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“There’s snow in the forecast tomorrow,” Jensen said without looking up from his phone, sensing me more than seeing me as I approached him, standing against the side of the school building, a wall that faced southwest and would be warm from a day of sunshine.
I looked toward the western horizon. A bank of dark clouds hovered over the mountains, confirming what Jensen had reported. “Gotcha,” I said.
He fell into step beside me, away from the school and toward the parking lot where my motorcycle waited for us. With a week and a half until Christmas break, my first winter in Colorado hadn’t been the frozen wasteland I’d expected, but the frequent snow showers kept everyone on their toes.
Jensen and I had been friends since the end of September, about two months, which wasn’t very long, but we’d been through a lot together that had brought us closer than I’d thought possible for the short length of time. I’d never had many opportunities for friendships, and this defied expectations as well. I talked to Jensen more than anyone else, but there was also more than didn’t need to be said between us.
Unspoken rule #1: When Jensen spoke of snow, I walked to school without arguing. The motorcycle was a warm-weather vehicle and Jensen, who rarely turned down a ride home, wanted nothing to do with it when it was snowing. It didn’t have as much traction as a standard car would on slick roads and offered no protection if another driver hit us. The snow we’d be getting tomorrow was minimal, and if it were just me, I would’ve chosen to drive. But Jensen didn’t have to remind me that his family had been in a car wreck. He didn’t need to admit it made him anxious anytime road conditions were less than perfect, whether he was the driver or a passenger.
Unspoken rule #2: When we reached my bike, Jensen didn’t question why I didn’t have a helmet. By this point in the day, he would already know it was a bad claustrophobia day. I had tells that I didn’t even know about that he’d decoded. To see I hadn’t worn a helmet on my way to school this morning would be a confirmation of what he’d already figured out.
I wasn’t dressed well for the cold day. For the same reasons I didn’t have a helmet, stepping into pants this morning had made my skin crawl. I didn’t regret the athletic shorts and t-shirt I’d put on instead. Cold was better than confined any day of the week. And when Jensen — better-dressed in a dark red Colorado Avalanche hoodie and gray jeans — slid onto the motorcycle behind me, I could feel the warmth from his chest against my back, which made up for it.
“Am I dropping you at home or do you want to come over?”
“I’ll come over.” He curled his arms around my waist and rested his head against my shoulder, eyes falling shut.
Unspoken rule #3: If Jensen looked tired, it was because he was. It had been over a month he’d been back on antidepressants and hadn’t had any adverse reactions to them, but he still didn’t like the way he felt. His doctor wanted him to stick it out for 90 days before trying a different medication. A different prescription could make things worse. There was a chance this was as good as it got, that he might have to submit himself to being tired forever. There wasn’t much I could do to help, but make sure that when he was hit with a wave of exhaustion, I was close enough to lean on.
The Kennedys’ house was blessedly warm as usual.
“Be right back,” I said, leaving Jensen alone in the entryway as I detoured to the basement.
“Mmkay…” Jensen mumbled absently, moving into the kitchen to put his backpack down.
So he’d figured that out too then. When Jensen didn’t understand something, he stared at it until it made sense. I didn’t think he realized he was doing it, but I’d caught him staring at me, at other people, at textbooks, sometimes even at plates of food, head tilted like a bird of prey until the dots connected in his head and he could move forward. A couple times, he’d watched me as I slipped downstairs to shower right after getting home from school, but now he wasn’t looking so he must’ve decoded me once again.
Unspoken rule #4: While he was appropriately dressed for a quick ride on a motorcycle on a winter day, I was not, and I was cold. The quickest way to warm up was to rearrange my daily routine and grab a hot shower in the afternoon instead of first thing in the morning. Sometimes it was also a much-needed ten minutes to regain my composure after being so close to him.
There were good days and bad days for that too. I’d reminded myself enough times that he was out of reach, and most days I didn’t think twice about my best friend. Then some days the afternoon sun reflected off his hazel-gold eyes and I had to rush downstairs before he noticed the way my breath caught in my chest and he decoded that I was more interested in him than I dared to let on.
