Chapter Text
"You know you don't always have to let me win, dude."
"Oh. Uh, yeah, I know."
I feel like my thumbs are going to burst into flames. I've been hitting every button on the controller, hoping to accidentally stumble on an amazing combo that will end Tina Armstrong's reign of terror. Charlie glances down at me for a split second.
"Button-mashing isn't gonna help. You need to do the combos."
"I thought this was a combo!" I say, tapping X A X A B B as quickly as possible. Only problem is that concentrating so hard on getting the right buttons makes me move so slow.
I glance down to check I'm pressing the right buttons. Fatal mistake. I hear the knockout before I see it.
"Oww! Nice one, Charlie!" I say, smiling up at him. "Wanna go again?"
He shrugs and gets off the airbed. It nearly springs me into the air in response. Charlie switches the game off, then the TV, then glances down at me with his hands in his pockets.
"Hey, maybe we should hit the park or something."
"Oh, okay, sure."
I hop off Charlie's bed and carefully fluff his mattress up. I weigh about as much as a football, so it's not like I've flattened it down or anything. I just want to make sure he sees that I care about his stuff. The mattress cover could really do with a clean, but as much as I'd like to offer to wash it, there's no way it would come across as anything but rude.
Charlie doesn't clean the rest of his room, either. The TV and surrounding gadgets are sticky and dusty. There's a shelf where he keeps his DVDs and other miscellaneous odds and ends, plus a rack for hanging clothes. Despite that, most of his stuff spends its time on the crumb-covered floor. Since his mom's accident, she can't get up the stairs to make sure he's cleaned up the room. Maybe I could ask her if she wants some housework done. I could do the entire home, plus his room. Nothing rude about helping out that way.
Charlie grabs his bag off the floor and gestures for me to lead the way. I can't tell for sure, but he seems moody. I make my way downstairs, call goodbye to Mrs. Doppler, and step out into the street. The bungalow is on the side of a pretty busy road. Soon, the smell of his home is washed away by the neighbours' stinky bins and the nearby petrol station.
We stop by the garage to get snacks. I nearly fall over myself in my rush to pay.
"You sure, dude?" he asks.
"Yeah, no worries!"
His grumpy face softens a little as I hand a bag of crisps to him.
It's a ten minute walk to the park. I'm dreading running in to people from our school. Still, I guess it's worth the risk if I get to hang out with Charlie. I finish eating a chocolate bar, feigning a casual attitude, before I speak up.
"Did you wanna stop playing because of me?"
"Uh, no," he says through a mouthful of crisps. "I just thought we could mess around, y'know. And I need to smoke anyway."
"Sweet, okay. I'm sorry I suck so bad at games. I'm good at some genres, like RPGs and stuff."
"Yeah."
I'm pretty good at telling when people are lying. Charlie doesn't want to play games with me, I know he doesn't. I'm not on his level. It's just annoying for him. We've played other stuff, but it always ends the same. He starts off encouraging, telling me I'm doing just fine. Sometimes he even makes excuses for me, like saying that an enemy's AI is cheap or that his controller is old and unresponsive. But when I ask to do a second session, he says he's bored and wants to do something else. He can't keep on being patient when he's dealing with someone as clumsy as me. I don't blame him - it's my fault.
I'm lucky he still wants to be my friend. He could give up on me. But maybe he's just being nice. What if he wants to stop hanging out, and won't say it because he's too nice?
There are a few guys from school at the park when we arrive. They're sitting on top of the swing frame and smoking cigarettes. I watch them nervously, but Charlie doesn't even glance in their direction as he heads for the climbing frame. I clamber up the ropes and perch next to him as he rolls up his joint.
It's a still day, nothing but clouds in the sky. Looks like it might rain soon. No kids about, either. So I can hear perfectly well as one of the guys across the park snuffles back laughter and says, "Look at the little retard." His friends start giggling. One of them hooks her knees around the frame and swings down like a bat.
"Ha, gaaay," she says, doing an impression of that guy from Community. Now they can't stop themselves from laughing.
"Want some?" Charlie asks. He must have lit up while I was distracted.
"Want some dick?" says one of the gang, putting on a nasally voice.
I take the spliff, grateful to have something that will calm my nerves. Somehow, hearing them making fun of Charlie's voice is more of a breaking point for me than their jokes. If Charlie had shown any indication of being upset, I don't know what I'd have done.
