The Friend Scheme

by Cale Dietrich

  “I dunno. I just want to be smart. No offense, but for all I know you could be a murderer.”

  “I mean, maybe I am,” he says, and he grins.

  “Hey, please don’t joke. I’m actually nervous.”

  His face drops. “Oh, okay, sorry. Listen, I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me, I promise.”

  I look into his eyes, searching for any warning signs.

  There aren’t any.

  He seems honest.

  But something tells me that murder victims think the same thing before they’re killed.

  Jason looks hurt that I don’t fully trust him. I get that. I would probably be pretty offended if someone implied they thought I might be a murderer.

  “Seriously,” he says. “You’re going to be fine. I’m sorry I joked. I just know somewhere I think you’ll like. And to get there, we need to drive. We could go to the diner if you want, but trust me, this would be more fun. You in or you out?”

  I should move fast, in case Dad looks out and sees me.

  I get in the car.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Luckily, Jason is a good driver.

  Or, he’s at least competent. He’s not, like, swerving all over the road and nearly hitting people, and he’s obeyed every road rule I’ve noticed. He stops at yellow lights, is all I’m saying. It makes me feel a little better about being here.

  Despite my nerves, I’m actually having a good time. This section of the city is really pretty, the perfect place for a night drive. We’re surrounded by gleaming skyscrapers and clean, pleasant streets. To my left is a portable traffic sign that reads, ENJOY THE BEACH, KEEP YOUR DRINKS INSIDE in big orange letters.

  And it makes me think of something.

  “Hey,” I say. “How old are you even?”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He smiles. “I turned eighteen last month. You?”

  I nod. “Seventeen.”

  “Yeah? You look older.”

  I don’t know what to think about that. He doesn’t say it like an insult, but …

  “I mean that in a good way!” he says. “I don’t mean that you look old or anything. You just look … you know. Older.”

  “Oh, cool,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “No worries.” He chews his lip. “So … what music do you like?”

  My music tastes aren’t exactly cool. And I care about being cool right now.

  I can’t even remember the last time I cared about something like this.

  “I like alt rock,” I say. “But stuff that’s more on the pop side of things.”

  “Sorry, dude, that makes zero sense to me.”

  My cheeks are burning. The car is dark, though, so I don’t think he can tell.

  At least I hope he can’t tell.

  We’ve reached the main strip of the beach now, where the most famous hotels are. This whole street is deigned in this cool, art deco style. People are everywhere. I’m guessing most of them are tourists.

  “The Killers are my favorite, but I also really like You Me at Six. That sort of thing.”

  He grabs his phone from the slot on the dash and hands it to me. “Play something. Password is four thousand and one.”

  His phone is the newest model of iPhone, in a clear plastic case. It’s really clean, not a smudgy mess like mine. I have the latest model, too, I just never really clean it.

  I feel like I’ve been handed a holy grail.

  I could find out his last name with this thing.

  He hasn’t mentioned it, so I assumed our no-last-names thing is continuing. I just get a vibe from him that he doesn’t want to talk about his. Still, with his phone, he wouldn’t need to tell me.

  I could find it out all on my own.

  But he’s watching me warily. If I snoop, he’ll know.

  Maybe he’s realized that he’s made an impulsive mistake. He looks a little pale and keeps glancing my way. It might be usual they-have-my-phone anxiety, but it could also be more.

  And I don’t want him to distrust me. I unlock his phone and open the Spotify app. So no funny business. I search for Sam’s Town and play the title track. Then I lock his phone and put it back on the dash.

  Matt Miller: fully trustworthy.

  “What’s this?” he asks as the music starts playing. There’s an unmissable quiver in his voice. I get it, I hate it when people look at my phone, too.

  “‘Sam’s Town.’ It’s from my favorite album.”

  I feel weirdly anxious.

  I hope he likes it.

  He must. It’s a slam dunk of a song.

  The vocals start, and he smiles. He starts bobbing his head along to the beat.

  “I love this,” he says.

  “Me too.”

  Too soon, we reach our destination.

  Outside, I can see a stretch of sand illuminated by streetlights on the footpath. There are a few pedestrians out, but the city is still, and the beach is almost totally empty. We’ve gone past the main hub, so we’re in a much quieter section of town. We’re still in Miller territory, but only just.

  Jason turns off the engine.

  It’s so quiet.

  “Are we even allowed to be here?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “It’s the beach, why wouldn’t we be?”

  Nobody else is around. It makes me feel like it’s off-limits. There are areas of the beach that are busy at night, but this spot, where he picked, is dark and dead.

  “You look a little freaked,” he says.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say.

  “Good,” he says, and he steps out of the car.

  I follow him. The air smells salty here, and I can hear the ocean. I’m not really a big beach guy, but I do kind of like it right now. He goes around to the trunk and opens it. From it, he retrieves two towels. He closes the trunk with a too-strong push.

  “You want to go swimming?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “But like…”

  “What?”

  “Don’t sharks hunt at night?”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess they do.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” I ask.

  “Not really. I dare them to eat me.”

  He raises his eyebrows and then sets off toward the beach.