When I stepped out of my bathroom, Jensen was not sprawled on my bed, relinquishing his sanity to a math textbook. He wasn’t in the kitchen, making a snack — but I did, compiling a hasty peanut butter and honey sandwich, licking some dripped honey off my thumb. He wasn’t in the living room, surrendering the afternoon to a video game or movie already. His backpack was on the floor beside his usual chair at the kitchen table so he hadn’t gone home.
That meant he was upstairs. I moved quietly, which was one of my specialties, even with a sandwich. I wasn’t honorless but I also wasn’t above eavesdropping if Jensen was talking with my foster mother, curled up in the armchair that occupied the corner of her home office. Sometimes he was talking about me. Sometimes he was talking about other people at school or his family, analyzing them with intuition I’d never have, so either way, I learned something by listening in.
Then again, if he wanted to talk about his friends or family, he usually just told me. If he was going straight to Catherine, it was either about me or something he didn’t want me to know about, which made it all the more helpful to snoop.
“Well, you know a lot of kids in the foster system have rough backgrounds,” Catherine said in response to whatever Jensen had asked. “So for most, the holidays can be a challenge. We’ve had a few kiddos in the past who were enthusiastic and got energy from helping decorate and creating something worth celebrating. We’ve also had kids who have a harder time. Christmas is a reminder of things they don’t have, and its better if we keep things low-key.”
Ah, so Jensen had finally decided that the Kennedys weren’t just having difficulty carving out time to decorate their house for the holidays. He knew that if the most Christian family he’d ever met wasn’t festive, there had to be a reason.
“How can I help Mo and Ryker?” Jensen asked. “Should I pretend like nothing is happening?”
“This is my first Christmas with both of them too, but from what I can gather, Mo is pretending it doesn’t exist, though she is spending a few days with her family, which she’s nervous about, but she knows she can call me to pick her up at any time. Ryker hasn’t been as forthcoming with explanations, but I think he’s ignoring it too.”
“He’s been quieter. Claustrophobia days are outnumbering good days. I’m worried.”
“You’re already helping him by being his best friend, sweetheart. Just do the same things you do every day. You’re good at distracting him when his mind wanders to someplace dark and listening if he wants to talk about it.”
“What if… What if I’m selfish and I want to celebrate Christmas? I just—“
I put my sandwich on pause and leaned dangerously close to the doorframe to listen as Jensen’s voice dropped to just above a whisper.
“It’s my first Christmas as a Christian and I want to do festive things and go to church. I usually just follow Ryker’s lead but this time, if I want it, I have to go get it myself. But I can’t abandon him either.”
“He’ll be okay on his own for an hour if you go to church. Daniel or I would be happy to go with you if that makes it easier.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll run it by him.”
I stood up and ducked into the room before Jensen could end the conversation himself and find me in the hall. I stuck the last third of my sandwich in my mouth, realizing belatedly that it was not the best manners I’d ever displayed.
“Hey.” Jensen stood up from the armchair and replaced the blanket he’d stolen off the back of it.
I covered my mouth. “Not to interrupt,” I garbled out.
Catherine squeezed Jensen’s arm as he passed her on his way back out to me. “Nah, I was just bored waiting for you. Now you’re stuck with me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Catherine stifle a smile.
The two week break from school worked wonders to help me pretend Christmas didn't exist. There was no week or weekend to differentiate so I’d lost track of what day it was in no time. For all I knew, maybe it had already passed.
I heard my door at the top of the basement stairs open and looked up from the book I was supposed to be reading for English. I hadn’t made much progress this morning. I was surprised to see Jensen instead of a member of my household, but that confusion only lasted for a moment before being replaced with confusion at seeing him dressed to the nines.
“Hi,” I managed, now feeling sloppy, my dishes from breakfast next to me on my bed. Was it Sunday? Should I have been ready for church already instead of shirtless under a blanket with the pages of Fahrenheit 451 blurring in front of me? I remembered consciously not setting any alarms last night so I could sleep in. Was I missing something?
“Sup,” Jensen said. He had his skateboard tucked under his arm, which clashed with the elegance of his gray slacks, blue-gray dress shirt cuffed above his elbows, and a vest to complete the ensemble. He was still wearing his usual Vans but that somehow worked for him. He stepped into my bathroom and shut the door partway. “Are you busy being studious or do you want to go be a public menace with me?”
