by J. Bengtsson
“Me?” I laughed. “No. I don’t like the idea of the flesh being ripped from my bones.”
Keith groaned, pretending to pound his head on the desk. “Everybody blames the sharks. You do realize that the chances of getting killed by a shark is like one in three million? You have a better chance of getting hit by lightning.”
“But, see, I don’t go out in storms, so my chances of dying either way is 0. Who wins now?”
“Not you.”
I cocked my head, confused. “How do you figure?”
“Because, Sam, everything that makes life worth living carries a risk. If you eliminate that, you might as well start collecting cats now.”
“I like cats,” I protested.
“I’m sure you do.”
He caught my eye and we smiled. I can’t overstate my surprise that Keith hadn’t already tired of our conversation. The truth was, people typically just looked right through me.
“Think about it, Sam. Is there any cooler way to die? I mean, like cancer would be a sad way to go, but getting trampled by the bulls in Spain – epic.”
“Or spontaneous combustion,” I added, rolling with the theme.
“Yes!” Out of nowhere, Keith high-fived me. It was the first time a guy outside my family unit had ever touched me, and my skin flushed accordingly. “That’s some gnarly shit there. You’re just hanging out watching a little TV when BAM – you frickin’ explode. That’s just all kinds of awesome.”
What the heck was happening here? Somehow I’d been witty enough to warrant the attention of a member of Pearl Beach High’s ruling class. Shannon would be proud.
Leaning in, Keith lowered his voice. “You want to hear my evil revenge plan?”
Oh, boy, did I ever! At this point, anything that came out of his mouth was gospel to me. Wide-eyed and rapt with interest, I nodded.
“If I get killed by a shark, I want a memorial bench erected in my name right next to a garbage can.”
That sounded like a horrible idea, but I encouraged him to continue with an awkward tilt of my head. “Why?”
“To make it easier for the seagulls to crap on people resting on my bench.”
Again, pretty terrible idea. So far, Keith’s evil revenge plan was going in the direction of the platypus story. “Why would you want that?”
“Because Sam…”
“Samantha.”
The way in which he completely ignored my earlier request told me he’d never be getting my name right. And while it usually annoyed the hell out of me when people shortened my name for their own convenience, when Keith did it, with just that little bit of snark, I honestly didn’t mind all that much.
“Whatever. Anyway, how do you get people to remember you after you die?”
Thinking about his question, I shrugged. No one would remember me if I died, so it was sort of a moot point. But for someone like Keith, yeah, I could see him inspiring a candlelight vigil in his honor.
“I have no idea,” I finally conceded.
His affecting smile slayed me. “Drop a little bird doo-doo on them. No matter how old you get, you’ll always remember where you were the first time a seagull crapped in your mouth.”
I choked out a laugh. It really was a brilliant way to be remembered. “The Keith McKallister Memorial Bench. I like it.”
He nodded, pleased his plan passed muster with me.
“Well, sadly there will be no memorial bench in my honor because, sharks aside, I don’t go in the ocean.”
“You can’t swim?”
“Actually, I’m a really good swimmer,” I said, before adding a series of completely irrelevant supporting facts. “I have long arms and a long torso. It’s a great combo for swimming.”
Keith accepted my reasoning with no push back, which I was happy for because I totally couldn’t back up my baseless claim.
“So what’s the problem then?”
I shrugged. “I just hate the ocean.”
“You can’t hate the ocean,” he said. “You live in a beach town.”
“Through no choice of my own. My grandmother passed away two years ago and left her house to my mom. That’s how we ended up in this crap town.”
“Whoa, hold up there, Slugger. This is so not a crap town. Any place where you can wear shorts year round and surf as the sun comes up qualifies as paradise.”
“According to who?”
“According to everyone.” His voice peaked in amusement. “The world fucking over!”
“This town is not real life, Keith. It’s a fantasy world filled with bikini-clad airheads and trips to the beach.”
