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Summer days are spent running around the neighborhood with Wade playing hide-and-go-seek and fighting off shadow ninjas. Peter comes in at night with a bright, sun burnt face and a tired grin. He tells his fathers about the day’s activities as Steve ushers him to the bathroom for a bath. His parents listen for anything that constitutes an intervention to their son’s friendship (they refuse to call it a relationship when he’s nine), but are pleased they’re staying out of trouble—for the most part.
Wade and Peter’s favorite place is the creek behind the rows of houses that make up the edge of the neighborhood. It’s like a secret place, despite that they’ve been warned to stay away from it because it’s technically trespassing. Peter is smart for his age and tries to explain what the word means to Wade, but Wade pretends not to listen and tugs him towards the tall black-painted fence.
There’s a crevice where the fence has to separate to accommodate the break in the earth where the creek gurgles under. Wade ducks under the wire holding the gap in the fence, hopping over the muddied ground and looking at Peter expectantly.
Peter grins and follows him under the fence, more concerned with the promise of adventure than the threat of being reprimanded. Crossing the threshold of the fence is something akin to entering into another realm. It’s no longer the neighborhood where their parents yell out the window when dinner is ready and shatter the illusion they’ve crafted during play; it’s an expanse of fields and woods, waiting to be explored.
On the other side of the fence, the land rolls gently so that they have to run up a small hill to get to their desired spot. Peter grabs Wade’s hand, fingers sweaty and a bit dirty, but neither seem to mind much. Wade tugs him towards the old, wide bridged with warped wooden boards to cross the creek—even though they later have a competition who can jump across the creek in one bound.
They run down the length of the creek, bypassing the woods on the other side of the bridge that they sometimes venture into. But today they race towards the part of the creek that bubbles out in a calm pool, where it’s deeper than the rest of the water. Tadpoles scurry from the pool to the shade under the bridge while water-skaters glide across the surface of the water.
It’s a halcyon state until the two boys bound towards the creek, laughing and shouting at each other, all energy and boundless movement. They stand on top off the dry tops of rocks in the creek, challenging each other to do things or face splashing.
Wade plunges his hand into the depths of the pool, proudly retrieving a wriggling crawdad. Which Peter thinks is the coolest thing since the older boy had beat the Elite Four with a team consisting entirely of Rattata. Consequently, they spend the next hour with their shorts rolled up their thighs as they look for more crustaceans.
Their crawdad remains in the stagnant water and a makeshift cage—made up of a copious amount of branches—while they hunt. Peter looks towards it and the back at Wade. “We should name it.”
“Yeah,” Wade agrees, nodding, “Something awesome. Like Bob.”
“Bob is like the lamest name ever.”
“Nuh-uh. ‘Cause Peter is the lamest name ever.”
“Your face is the lamest name ever,” Peter retorts, the other boy laughing.
They call the crawdad Bob anyways.
Eventually they pull themselves out of the creek and sit on the grass, bare feet and hands wet from the water. There are speckles of white and yellow fluff around them, rooted deep into the ground. Peter plucks one of the white dandelions from it’s home and blows at it, watching the seeds drift towards the creek and land in the water.
Wade seems to have a similar idea, but he blows the fluff into Peter’s face who then sputters and pushes him, even though he’s laughing.
“You have all this plant stuff in your hair,” Wade teases, pulling at the grass idly. Peter threads his fingers through his hair to try to get it out, which makes Wade laugh more.
“Your fault,” Peter points out, having given up on ridding the dandelion fluff from his hair. He shifts into Wade’s side and makes a face when the blonde boy moves to kiss him. He still doesn’t really understand the appeal, but Wade likes to kiss at his cheeks and forehead which he doesn’t mind as much.
Peter nuzzles his head into Wade’s shoulder, looking down at their dirty toes and smiling at the cool feeling of the water drying on his skin.
“I want to take Bob home,” Wade says, blowing more dandelions into the wind.
“Logan said no more strays,” Peter frowns.
“Eh, I’ll just feed him to the snake when he dies. He won’t care that way,” Wade points out, flopping back on the grass.
“Oh,” Peter nods, a bit uncomfortable with the thought of Bob being fed to Wade’s pet snake, but he’s sure they can catch others. He lays back with him, head landing in a patch of dandelions that explode with white seeds. Wade laughs at him, but this time Peter does too, and doesn’t try to fix his hair.