Everything clicked together in my head. It was Christmas, which explained why Catherine and Daniel hadn’t been around to insist I show my face around the house for more than thirty seconds while I made cereal. I glanced at my phone for the time, later in the day than expected, past lunch. “Can I eat first?”
Unspoken rule #5: I didn’t skip meals, even when I wasn’t sure I was hungry. Realistically, I knew there was no chance at the food in this house vanishing, no chance I’d go to bed hungry in this family. But no amount of conscious restraint would make up for years of never knowing when the next decent meal would come. Seven months ago when I’d come into the Kennedys’ care, malnutrition was a real problem. Now, I was tipping the scale to the other side of the BMI chart. It might’ve been a concern if I wasn’t as active as I was, packing on muscle under the layer of fat I’d never had before. Sometimes, I thought it should be a concern anyway. There were days I had to hold myself back from fighting Mo over half a chicken tender during dinner, regardless of my own plate in front of me and the offer of seconds on the stovetop.
“Take your time,” Jensen called back. “Get any further on the assigned reading?”
I swallowed hard, returning my thoughts to what was in front of me. Jensen must have just come from church, which was why he was dressed nicer than even his usual Sunday garb. Those were probably brand new clothes, since he was still building back everything he’d lost in the house fire. I regretted not paying more attention when I had the chance.
Jensen stepped out of the bathroom looking more like himself in khaki pants and a black Tapout t-shirt. He leaned against the wall to relace his shoes and stared at me. Right, he’d asked a question. “Um, I dunno, I’m kinda out of it today. Where are we going?”
“It’s high time you were initiated into skater boys club.”
I sat up slowly, looking for the nearest clean shirt. “You should probably spend the day with your family, not worrying about me.”
Jensen scoffed. “Hayden and Addison got video games for Christmas. They don’t want me manufacturing Hallmark-worthy family moments any more than I want to listen to them argue over what’s not fair and you’re cheating and I should’ve won that.”
I huffed a laugh. That sounded about right. “How was church?”
“It was fine. A little stuffy.” That was a lie. His eyes were red. He’d been crying.
Unspoken rule #6: The biggest change that had come about since Jensen had gotten on medication again, was his emotions. He’d told me once that he hadn’t cried in years. It wasn’t an exaggeration. Recently, the bottle that used to keep all the feelings locked down tight had been cracked and left him emotional at the most random moments. The first time I’d seen him cry was a few weeks ago walking home from school one day. He’d stumbled off his skateboard and dropped to his knees a half a block ahead of me and I’d almost had a heart attack, thinking he’d gotten hurt. In reality, he’d run over a caterpillar on the sidewalk and six years of grief came up to meet him.
The first time Jensen had gone to church with my family, I’d watched him stare at the rest of the congregation, wrapping his mind around how so many people could be united in singing the same songs together. I didn’t have a hard time imagining the same thing happening again, now without the emotional blockade holding him steady.
Pop-Tart in hand, I called over my shoulder to report where we were headed and Daniel waved. It felt good to get out of the house and into the crisp air outside. Jensen skated and I jogged beside him to the park behind the local elementary school. Adjacent to the red plastic playground, it had a large blacktop with basketball courts, four-square courts, hopscotch courses, and a tetherball pole which made it the largest expanse of perfectly level pavement with fewer obstacles than a parking lot.
“Your turn,” he said, pushing the board toward me before crashing onto a swing. “Don’t be offended if I laugh when you eat shit.”
I didn’t really know where to start, but I’d seen Jensen skate enough to mimic the way he pushed off. I never got far before I wobbled and stumbled off the board. I didn’t think I was doing too badly. I never fell anyway, never hit the ground. I always recovered quick enough to walk away before I tripped.
Jensen was watching, analyzing, coming to conclusions I never would. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it in his lap as he pushed himself back and forth with the toe of his shoe.
“What?” came a familiar voice I hadn’t heard since the last day of school for the semester and had hoped I wouldn’t hear again until we went back next week.
“What are you doing this afternoon?” Jensen asked.
“Caroling and bringing homemade cookies to old ladies. You need an alibi?” Spencer laughed at his own humor. I rolled my eyes.