“That’s exactly what I just said.” He nodded empathically. “Paradise.”
“Yeah, well, enjoy it; but I for one will be gone the minute I graduate, and I’ll never look back.”
“Seriously? What about your family?”
“They don’t care.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with the confidence of a guy who’d never experienced the betrayal of his loved ones.
I didn’t argue the point because it would require explaining my living situation, and that was something I did not intend to share with the likes of Keith McKallister.
He slapped his hand on the table. “Okay, I got it.”
“Got what?”
“How I can pay you back for helping me out with my classes.”
Classes? I’d thought I was just helping him with chemistry, but apparently I was now tutoring him in a wide variety of topics. Okay, well… I had nothing better to do, so why not? So was payback even required for my services? I honestly didn’t mind doing all the giving while he did all the taking. But certainly I could hear him out.
“I’m going to teach you how to surf,” he said, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “That way you’ll never be afraid of the ocean again.”
The laugh that shot from my mouth might have sounded exaggerated and ridiculous, but it matched his absurd proposal. “Um, thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Besides, Keith, you don’t need to pay me back. I already said I’d help you – no strings attached.”
“Are you sure? Because I don’t make this offer to just anyone. Surfing is a way of life, dude. You have no idea what you’re missing. The beach. The waves. It’s freedom like you’ve never experienced.”
The far-off look on his face told me he truly believed his words, and his passion might have been enough to sway someone else, but not practical Samantha Anderson. I wasn’t sure what terrified me more, the dark abyss of the unruly Pacific Ocean or the idea of standing in front of this hot surfer boy in a bathing suit. Either way, it was a hard ‘Hell, no.’
“I really appreciate the offer, Keith, but let’s just focus on getting you to graduation.”
Keith studied me for longer than I felt comfortable with. Anything I had for him to look at only took a few seconds. He needn’t linger. I squirmed in my seat until he finally diverted his eyes to the assignment in front of him.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Your loss.”
Yes, I silently agreed, my loss, but then I was used to losing. What was one more time?
7
Keith: Homemade
Mom breezed into the kitchen, a waft of perfume following her in. She smelled like home, which apart from the beach was my favorite scent. I took in her bright, billowy outfit and was struck by her beauty. Mom was a put-together woman on a daily basis, but today she’d put in the extra effort and it showed. This was the first woman I’d ever vowed to marry, and today I remembered why.
Standing up, I kissed her cheek. “You’re looking fine, Mamacita.”
“Well, thank you, sweetheart. You’re looking…”
Her eyes passed over me, no doubt ready to return the compliment, but got stopped up on my t-shirt, which read, ‘This guy likes bacon.’
“Keith, come on. I thought you changed.”
“I did. You should have seen my other option.” Something told me she’d have been even less enthusiastic about the shir
t with ‘Vegetarian’ across a giant pot leaf.
She sighed. “We’re going to a nice restaurant. Would it kill you to put more effort into your wardrobe choices?”
I glanced down at my clothing. I’d been going for whimsical fun, but clearly my mother had no sense of humor. “This was effort. I even applied deodorant.”
Mom laughed. “Oh, well then, that more than makes up for the dead pig parts on your shirt.”
“Exactly. Who’s going to care what I look like when I smell Arctic fresh?”
“Off you go,” Mom said, physically turning me in the direction of my room.
“Fine, but I’m warning you, I can’t guarantee my next choice will be any better.”
Her lips tipped in amusement, she answered, “I believe in you, honey. Surely you can find something in your closet without words.”
“Actually, I’m not sure if I can.”
“I need you to dig deep into that closet of yours. Remember the Christmas clothes I buy you every year? Why don’t you see if you can find those?”
Ah yes. Christmas – that special time of year when my parents tried to turn me into a golfer. I might not have been Pearl Beach’s drug dealer anymore, but I still had a reputation to uphold, and that did not include clothing with buttons.