"Thanks, Charlie. H-Hey, how's the job going?" Neither of us like talking about jobs or schoolwork, but it's the first thing that comes to my mind as I desperately try to distract myself from the jabs.
"Sucks, man. My manager is meant to be training me, but she just gets mad whenever I do something wrong. But it's only my second week, you know? Like, how am I supposed to know yet?"
"Yeah, it's really on her to teach you, not get annoyed," I say. I take a long draw and pass it to him.
"Right, exactly. It's really minor things, too. She gave me a whole lecture about how you're meant to polish windows in a circle." He mimed the motion with his free hand. "It's suddenly the end of the world if you go side to side, like the car's going to explode or something."
"Oh my gosh," I say, before bursting into laughter. "I did the side-to-side when I cleaned Dad's car once and he freaked out, too! He said it would leave streaks."
"I do not get paid enough to worry about streaks, dude," he says. "I mean, I do it like she said now. Doesn't mean she needs to get angry."
"I can slash her tyres if you want."
He grins.
"I know you. You'd turn yourself in right after, dude. No way you'd be able to live with that."
"Heh, I guess. I'd do it for you, though."
I meant it, but that doesn't mean it was the right thing to say. Charlie looks pretty blank again. I feel like any stab I take at sincerity ends with him shutting me down. It's like I gross him out when I say stuff to try and show I care about him.
"Still, at least you get paid," I say quickly. I can't stand it when he doesn't respond to me. It's even worse when there's an eavesdropping audience laughing behind my back. I don't even know if they're still joking about us specifically or just laughing amongst themselves now.
"Money's good," Charlie says with a nod.
A raindrop hits my head. My earlier guess was right. I glance up as the clouds, still lazily hanging in place, release a light drizzle down onto us.
"Ugh," Charlie says, flipping up his hood. "How come it always waits for the weekend to rain?"
"We could get lunch," I say. I'm full from that chocolate bar, but I'm guessing Charlie will be up for it. It's so cute how he's always hungry, plus it means I get to have a failsafe offer that I know he can't refuse.
"Sure, um... I already spent my budget for this week, but I can chill while you get food."
"Oh, no problem, I can pay."
"Really?"
"Yeah!" I say, hoping off the climbing frame. "Order whatever you want, I've got it!"
"Thanks dude," he says, untangling himself from the cords. He flicks the joint and drops it into an empty mint tin he carries in his bag.
I wait until he's ready. Even though I know they won't do anything that bad to me, I'm kind of scared to walk past the swings. Charlie hurries ahead of me and keeps going. I can't keep up with his speed-walking unless I run, and there's no way I can run now without looking daft. Fortunately, the swing crew is bored of us and don't react as we leave.
Once we're back onto the main road, Charlie stops until I've caught up with him. He looks down at me sideways and puts his hands in his pockets.
"Hey Pim, where were you thinking?"
"Anywhere you want," I say. He shrugs.
"I don't know, man, what do you feel like?"
That's my cue. If Charlie's being vague about where we eat, and I'm paying, then I just have to respond with his favourite.
"I could go for pizza. Domino's?"
Charlie nods, then slopes off towards the shops. Since there's no-one around to commentate, he walks beside me.
We took our time getting to Domino's, stopping by a few stores on our way. There's a comic book shop where Charlie's older cousin works, so we always drop in to say hi and look around. Next there's the bargain shops. We stocked up on cheap biscuits and fake Pepsi. I managed to grab some larger at a good price. I hate having to show ID, though. I thought I'd grow out of my baby face when I hit sixteen, but no luck. Every time I use it, I feel like I'm going to get caught. Mom's told me I can phone her for help if someone calls me out, but I'm not sure how confident I am that she'd be able to get me out of hot water. Usually, it's her getting into trouble.
Finally, we went around a few charity shops. Charlie bought a DVD of Midnight Run, while I picked up a tiny vintage jewellery box. It was too nice to just leave on the shelf. I noticed Charlie was eyeing up a box holding three miniatures - I'm not great with tabletop stuff, so I'm not sure who they were meant to be exactly. They looked pretty cool, though, so I asked if he was going to get them.
"I dunno, maybe some other time," he had said, his eyes lingering on the little box.
"They might not be here next time," I had replied. "They're only a quid, go on!"
"Nah, I'm good. They're kind of gunky... Anyway, gotta save money so I can buy the next pizza."
So I ended up grabbing those when he wasn't looking, too.
By the time we get food, it's getting dark. It's winter, so it's not like we we're staying out late. My body clock just never gets used to it going dark in the afternoon.
