivious to the celebration roaring inside me. “Yeah. Give me a minute. I need to pee before we go.”
I grinned impossibly wide as she turned on a toe and swung the door shut in my face.
And that was the story of how Thea became the other half of my soul. It wasn’t the romantic beginning people had inscribed in wedding rings or shared with their grandkids for generations to come. But it was us, and we would later learn that finding unconditional understanding in another human being was more extraordinary and romantic than any love story.
Thea and I rode our bikes that day.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
Little by little, she became my entire world.
Which should have been the first clue that I’d eventually lose her.
Over the next year, Ramsey became my best friend in every sense of the word. My dad slowly started to reemerge from the depths of his depression. Though nothing ever went back to normal. He worked seven days a week at the barbershop, which I understood. He was the sole provider for our little family. He had to work hard. Plus, he owned the place, so he had things to do like bookkeeping, maintenance, and avoiding me. It was rare for him to be at home before dinner. I’d gotten used to the peace, quiet, and uninterrupted TV time, but it drove Ramsey crazy that I was always alone.
His solution was t
o never leave my side.
And my solution was to always leave the door unlocked for him.
Nora and Ramsey quickly became a fixture in my house. Without my dad around, we had free reign to do whatever we wanted. This usually consisted of eating too much junk food, arguing over what we were going to watch, and then giving up and going outside to play regardless of the weather.
Nora wasn’t the athletic type, but thanks to the guy on the corner who let Ramsey mow his grass for the asinine highway robbery price of twenty bucks a month, we’d gotten her a new bike so she could tag along with us. The three of us became inseparable, but that did not mean it was all smooth sailing.
A few days before Ramsey’s birthday, Nora spilled the beans that he was turning twelve rather than the eleven I’d assumed. It was stupid, but a piece of my heart broke when I found out he was keeping secrets.
Ramsey had become my everything, and it hurt to realize I wasn’t his.
I probably wasn’t as delicate as I should have been when I confronted him about it. My temper needed a little work in those days. He got mad, slammed the door, and stormed off.
I waited for him at our tree for several hours.
When he finally showed up, he offered me a piece of gum and then spent the next ten minutes pouring his heart out about his parents fighting, him failing fifth grade, and them being evicted.
I ached for him and Nora. How he still smiled at all, I would never understand. But I showed him no pity. Instead, I yelled at him that we were best friends and I didn’t care if he had a third nipple—he was required by best friend law to tell me about it.
The little things meant a lot to Ramsey. And the way his face lit at such an obvious declaration was a little sad but a lot heartwarming. He smiled throughout the rest of that tongue lashing while I stared up at him pretending to be pissed off but secretly happier than I’d ever been.
My grades were still in the toilet because I didn’t care enough to try, but knowing that Ramsey was struggling with school kicked my butt into gear. We started doing our homework together, and I stopped letting him copy the answers off my tests.