“Wanna come to the park? Bring your board and a roll of duct tape. I’m trying to teach Ryker how to skate. He does all the same things you did when you were learning. I won’t be satisfied until he’s either figured it out or scraped all the skin off his knees.”
“Go big or go home. See you in a few. Which park?”
“Red park.” The simplicity almost made me smile. Jensen and Spencer had grown up here, gone to this elementary school, played at this park for years. Its identity predated names or streets. It had been dubbed the red park when they were seven and it was still the red park when they were seventeen.
Spencer joined us within ten minutes, beanie slouching on his head, hands in his pockets as he skated down the shallow slope into the park. “Hey, Trouble,” he said, coasting to a stop beside me. I was sitting on the pavement — by choice, not because I’d fallen — and Jensen had retaken his skateboard, orbiting me. “Hope you’re ready to shed some blood. Life’s a hard teacher but Jensen’s worse.” From the pocket of his hoodie, Spencer offered Jensen a half-empty roll of silver tape. Jensen swung past him and grabbed it before doing— something. I didn’t know the names of skateboard tricks but it looked cool and the crack of the wood against the pavement followed by the clatter of the wheels landing again echoed in the quiet afternoon.
“You afraid to lose some skin?” Jensen asked, stopping sharply in front of me.
I shook my head and stepped onto the skateboard, ready for further instructions. Jensen pushed on my shoulder. I jumped off, confused.
“That’s your problem.” Jensen pointed at the ground. “You’re light on your feet. When you feel like you’re going to fall, you bail instead of correcting because you’re a ninja. Put your fucking foot on the board and keep it there.”
I put my front foot down and Jensen taped it onto the board, going around it three times for good measure. “This isn’t how you told me to stand. Are you sure this is a real technique?”
“It’s not,” Spencer said, grinning. “It’s also how I broke my ankle in first grade. There’s probably a better way to train you, but you hang out with the wrong idiots for that.”
“There.” Jensen patted my shoe when he was done taping it to the skateboard. “You can have that foot back later. Try again.”
I pushed off, lost my balance immediately, and fell. I brushed loose dirt and small stones off my knees and hands and awkwardly picked myself back up with the board still attached to my foot.
Jensen watched me with a troubled expression. “Don’t overdo it. I don’t actually want to spend the night in the hospital with you.”
Spencer threw a stray woodchip at him. “He’s fine. Sit down and shut up, mother hen.”
I gave it another shot and made it a little further before I wobbled. This time, instead of trying to step away, I leaned into it and ended up turning. I still fell, and this time when I stood up, there was blood on my palms. I stared at them. The sting was sharp and fresh and stimulating. I looked back at Jensen, who nodded encouragingly. He motioned for Spencer to hand over his board.
After a few more short bursts without falling, I was feeling pretty good about my progress. Then Jensen coasted up beside me and pushed me again. My reflexes, forever hardwired for combat, pushed him back. Jensen swerved and stayed the course without ever losing control. He smirked and waited for me to try again. When he got in my way, I struggled to fight him off.
“Just gonna let me manhandle you? Or are you going to keep up?” Jensen fought back a grin.
It was a game now, and I was good at games of agility and mild violence. I had two handicaps, because my foot was still taped down and because Jensen’s teasing was fatally distracting, but I had a lower center of gravity and eleven years of combat training. That had to make us evenly matched.
The sun hung low in the sky when Jensen and I finished chasing each other around the blacktop. He backtracked over to Spencer, grinning over his shoulder at me.
Spencer gave me an unamused once-over. “Ew.”
He wasn’t wrong. I was a better skater than I’d started the day — at the expense of most of my exposed skin.
Jensen knelt in front of me and untaped my foot. Spencer snatched his board back from Jensen and took off over the asphalt basketball court. Now free to adjust my stance as needed, I followed him. I wasn’t anywhere near as fast but I could hold my own. I looped back around and gave Jensen his skateboard back. He went after Spencer, doing a couple of tricks along the way that were above my level of understanding. He tried to play the same game we’d been playing, but Spencer veered out of the way before Jensen could shove him, which disrupted his balance enough to send him falling.
Jensen had been going a lot faster than I ever had and I narrowed my eyes at the new scrape up half his forearm. He didn’t look bothered by it though.