I could stand there holding my ground for as long as I liked, but that didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere until I was wearing something that passed her inspection. Without a word, I headed down the hallway.
“And hurry,” she called out after me. “We have reservations in fifteen minutes. If they figure out who the party of eight is before we get there, we’re screwed. Oh, and Keith, do something with your hair.”
My hair too? I reached up to run my fingers through my mop, but the digits got stuck in the tangled strands, forcing a pain-filled squawk from my throat. I’d hit the point in my hygiene where nothing short of a head shave would fix the ratty strands of hair occupying my head.
“Oh, my god, Mom,” I hollered at her from down the hall. “It’s your birthday, not the crowning of a new president.”
Emma passed me in the narrow passageway, always ready with a sarcastic reply.
“Yes. Because the coronation proceedings of our elected officials are always the highlight of American politics.”
I had absolutely no idea what she’d just said, but it was annoying enough to warrant pushing her into the wall. I thought that squared us up, but Emma had never been one to play by the rules. Retaliation was swift, in the form of a knee to my ass. She’d been going for the crown jewels, but I knew a thing or two about her combat skills and twisted my body away in the nick of time.
Emma grinned mischievously, her face flushed from the fight. “You give up?”
“Never,” I panted. And then, with a swiftness I hadn’t been expecting, I was avoiding her jabbing knees as if my balls were the target in a whack-a-mole game.
“Okay,” I laughed. “I give up. You win. Jesus, you’re ruthless.”
“Emma,” Mom hollered from the kitchen. “Leave your brother alone. He’s going to need every second of the fifteen minutes I gave him to be presentable.”
She opened her arm to let me pass, but I didn’t trust her for a minute. “You heard Mom. Go.”
Pressing myself against the wall, I slid past her and darted off down the hall. I’d almost made it to my room when a list of demands was volleyed down the narrow passageway.
“Remember, Keith. Clean shirt, nothing offensive, no words, no holes, no shorts… and as for your hair, just pull it off your face. That’s all I’m asking.”
I shut the door on her requests. Short of sticking a post-it note to my forehead, there was no way I was remembering that lengthy list. But I got the general idea of what she was expecting. As I rummaged through my drawers, my brother Jake let himself in. He didn’t say anything, just plopped himself down onto my ratty beanbag chair and watched.
I could understand the interest. Jake was viewing this as an entertainment opportunity. It wasn’t every day I was called upon to improve my overall looks.
“Can I help you?”
“Not really. I’m just curious what you’re going to come up with,” he said, that lazy grin of his hard to ignore.
“Well, be curious in another room,” I replied, pulling out a white Hanes t-shirt and holding it up for inspection. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jake cringe.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You’re not going to wear that, right?”
“Maybe. Why? What’s wrong with it? This shirt checks off all the items on her list. No holes. No words.”
“I’m pretty sure ‘no pit stains’ would have made her list if she’d had more time to compile it.”
Upon closer examination, I could clearly see the yellow underarm rings. “Well, shit.”
Slanting his gaze to mine, Jake smirked. “Why do all your clothes look like they came out of a dumpster? Doesn’t Mom take care of you?”
“Most of my clothes are damaged from climbing out windows. Occupational hazard.” I shrugged.
“I thought you weren’t climbing out windows anymore.”
“I’m not, but my clothes haven’t caught up yet.”
“It’s not rocket science, Keith. Pick a shirt, get your gift, and let’s go. I’m hungry.”
Ah, shit. My gift. I’d totally forgotten the gift. Thankfully, my younger brother had reminded me numerous times of Mom’s upcoming birthday, which was the only reason I actually had a gift to give her.
“Bro,” I answered, stripping off my bacon shirt and tossing it at him. “You saved my ass.”
“What’s new?”