  I jog after him to catch up.

  Again, I think: What am I doing?

  “Seriously,” I say.

  We reach the sand, and he takes off his shoes. I bend down and start unlacing my shoes.

  “Is this safe?” I ask as I kick them off. “I don’t want to be stupid. It’d be just my luck to get got by a shark.”

  “‘Get got’?” He chuckles. “You’re funny. And you won’t; I do it all the time, and they haven’t got me yet. If they eat you, I’d almost be offended, like I’m not good enough for them, or something.”

  “Really?” I say, looking out at the dark water. It stretches on and on. There are a few lights, probably yachts, bobbing out on the water. But that’s it. There’s nobody else for miles. I can’t believe we’re so close to the city and yet it feels so empty.

  “I mean, you come here a lot?”

  He nods. “It’s a good place to think. It’s the one place I’ve found that’s quiet. Games, and this, those are my escapes.”

  I wonder what he wants to escape from.

  I wonder if he wants to escape his family, like I do.

  We reach a spot a few yards from the shore, and Jason stops and throws down the towels.

  “No offense,” I say. “But my bad luck is seriously a thing, so I might just stay on the shore, if that’s cool with you?”

  “It’s totally fine.”

  I sit down. Out here, it’s undeniably pretty. The moon is nearly full right now, and the waves are gently lapping against the sand. The water looks really dark, nearly black almost.

  Across from me, Jason starts unbuttoning his shirt.

  Okay.

  So.

  How do straigh
t guys act around other guys when they take off their shirts? I feel like they’d be totally oblivious. Like how I’d be if I was around a girl in a bra. I’d notice, sure, but it wouldn’t be like … you know.

  Jason finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pulls it off his shoulders.

  His body is pale and absolutely freaking gorgeous. His chest is totally smooth, and he’s ripped enough that he has a six-pack. It’s on the leaner end of abs: I can see some definition, but he’s not super bulky.

  I’m not sure how I feel about noticing this, but … his body is as hot as possible for a body to be to me.

  If he cares about being shirtless around me, it doesn’t seem to show. The top band of his underwear is even poking out above his belted jeans, which has always been such a big turn-on for me.

  This feels weirdly intimate, even though I know he’s probably not feeling anything even remotely close to what I am. He plays baseball; he probably strips off around other guys all the time.

  Now there’s a thought.

  “You’re seriously not coming in?” he asks.

  “Nah.”

  He shrugs and unbuckles his belt.

  I sit down on the sand and then pull out my phone. I don’t have any new messages, but I remember I’d told Dad I’d tell him my plans. I start writing a message to him.

  Hey, I went home, just FYI.

  Nope, that won’t work. What if he beats me there?

  I give up and decide I’ll just deal with it if I get in trouble. I start to feel ill. Vince and Grandma saw me at the bar. So they must know I left. I’ll need to come up with some reason why I did, because surely they’ll ask.

  I’m so stupid.

  Jason takes off his slacks and then kicks them over to me. They land on my legs, and I have to push them away.

  He laughs.

  He’s now wearing black boxer briefs, and that’s it. He has really nice thighs, too. I guess from baseball.

  “Come on,” he says as he walks backward. “You won’t regret it.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Okay, I’ll be quick, then we can chat.”

  He turns and walks toward the water.

  I definitely do check out his butt. But only for a second.

  And then I’m on my phone, on Grindr, keeping my phone up so he can’t see it. It loads, and I see that “J” has finally responded.

  Good thanks cutie, how are you?

  I start typing out a response.

  Great thanks! Got more pics?

  He comes online.

  And damn.

  Jason obviously isn’t holding his phone now. Which means “J” isn’t him.

  I get a new message.

  Jerome here

  He also sends me a bunch of photos. Not sexy ones, he’s clothed in all of them. He’s really cute and has even included a photo where he’s dressed up as Klaus from The Umbrella Academy. But he’s definitely not Jason. I type out a response, because even though I don’t want to talk to him anymore, I don’t want to leave him hanging after he sent photos of himself.

  You’re cute dude

  I know he’s going to ask me for pics, which I don’t want to send, so I switch to Safari and google shark fatalities. Apparently there were sixty-seven unprovoked attacks last year.

  Worldwide.

  That’s not bad.

  Jason is waist-deep in the water now, facing out toward the ocean.

  I don’t want him to leave.

  I stand up and start frantically unbuttoning my shirt. I pull it off and then toss it to the ground. Then I step out of my slacks.

  When I’m done, I see that Jason has turned and is watching me. He was probably watching the whole time I was undressing.

  Cool. Cool cool cool.

  Guarding my crotch so it’s at least kind of hidden from his view, I jog down to the water. I step in, and, damn, it’s cold.

  “It’s nice once you’re in!” he calls.

  “It better be!”

  He laughs and then scoops up some water and runs it through his hair. It makes it dark and spiky. The waves are really gentle here. Cursing him, I walk into the water until I reach him. Our bodies, up to our waists, are submerged. The water laps gently against me. I adjust and find he was right. It is nice. It’s just so warm out that it’s a shock to the system. It’s not even cold.