I picked a swing to sit on and watched them show off with increasingly flashier tricks and a decreasing success rate until Jensen wiped out hard enough to crash into Spencer and send them both to the ground in a pile.
Spencer picked himself up, hurling back a string of swear words. Jensen was flat on his back on the pavement, laughing too hard to care. I felt the corners of my mouth pull, but schooled my expression back into neutrality. I felt better than I had in weeks. Possibly because Christmas day was vanishing behind the mountains and streaking the sky with colors, easing some of the pressure behind my ribcage. Maybe because I’d been effectively distracted from missing my parents.
I couldn’t remember what Christmas had ever been like with my mom. I’d been too young when she died to have a clear impression of anything, but it was probably a happy day. Christmases with my dad were bitter things, spent on the road in his truck like every other day, but the expectation of happiness suffocated us both and we snapped at each other more. I longed for a Christmas like the ones I couldn’t remember and he could never provide. Sometimes by the end of the day, we would have made amends enough to stop for fast food and enjoy it together, as long as we never acknowledged our reality. The best Christmases with Dad were the ones when we were on the trail of some demon, deep enough into an assignment that the day came and passed without our awareness.
Whether I’d acknowledged it or not, I’d spent the morning in the same headspace, now wondering who I was without him. When I was still here and he was seven months buried, how would I spend a day meant for family?
Jensen crashed onto the swing next to mine, grinning still. “Do you think any fast food places are open today?”
“Not having Christmas dinner with the fam?” Spencer asked.
“I’m thinking Del Taco with the bois. You in?” He looked at me.
I stood from the swing. My body ached from hitting the ground so many times. Scrapes twisted and stretched and opened again. Lines of dried blood tugged at my leg hairs. I bit back a groan usually reserved for finding myself on the business end of a demon’s claws.
And yet… If I was standing by my motorcycle right now, I’d pull the helmet on, tighten the strap under my chin without a problem. In the chilly evening, I almost wished I had a coat. Out here, the world was without boundaries and I had more than enough space to breathe. “I’m in. Want to go back to the Kennedys and borrow Daniel’s car?”
“Fuck, yes. I’m so tired. Can I stay the night at your house?” Jensen looked like he would never move from the swing now that he was down. I offered my hand to haul him back up.
Unspoken rule #7: Jensen’s energy tank emptied faster than most and he’d had a long day. If he was asking to spend the night, he was nervous about something on top of it all. Anxiety reliably brought Jensen to my side. It began with the demon that had plagued us both and the nightmares that followed, but over time, our habit of watching each other’s backs on the darkest nights persisted. I’d never know just what collection of realistic and abstract phantoms Jensen was anxious about today, but I did know how to help. I could hardly complain either. My own stress eased when I fell asleep to his back pressed against mine more and more often.
“Nah, this is the real test. You have to skate there.” Spencer protested.
Jensen rolled his eyes. “Are you crazy? Look at him. We don’t need the employees calling 9-1-1 the second we step inside.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said, headed for the path out of the park, hoping I wasn’t limping. As soon as we ditched Spencer, I could heal all of this with the pen in my pocket. But I didn’t think I would. For the time being, I wanted it. My mind couldn’t slip away from my body when it was constantly reminding me in a throbbing rhythm that I was here, present, alive.
Jensen and Spencer skated out ahead of me, racing each other, and arguing over the result. Jensen looped back around and picked up his board to walk beside me. “You saw me win, right?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You okay?”
I nodded. And I was. And he knew it. I was better than I’d been all week, in spite of the physical evidence, or maybe because of it.
Unspoken rule #8: It wasn’t the fresh air that had awakened me or the friendship that had comforted me. Jensen had taught me to skate today because he knew — somehow, he knew — that wiping my own blood off in the dry grass lawn was the most basic rule in my coding. Picking myself up again was a familiar stirring in my gut. Everything I’d known of life had been stripped away but this was my identity in crimson, still wet and beading to the surface in some places. When I lost myself, Jensen found it by throwing me at the pavement. If Christmas was supposed to spent at home, I felt at home here with my skin split and stinging.
Jensen knew it to be true and he hated it. I saw it in the frown he tried to hide. But he did it for me anyway because he would never make me admit aloud that I took comfort from the pain.