We find an empty bench in the shopping centre. It's close enough to the exit that we can hear the rain whenever the doors open. The drizzle has turned into a downpour. A few shoppers are hanging around with their bags in hand, waiting for a pause so they can dash to their cars.
I slide my box of cookies next to Charlie as I chew a slice of pizza. Even though I always order him cookies too, I can't help but offer him mine. We go through the usual exchange: are you sure, yes, really, oh totally.
"Thanks," Charlie says, stacking the cookie boxes. "Sheesh. You need to stop sharing, I'm getting all gross and fat."
Even if he is just poking fun at himself, I feel a sudden pang of pain in my chest. I always do when he makes some self-deprecating joke.
"You're not fat, Charlie."
"And you're not blind, my dude."
"Really, I mean, you look handsome."
Charlie scoffs and gives me a look that's halfway between incredulity and annoyance. He thinks I was joking, too. But I wasn't.
Even with all the people bustling around and the various songs floating out from the shops, it feels quiet. Being on a bench kind of separates you from the world. They're like tiny spaceships. Maybe it's just because of my height. I'm so used to dodging around leg forests that it feels nice up on a bench.
Cold air blows through the sliding doors again as a lady runs out of the rain. I'm between a pile of plastic bags and my friend Charlie. I kind of wish I could lean on him. I can feel the heat coming off him. His hoodie looks so soft. When we were kids, Charlie was okay giving me hugs. We grew out of that years ago, though. Nevermind. I guess sitting by him is nice enough.
I think all these things. Every time we spend a day together, I think all these things. It's okay, it's enough, as long as we're friends I have all I need. He doesn't need to say he likes me, because of course he does. He wouldn't spend time with me if he didn't. My feelings aren't just sadness. Sometimes it's anger. I need to go through the list in my head more than ever then. Because anger is the last thing I should feel towards him. It's not his fault my brain is doing this. He probably doesn't even realise how much it upsets me when he pretends he's not with me. When he shuts down if I show my concern for him. When he treats my compliments as if they were sarcasm.
I keep my pizza box to use as an umbrella. There doesn't seem to be an end to the storm in sight. Walking home in wet clothes isn't great, but I still hope it keeps up all night. Listening to the rain in bed is one of my favourite things. Shame about the shopping. I'm not tall enough to keep the bags out the puddles.
Charlie and I walk to the end of the mall car park together.
"Thanks for today, Charlie. I had a great time!"
"Sure, man, it was fun," he says.
"You wanna meet up next weekend?"
"Uh, yeah, I think that should be fine," he says. He's never the one to plan when we'll hang out next. I wouldn't mind so much if he seemed at all eager or interested in the prospect of spending the day with me. Nowadays, though, it's always just 'should be fine'. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it's the kind of phrase that seems to say, "Yes, but if I get a better offer, I'll take that instead". I'm really glad it's raining now.
"Okay, well, I'll see you at school."
I turn and start heading for home. After a moment, I hear Charlie's feet slapping against the wet pavement.
"Pim!"
I stop, then turn to show him my plastered-on smile.
"What's up?"
"I, uh, I wondered if I should walk back to your place. Doesn't seem fair to make you carry all this." Before I can even reply, he's reaching down and taking the shopping bags from me.
"Oh, thanks," I say. I can feel my fake grin turning into something smaller, but more real. "I really appreciate it, y'know? Tiny arms and all."
"Don't mention it. Hey, your trousers are getting kinda soaked."
"That's fine, they're not a special pair or anything."
"Seriously, dude? Wet ankles are the worst thing."
"My socks are getting pretty wet, I guess."
"I feel you. Look, I can manage the bags if you want to..." He pauses, as if working out the next words in his head. "Piggyback ride? Like, not trying to be weird or anything. If it's too weird you could sit on my shoulder or something."
"That'd be great," I say, nodding. "Not weird at all, haha! I mean, I've seen small critters riding their friends plenty of times."
"Wording, dude," he says, face dropping.
"What?... Oh! Oh wow, sorry, I'm such a weirdo!"
"Nah, it was a joke." He says it both quickly and unconvincingly. "You're fine."
"I just meant that some critters do piggybacks, or ride in their friend's bags-"
"Yeah, yeah, just hop up before I change my mind."
It's funny how quickly I can change my mind, too. Suddenly, all the anxiety balled up inside evaporates. I'm smiling again. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Everyone seems to think so, judging by the names they call me. What kind of a person switches emotion on a dime like this?
