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“Hey Jojo, wait!” Caesar called.
It was summer, and summer meant practice, but he had barely had his sneakers on when Joseph had popped his head over the fence that separated their two houses. It wasn’t Caesar’s fault that they were going to be late today. They’d agreed last week that Joseph would come get him when he was ready, but they had ten minutes to make it to the school if they didn’t want to do extra laps.
“Dammit,” Caesar stuffed the bag of cashews between his teeth, He jammed his heels into his shoes, the laces scraping up the sides of his ankles. He took off running for the gap in the fence.
The board was already moved so all he had to do was make it through. Crouching down, he started to wiggle into the gap, one arm at a time, when a shadow fell over him.
“Caesar,” Joseph sing-songed, his voice pitched high, “We’ll be late if you don’t hurry up.”
“Idiot, you’re the reason we’re late—shit!” Caesar jerked as his uniform snagged on the fence. His dad was going to kill him if he ruined another, the last one having met an unfortunate end in a puddle of mud Caesar had fallen in when he’d tried racing back from practice with Joseph during last week’s storm. The warm rain had soaked through his clothes and they had wrestled on the lawn after he’d slipped, muddy water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders after Joseph tackled him back down. Caesar hadn’t thought at the time about how his uniform might not survive. He’d only been aware of the mud pie Joseph had been trying to shove in his face, and the dirt clod he had been trying to put down Joseph’s shirt at the same time.
They’d both been scolded when Mrs. Joestar had found them, but at the time---at the time Caesar had grinned until his cheeks ached, and laughed in that weird chuffing way he’d had ever since his voice had started to break.
Caesar wasn’t laughing now though. He let out a frustrated grunt, and backed up, his head catching on the side of the gap as he struggled with the snag.
A warm hand clapped down over the back of his neck.
“Don’t struggle.”
Caesar jumped, but for a different reason. Joseph was right there, and like the other times they’d been close recently, he felt strange. Caesar wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. Maybe it was at their last game. They’d both been on the bench, and Joseph had straddled the metal seat in his usual way. That wasn’t new, that was normal. And maybe Caesar had been noticing it on and off all night but for some reason at that time, for just a few seconds, he realized how warm Joseph’s ankle was where it had hooked around his own.
Since then, Caesar had found himself noticing little things like that more and more.
Joseph’s hair tickled the side of his neck as he leaned closer, one hand joining Caesar’s which had stilled on working at the snag and lifting the fabric of his shirt off the spike of wood.
“Lean forward a bit,” Joseph mumbled, his free hand pushing lightly into Caesar’s back.
“Don’t push me,” Caesar said, but half-heartedly, no real heat behind his voice. He held still as Joseph picked at the fabric, dropping his hands to give Joseph more room to work. They landed awkwardly, or maybe it was just to Caesar that it seemed awkward. With one hand he braced himself against the ground, and with the other, without giving it much thought, he grabbed Joseph’s bent knee.
He told himself that he’d done it just because it was there. That Joseph had put himself in the way, crouching down like that and bracketing Caesar inside the gap in the fence. It wasn’t because Joseph was warm. It wasn’t because, even though it was the middle of summer, Caesar’s hands had somehow gone clammy and cold.
“I don’t think it ripped. I guess I’m just that good.” Joseph sounded smug, and Caesar—who hadn’t realized when he’d closed his eyes—shot a sharp look up at him as he backed away.
“Let’s just get going.” Caesar stood up, brushing the dirt from the back of his pants. Their bikes were out just where they’d left them, which was good since it meant Caesar didn’t need to go help Joseph dig through the garage to get them now.
“Shouldn’t you say ‘Thank you, Jojo, for saving me’?” Joseph continued to harp on. “That could have ended worse if I wasn’t here.”
“It’s because you’re here that I had to crawl through there,” Caesar tossed a helmet at Joseph. “We’re not ten anymore, we can’t fit through that thing.”
“You just did,” Joseph replied, picking up his gym bag off the ground.
Caesar rolled his eyes and walked his bike off the grass onto the driveway. ”That’s not my point.”
“I don’t think you have a point.”
“Just drop it, Joseph.”
“But I worked so hard,” he whined, “Caesar, come on. I can’t get no satisfaction this way.”
“You did not just say that.”
“What, it wasn’t funny? I’m working on some new material, actually.”
Their street was quiet, except for their bickering and the purr of the card Joseph had clipped to his spokes at the beginning of the summer.
It was a mile to the school. If they rode fast they might make it before Coach called roll.
Pausing at the top of the hill at the end of their street, Caesar tipped his face into the warm breeze. He felt the chill of a shadow passing over the sun, and this time he didn’t freeze. Joseph’s bike had clicked softly as he’d pulled up beside him.
They were together, and they had baseball practice. And Caesar still wasn’t sure why it was at times like these he was aware of things, little things, about his best friend. Tiny details he’d never paid much attention to before.
It didn’t matter he supposed. They’d figure it out, just like they did everything else. They were young, and there was still the rest of the long, warm summer stretched out before them.
(And there was also this particular practice, which they were late to. Their coach made them run twenty extra laps, but that’s another story for a different time.)