  Jason watches me for a second. He’s dripping wet.

  “Hey, shark bait,” he says.

  And there we go. Spell broken.

  I cross my arms. “Don’t call me that.”

  “But that’s what you are! I bet they can already smell you and are on their way as we speak.”

  “Seriously, stop! I’m trying so hard not to think about it, you have no idea.”

  He starts humming the Jaws theme music.

  “Stop!” I say, and I splash him.

  He laughs. I laugh, too.

  But then it settles. And I realize that I’m here.

  But surely he’s not gay, too. I mean, he could be. But for some reason I don’t think that’s what’s going on. I guess because he’s so attractive, I feel that, even if he is gay, I wouldn’t be the kind of guy he’d be into.

  I think he just wants to be friends with me. Which I’m so down for.

  I don’t need to make out with him or anything to have a good time. I really like it here, doing just this. I mean, I’m not totally over the fear of sharks. It’s constantly running underneath everything. But other stuff has the focus. Like how the moon is out, and I can see a few stars.

  Plus, behind us, the city lights.

  “This is nice,” he says. “I like hanging out with you. It just feels really easy, you know? Like we don’t need to talk just for the sake of it.”

  “Totally.”

  “I think that’s a sign that we could be good friends. That we just, like, work.”

  “I think so, too.”

  He lies back so he’s looking up at the stars. I do the same.

  Because of pollution, I can’t see many. But it’s as good as it ever is here. I remember, once, Dad, Luke, and I went on a camping trip to Yosemite, because Dad loves it there. The stars there were next level.

  Anyway.

  I really don’t want to think about Dad right now.

  I feel like I’m in the middle of another magical night, doing something I never thought I’d do.

  And it’s all because of Jason.

  * * *

  We swim for a while and then walk back up the beach, toward the car, with towels wrapped around our waists. We collect our shoes, and then Jason goes up to the public shower and turns it on. He gestures to me, but I shake my head, so he steps under the spray.

  He closes his eyes and dips his head under. His hair gets pressed flat, and water runs down his chest. For someone who games so much, he’s clearly found a way to stay in great shape.

  Because damn.

  I catch myself staring, and I look away. I know this is just a friends thing, but I can’t help myself.

  He’s the first person I’ve ever talked to who seems to like all the same stuff that I do. Our interests line up really well. Mostly we talked about games, because it’s clearly the thing he likes most in the world. He plays big franchises like World of Warcraft, Pokémon, and Minecraft, but also likes indie games like Factorio, Don’t Starve, and Stardew Valley.

  Currently he’s playing the new God of War game and loving every second of it.

  Once he’s done, I shower, and then we both get dressed. I still feel a little salty, though. It’s, like, clinging to me.

  “Better?’ he asks.

  “Yeah, much.”

  “Cool. Want me to drive you home? I need to head out soon, I’ve got homework.”

  “Yeah, me too. And, um, is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure is. I don’t make offers to do things I don’t actually want to do. I feel like that doesn’t do anyone any favors, you know?”

  “Totally. I’m the same.”

  I’m so no
t, though. I constantly bend over backward to try to keep people happy.

  We climb into his car. He starts playing the Killers through the speakers.

  Just when I think this night couldn’t get any more perfect.

  Too soon, we reach my place. To be honest, I’m not ready to stop hanging out with him. He turns off the engine, which makes the car feel really still. We’re lit by streetlights, and the neon-blue dash of his car.

  “Nice place,” he says, looking out at my house. I guess it does look pretty cool. It’s all one level, and I know it’s big. It’s white, with terra-cotta roofing, and is surrounded by greenery. The driveway is empty, so I guess Dad and Luke are still out. That’s good.

  It means nobody is going to ask me where I’ve been.

  “Thanks. Whereabouts do you live, by the way?”

  “Gladeview.”

  “Oh, nice.”

  That’s right on the edge of our territory. We control it, but only just.

  I don’t want to think about that, though.

  “Yeah.”

  I notice that the night is winding down, and I don’t want to chicken out.

  “Hey, um,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Could I maybe get your number? Is that okay?”

  He grins. “And what exactly would you want with that?”

  “You know, just … I dunno.”

  “Shark bait wants my number. How amazing.”

  “I’m not shark bait! Just tell me: Are you going to give it to me or not?”

  For a second I think he isn’t.

  But then he puts out his hand.

  I retrieve my phone, unlock it, and swipe through to my contacts book. I hand it to him, and he starts entering his details. Then he hands it back.

  “I was going to ask you, if you didn’t,” he says. “Just FYI.”

  “Oh, really?”

  He smiles. “Yeah, course.”

  And oh man. His smile is really cute. I love how it changes the whole way he looks. Normally he looks kind of serious, because his features are so handsome. But when he smiles, he looks a little like a sweetheart. Like the kind of guy who’d earnestly go for school council, or get upset if he gets a bad grade because he doesn’t want to disappoint his teacher.

  Maybe that’s the sort of guy Jason really is. Maybe his macho thing is just an exterior.

  I know about that. Too well.

  “Um, cool,” I say. “That’s nice to know.”