Even if it's not normal, I can at least enjoy feeling good. I put my arms around Charlie's head, holding the folds of the hood so I don't slip off. It's great being this tall. It's great being this close, too. See, Pim? If he didn't care, he wouldn't do this.
It's a long walk back to my place. Not long enough for my liking, of course, but Charlie is hoisting a lot of weight around between me and the bags. Plus, he still needs to walk home.
"Sorry for being selfish," I say as he kneels down to let me off.
"You're not selfish, dude, I offered," he says. He gives me my bags and cracks his back. "I need the exercise, anyway."
"No you don't, silly," I say with a chuckle. "You're super strong!"
"Whatever, man," he says. It's like a slap bringing me back to reality. I clear my throat and hoist the bags over my shoulders.
"Thanks a lot, anyway. I'm going to dry these socks off. You sure you're okay walking back?"
"Yeah, no worries. See you tomorrow, Pim."
"Okay! I could ask my mom to-"
"Nah, it's cool," he says. "Seriously, I'm good."
"Well, text me when you're back!"
"Sure."
I wait by the front door and watch Charlie as he disappears into the night. Before long, he's out of the streetlights' reach. My stomach sinks as I finally go inside. Not that we live in a particularly dangerous side of town or anything, but I can't help but worry about him getting hurt on his way back. I swallow and chide myself. It's dark, sure, but it's not even late yet. He's fine.
I tiptoe into the living room. Dad's snoring on the couch, a beer bottle still clutched in his hands. The telly is playing away loudly, but I'm not going to risk switching it off while he's in the room. Ironically, the lack of noise is usually what wakes him up. I'm guessing he didn't check his stash, or he'd be waiting up for me. Best to just take my chance and head upstairs.
"Sorry, Dad," I whisper. "I'll pay you back, promise."
I leave the bag of larger next to him, like a peace offering, and creep up the steps.
From behind my bedroom door, I can hear Amy chatting on the phone. I gently push the door open and peak in, giving her a thumbs up. She glances down from the top bunk and throws me a thumbs up in return, signalling that I'm okay to come in. We've always done these little hand signals - part of sharing a bedroom well into your teen years is respecting secrecy, after all. Even so, there's not much she could be talking about that would shock me.
I start peeling off my damp clothes while Amy talks. It doesn't take me long to figure out she's chatting with her best friend Nella. I might as well start calling Nella my best friend too; I feel like I know more about her life than I do about Charlie's, and that's just from the phonecalls I overhear. Perhaps that's unfair. Pretty petty, I know, but I envy how Amy and Nella talk sometimes. There's just so much emotion! Sure, they chat about movies and news, all that normal stuff, but they also talk about their feelings and their dreams. It's so sweet.
"Oh my gosh, now Pim's stripping off," Amy says, flicking her eyes between me and a magazine laid out on her bed. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have your own room. Ha, yes! No, I did, we just have, like, no room in this house."
I throw up a hand as a quick apology, duck under the covers of the bottom bunk, and pull my PJs on under the sheets. I stay under even after I'm dressed, curling in on myself like a seashell. I think about the miniatures I bought, about giving them to Charlie next weekend. I buy him something almost every fortnight. They aren't always expensive presents. Sometimes it's just a few bags of sweets. He always thanks me, which feels amazing. But I know I'm chasing a different outcome. There was this one time when I bought him a huge boxset of his favourite show - one of those sets with all the extra bonus features and documentries. And he didn't just say thanks. He threw his arms around me, cuddled me hard, and said I was the best guy ever. I can't even describe how happy it made me. I've been after that feeling ever since.
I replay the moment in my head like a favourite song as I close my eyes. Even now, it makes my heart sing. There's no doubt in that memory, just love. It's how I want to make other people feel. I want to share that joy with everyone - my parents, Amy, and Charlie. Especially Charlie.
Before long, my stupid brain is going to switch. I'll start analysing the day, like I always do at night. I'll pick apart every facial expression and gesture Charlie made today. In excruciating detail, I'll discover all the hidden ways in which he communicated his annoyance and frustration at me. Each word he said, the tone he said it in, will tell me whether he likes me or not. Interspersed will be the kids at the park, who hated me and made Charlie hate me too. I can't blame him. If hanging around me means people bully him too, why should he pretend to like me?
Why should he ever pretend? Why does he pretend? When will he stop pretending?