Firebloods

by Hays, Casey

  I smell the bacon even before I hear the sounds of it sizzling on the griddle, and the main waiting area is full of warm bodies, a quiet buzzing din echoing with conversation. It’s a little chilly inside, so I zip my jacket clear to my neck as we weave our way through the tables. But the familiar noisiness of the diner makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. Clanking dishes, quiet chatter, a crying baby. It’s all kind of wonderful.

  “I saved a spot for you right here.” Kane winks a green eye at me and pats the bench. I plop down next to him and pick up the menu. Across from us, Frankie slides over enough to give Devan and Jonas room.

  “What makes you think this is where I want to sit?” I deliberately avoid his eyes.

  Kane shrugs. “More room, better view. And that seat has a tear all the way down the middle that’ll be pinching Devan’s butt by the second helping of pancakes.”

  “What?” Devan twists awkwardly to have a better look at the yellow vinyl seat. “Crap! When did that happen?”

  “Obviously between today and the last time we were here,” Frankie answers drily. Her sleepy voice rings out from behind the menu. Someone turns on the jukebox, and a tinny country song mingles with the sounds of clanking dishes.

  “Frankie said something funny?” Kane shifts a little, and the bench wiggles beneath us. “Damn. It’s not even six-thirty yet.” He loops a finger over the top of her menu and bends it until her face appears. “The world might end today.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, not amused. “I’m just naturally clever.”

  “There you go.” Jonas grins and coaxes Frankie into a high five over Devan’s head.

  “Don’t get all smarty pants on us, Frankie,” Devan snaps. She yanks the menu from Frankie’s hand and slaps it onto the table. “It’s too early for that.” She runs her hand along the seat again. “I thought something felt weird,” she mumbles.

  We’ve been sitting in this same booth since we started coming to The Nest our sophomore year. Mainly because we all got our driver’s licenses one after the other that year, starting with Kane, and we just wanted to drive somewhere. Capture our sudden independence. Before long, this was our booth. Even with the ugly yellow seats and the maroon and tan striped wallpaper, the place is beautiful to us. We’re stockpiling memories.

  “We should tell management,” Devan says, real concern laced in her voice. She’s really hung up over that tear. “Can they fix it? We can’t give up our booth.”

  “Who said anything about giving up our booth?” Kane raises his brows and his orange juice simultaneously. He waggles his finger around at each of us. “We’ll just make these our designated spots.”

  “Yes,” Frankie nods. She drills her eyes into Devan without flinching. “You could use a harsh reminder that life is not always as easy as you’d like it to be. This is a fine example of hardship. And it only pinches a little.”

  Jonas laughs. Devan’s expression goes sour, and she jabs him with her elbow. “Shut up.” She turns her glare full-force on Kane, poking her finger in his face. “And you’re not cool.”

  “Nobody said I was.” Kane conspicuously drapes his arm around my shoulders. “But I could get used to this seating arrangement.”

  I make a very weak attempt to shove against him with my shoulder. I say weak, because, well… I catch a whiff of him. You see, Kane smells fantastic. Always has. So… I pause for a split second, the plastic menu sticking to my thumbs due to some previous customer’s spilled syrup, and I just breathe him in. He’s always smelled like—a musky vanilla—even when we were kids.

  I made the mistake of pointing this out to him in kindergarten. Of course, I wasn’t very tactful back then, so I’m sure it sounded like: “You smell.” His reply? “So? You stink too!” He kind of growled at me, and then he stomped away. In my kindergarten mentality, I thought he didn’t like how he smelled even though I meant it as a compliment. He forgave me later, when I offered him half of my candy bar as a truce, and together we discovered that chocolate solves everything.

  Our regular waitress, Charli, saunters over, a brown tray tucked under her arm and a full, steaming pot of coffee in one hand. It smells rich and wonderful. Her dirty blond hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she doesn’t have on a stitch of make-up. She claims she never has time to apply any, but honestly, she doesn’t need it. She’s one of those natural beauties, you know? Perfect complexion, skin-tone the color of a year-round tan, thick hair with natural highlights. No effort, and she looks amazing, even after working double shifts at The Nest. Sickening.