Kidding aside, there was nothing new. Jake had single-handedly kept my worth in this family high even when I should have been devalued long ago. While everyone else jumped into Mitch’s gleaming red wagon, Jake remained behind, helping me pound the wheels back onto mine. His loyalty had gotten me though some tough times, so if he wanted to enjoy the Keith show, I was inclined to allow him.
“If you’re so smart, Pretty Boy,” I said, gesturing to my drawers. “Be my guest.”
“Screw you. I’m not the one with lady hair.”
“It’s pirate hair, and everyone knows pirates are cool. Now, help me find something Mom will like. God knows you’re the biggest kiss-ass in the family.”
Ignoring the diss, Jake rose from the beanbag and, as if he were filming an episode of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy, my little brother effortlessly whipped out a button-down shirt from my closet.
“Oh no. No way!” I protested, waving my hands around to illustrate my utter distaste for his choice. “Mom didn’t say a dress up shirt, she just said a clean one.”
“Do you want to make her happy on her birthday or not?”
“Not. Definitely not.”
“Fine. Whatever. Wear the shirt with the pit stains. I’m sure she’ll love it,” he said, heading for the exit. “And don’t forget the gift.”
Ah, shit! The gift! How had I already forgotten it? Eyeing the shirt Jake had chosen for me, guilt clouded my better judgment. He was right – she’d love it, and it was her birthday. I just had to hope no one I knew would be in the restaurant to see my embarrassing prep boy transformation. I’d already lost all street cred after giving up my side business, and now this.
Slipping on the shirt, I buttoned it to the second to top position before taking on the rat’s nest that was my hair. This was the result of whipping my head around after surfing but never actually combing it out. The matting was getting out of control.
Sighing, I pulled it back into a short ponytail and checked my appearance in the mirror. Oh, she was going to love this. Plus, it was a look I could get behind for the night. I was presentable while still retaining my pothead, screw-up flair.
Turning off the light, I jogged down the hallway before making an abrupt turn and heading back toward my room. I’d forgotten the fucking gift.
“Scott, make su
re Jake and Kyle are separated,” Mom said, as we were led to the table at the fancy restaurant. In reality, it was an Olive Garden, but for us, that was the height of culinary excellence. “You take one, I’ll get the other.”
My brothers both dove for the seat next to our dad, Kyle edging out Jake by a hair. He then proceeded to rub it in by whooping in joy as if he were an Olympic champion. A disgruntled Jake punched him.
“Hey.” Mom raised her voice to get their attention. “Stop it right now. This is why we can’t have nice things.”
I snickered. Clearly Mom was kidding, but there was some truth behind her words, and it had nothing to do with Jake or Kyle’s antics. See, Mom wasn’t like the rest of us. To say she had married down would be an understatement. My mom hadn’t just grown up wealthy. Her family was the type of rich that owned half the city. She’d been destined to live her life in the lap of luxury when a chance encounter with a sandy-haired beach boy changed her life forever.
It was your typical poor boy meets rich girl love story, only this one came with the added twist of lawsuits, fistfights, and a lifelong disownment. In moments like this, when the best we could afford was a night out at Olive Garden, I sometimes wondered if she regretted her decision all those years ago. Sure, she wouldn’t have us, but she’d have everything else she’d ever dreamed of, and more.
Mom tapped the seat beside her, letting Jake know she wasn’t taking the slightest bit of crap from him. “Now.”
Pouting all the way to mommy jail, he flung himself onto the open chair. “That’s not fair. Why am I being punished? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yet,” Mom corrected him, not taking any offense to the suggestion that sitting beside her was the equivalent of prison. “You and Kyle haven’t done anything wrong yet. And Dad and I aim to keep it that way.”
“That was just one time,” Jake protested.
“Which time are we talking?” Emma asked. “The time Kyle went head first into the barrel of peanuts, or the time the two of you set the tablecloth on fire?”
“The fire was an accident… and the peanut incident was on Kyle. He’s the one who wanted to know if he could breathe under all those peanuts. I was only helping him with his research.”