  “Good morning to my favorite clan of juvenile delinquents.” She stifles a yawn. “You’re up awfully early for a Saturday, aren’t you? Or did you never make it to bed?”

  “It’s our one year anniversary,” Devan chimes, squeezing Jonas’s arm.

  She doesn’t mention the torn seat. One look at Charli, and I know why. Her light, grey eyes betray her exhaustion. My heart chugs a quick, sad beat for her. Charli became a thirty-three-year-old single mom of five boys last year when her jerk of a husband bailed. Five boys—all under the age of ten. I feel exhausted every time I think about her life.

  “Well, congratulations for hanging in there, kids.” Charli slaps the tray against her hip with a wink at Jonas. He lifts his shoulders in a defeated shrug, his grin intact. “So what’ll it be? The pancakes?”

  “All around,” Jonas nods. “And coffee.” He proceeds to turn all the pre-situated mugs over so Charli can pour.

  “Milk for me.” Kane lifts one finger with the order as if he’s afraid Charli might not see him. Of course, Kane O’Reilly can’t be overlooked. Not once you catch a glimpse of those emerald eyes. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s six-foot-three with raven black hair and just the right amount of five o’clock shadow. The girls love him, Charli included. Her smile deepens on cue.

  “You got it, Kane.” She tops off my cup and looks at him, a twinkle in her eye. “Has Jude said yes yet?”

  Really?

  “Cute, Charli.” I sweep up to meet her gaze. “Real cute.”

  “Exactly.” She shrugs, the coffee pot dangling from her limp hand. “You two just look so cute sitting there together.”

  Jonas bites his bottom lip to hold back his grin, and his eyes shift toward Kane and back to me. Devan and Frankie don’t say a word. They know what’s good for them. Kane, as usual, doesn’t.

  “Good observation, Charli,” Kane quips, a half-smile settling on his lips. He leans forward on his elbows, trying to catch my eyes. “Very good observation.”

  “It’s none of my business.” Charli turns, tossing the rest of her comment over her shoulder as she trudges toward the kitchen. “But I sense some serious feelings around here.”

  “Maybe you’re sensing Jonas and Devan,” I holler. “It is their anniversary.” A couple of men at the table across from us gawk. My face feels hot, but I force myself to look at Kane. “You talk to Charli about us?”

  Kane holds perfectly still, other than one eyebrow, which rises and falls once. I shove a shoulder into him, irritated.

  “And Kane’s crush on Jude thickens,” Devan smiles, dragging out the sentence with exaggeration. She carefully blows on her coffee, causing a slight rippling before taking a sip. “Charli’s right. Get it over with and let him kiss you already.”

  Really? This is the abuse I get to endure this morning?

  “Cut it out, Dev. Can we not just eat here?”

  I should have stayed in bed. Devan laughs off the dirty look I toss her way, but seriously, she needs to lay off.

  I catch Kane’s crooked smile in my periphery before I wrestle out of my jacket. It’s suddenly annoyingly stuffy. Kane slouches down a bit and lays his head against the back of the seat, a menu pressed against his chest and his eyes on me.

  “Chill, Romeo,” I whisper.

  His bottom lip disappears between his teeth in a mock pout, and I’m not going to lie; his p
uppy dog eyes tug on my insides. Why did he have to go and get so damned good-looking? And adorably charming? And funny? Couldn’t he have just stayed seven forever?

  Okay… so in light of these events, here’s my confession:

  I’ve come to recognize in the last couple of years how very easy it would be to fall for Kane. I’ve also played the devil’s advocate often, pleading his case like a defense attorney. It goes a little something like this: He’s already conveniently an essential part of my life. He’s fun. We get along. He’s one of my crowd. We have history. He’s easy to talk to. He likes me. (Pointing this out in case it isn’t obvious.) Final argument: He’s crazy sexy. That is only a recent observation, but I have to say it.

  So there. Don’t think I haven’t considered letting myself freefall right into his waiting arms.

  The real catch? I don’t want to fall for Kane, and the fact that it’s becoming harder to keep my head about it frustrates me. It frustrates the entire framework of who Kane and I have always been. I can’t go down that road, mainly because I can’t see where it ends, and his friendship means too much to me. I understand it. It’s well-defined and intact as long as we don’t convolute it with the complications that inevitably evolve from mixing friendship with romance.

  Kane knows this, too. We’ve talked about it. Still, I see things changing. Slowly… but changing all the same. Our rapid ascent toward adulthood has begun to cloud our childhood friendship. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it.

  “So what’s the plan today?” Jonas slides his menu into the upright wire holder before letting his arm fall around Devan’s shoulders. His eyes tell me he’s coming to my rescue by changing the subject. He knows what Kane can do to me, and he knows how I feel about it—not that he always agrees. But I offer him a tiny nod of thanks, and he winks.

  “The pool?” Devan tosses the suggestion around the table. “Or the lake?”

  “The library,” Frankie answers.

  She peers at me over the top of her glasses, her frizzy braid snaking over her shoulder. Every other head at the table turns in surprise, but her comment was meant for me. A tiny spot of irritation wrestles with my emotions, and I feel that little twitch tug at the side of my eyebrow. The same twitch Jonas named “Mad Madge” when we were kids. As much as I’d hoped for a little break—two weeks of freedom even—Frankie isn’t planning to give it.

  “The library?” Kane crinkles his nose and straightens, tossing the menu onto the table. “Frankie, you have got to chill on the studying. It’s summer.”

  “Exactly,” she agrees with a curt nod of her head. “Which means Jude and I have just over six weeks to get our science project completed for the scholarship fair.”

  “Right.” I sigh again and drop my chin into the palm of my propped hand. “No rest for the weary.”

  “That sucks it up,” Jonas muses. “Well, Gallagher, we’ll be thinking of you two while we soak up the sun.”

  “Thanks,” I frown. “Appreciate that.”

  “What’s your project about?” Devan dumps a pile of salt from the shaker and draws a heart through it complete with Jonas’s initials. “Wind velocity or something?”

  “No,” Frankie quips, offended. “I have something more intriguing in mind, thank you very much.”

  Her voice flutters on the edge of annoyance, but I sense a drop of excitement in it. I squint, trying to read her, but she composes herself quickly. If I know Frankie, and I do, she’s not giving out any secrets about her ideas until she has me alone. And then, I’ll be sworn to secrecy until the project is done. The Frankie Melmack blood oath of secrecy. I exaggerate, but it’ll be something close, and blood will be involved. Or spit. Or both. I unwrap my silverware and lift the spoon to catch my concaved upside-down reflection in its curve.

  “Intriguing, huh?” Kane stretches an arm behind me, resting it along the top of the seat. “Well, if it’s interesting enough, maybe I’ll tag along and help with the research.”

  “You will do no such thing, Kane O’Reilly,” Frankie blurts. Her hands are hidden in her lap below the table, and I notice that she wears her pajama top under her jacket. “First, go find your own project, and secondly, you’re a distraction to Jude’s concentration.”

  “I won’t dispute that.” He shifts, and his fingertips brush my shoulder.

  And here we go again. The spoon’s end taps the table with a sharp click as I drop my hand. I hone in on Frankie.

  “What?” I jab my next comment at her. “Kane is about as distracting as a pesky housefly.”

  “Cold, Jude. Cold…” Kane shakes his head in mock disappointment and yanks on my spoon. I wrench it away, forcing my lips into a straight, tense line.

  “That’s a grand analogy,” Frankie concludes. “Considering you hate insects. At any rate, be at my place by two. We have tons of work ahead of us and very little time.”

  “Fine,” I sigh and slip the spoon into my mouth, letting it dangle from my tongue at her. Charli arrives and loads our table up with our first round of pancakes… and one glass of milk. Kane tugs on the handle of my spoon; I clamp my lips shut to hold it in place.

  “That’s a good look for you,” he whispers. I push his hand away, and he laughs. The others busy themselves chattering and grabbing for the syrup, ignoring us. “You should keep it.”

  He lifts his milk in “toast” fashion and takes a slow sip. I pluck the spoon free.

  “Seriously, Kane. I’m not in the mood today.”

  “Okay.” He proceeds to drizzle syrup across his pancakes. But the slight hint of a smile shimmers on his lips.

  I dig the edge of my fork into a pancake. But I don’t miss the pattern change of my beating heart. Frankly, it’s becoming harder to ignore.

  Interlude

  Jonas

  I’m going to be brutally honest. I make it a point to have only a few friends—on purpose. I’m really not big on, well, people.

  Most people fall into three categories: selfish, cocky, or just plain mean no matter how good they may try to act. I’ve learned through the years that this is what it is most of the time: an act. Frankly, I have no desire to be a part of the script. If one good quality isn’t evident from the start, I don’t waste much time on finding any others.

  I do “put up” with a few people—on a very short list. But the best people in my life—the ones that make life worth living every single day, love me in my darkest moments, give breath to my lungs— are currently sitting right here at this table with me enjoying a short stack.

  So let’s begin with Jonas.

  We met in the most casual of ways, probably like a lot of people meet. Our moms both studied nursing at Carrington College in Reno, which inevitably created in them a common bond by default. It also created a life-long friendship that shoved Jonas and me together before we were even out of diapers. Once Mom and Sandy Cameron decided to carpool every day from Carson City, Jonas and I became car seat comrades, daycare buddies, and Saturdays-at-the-park playmates.

  When we were old enough to discover that we had been existing in each other’s realms all along, we somehow knew we belonged together in this world.

  Neither one of us remembers the beginnings, but we do remember what came after. As my infant memory graduated to toddlerhood, Jonas evolved into something more for me. Through a slow and fuzzy process, he became a mutual human, and by age four, he was a real live, true-blue boy. Voila!

  A forever friendship was forged by those hours of growing up together. We formed an unbreakable bond, and to this day, I swear he knows what I’m thinking even before I’ve had the chance to finish forming a thought. That can be a little harrowing at times, but I’m not going to lie. I actually appreciate it most days.

  At age seven, we discovered that we liked the same kind of music, and we determined that one day, we were going to form a band. And we did… in the seventh grade. Jonas played lead guitar, I played keyboard, and Archie, who lived across the street at the time, covered drums. Devan was our f
inal addition. She sang like an angel and even had a couple of solos in choir that year. I lured her home with me, convinced the guys that she was the last element we needed, and we officially became The Riot Popsicles. You laugh, but it was a serious gig. We performed at Lillie Fisher’s sixth birthday party and everything.

  When Archie moved just before Thanksgiving, we couldn’t find a replacement, although Kane, who doesn’t have a musical bone in his body and was always forced to be our audience, did audition. We gave him a resounding “no.”

  Then, my dad died, I quit the band, and our silly dream of becoming the next big hit ended quite abruptly. But my friendship with Jonas was something too big to ever extinguish, even after we melded first Kane, then Devan, and eventually Frankie into our intimate circle of friends.

  When my dad died, our friendship was put to the test for the first time. Jonas came to the funeral with his parents, and I’ll never forget what he did that day. It was pouring rain, and Mom was frantic about whether or not the graveside services would be delayed. It was the first of many times that my mother would overlook my own needs and feelings to caress her own, despite the fact that I was young and grieving just as much as she was. She left me alone, quietly sitting on the back row in the church with huge tears rolling down my cheeks. Tears that could have outweighed by far the rain falling down in a wintry gush. Mom was not mentally or emotionally able to comfort me. But Jonas was.

  The whole ordeal, as it is with most funerals, was uncomfortable to say the least. Even at age twelve, Jonas had to have sensed this, and he could have stayed away to save himself the trouble of that awkward silent pall. You know, the one that lingers in the place where there are no words and even if there were, you wouldn’t know how to voice them? But somewhere inside my misery, I felt him sitting beside me. He said nothing, and his silence was the most comfort I’d experienced all day. After a few minutes, he tucked something into my palm, and he didn’t let go. We sat there with this unknown object pressed between our clasped hands until Mom remembered I was a part of this whole tragedy and called me to join her in the backseat of the limo. It wasn’t until I was situated next to her that I unclenched my hand to see his gift.