Ramona Blue

by Julie Murphy

  I shrug, but there’s a warmth in my chest that I can’t quite process. “Pretty cute, I guess?”

  Freddie chuckles nervously. “I sort of—”

  Heavy footsteps smack against the patio. “Babe!” Tyler slurs. “Where’d you go? Don’t I get some birthday kisses?”

  She smiles at us both, like it’s so obvious how irresistible Tyler is, as she grabs each of us by the hand. “Cake time!”

  Inside, Freddie follows me to the kitchen while Hattie corrals everyone into a circle. I dig around for the birthday candles we use for customers, and Freddie helps me light each of the twenty candles until the cake is glowing. It’s beautiful, and I only hate that it’s for Tyler.

  Freddie watches me from the other side of the cake through the tiny flames. “Let’s blow them out,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Do you like your sister’s boyfriend?”

  I wait too long to answer, which is more than I need to say.

  “Steal his wish,” Freddie says. “You deserve it.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. Freddie was always such a Robin Hood. He shared everything right down to the shells we’d spend all day collecting, and he expected others to do the same. “Okay.” I close my eyes, and my head is filled with too many requests, like when you’re a kid and you want to wish for infinite wishes. I think I want more from life than my cup can hold.

  Inhaling deeply, I open my eyes and blow out each candle.

  Freddie grins. “I feel good about it. Some good mojo in this room.”

  He relights the candles and we take the cake out to the dining room and no one suspects a thing. After everyone sings “Happy Birthday,” Freddie turns to me. “You wanna go for a walk or something?”

  We take what’s left of the whiskey with us and walk down to the other edge of the boardwalk past all the nighttime fishermen and their coolers of bait and beer. Alongside the beach, overnight drivers pass us by on Highway 90. The streetlights are concentrated on the road, leaving the sand cool and dark between our toes.

  “I don’t know when I’m going to get used to you living here,” I tell Freddie. “Doesn’t it kind of suck that you’re starting over for senior year?”

  He shrugs and takes the bottle from where it dangles from my fingertips. “It really does. Or did at first, I guess. I fought with my gram, begging her to wait a year or let me stay with friends, but—” He stops abruptly.

  “But what?”

  He looks at me. “I decided it was finally her turn. She raised my mom and then me. I’ll be gone in a year anyway. And I’ve got you, right? So I guess I’m not really starting over.”

  Ruth and I aren’t like this with each other. Our friendship is much too utilitarian for that, so it’s hard not to melt a little when he says things like that. “You’ll make friends at school,” I tell him. “You’re just that kind of guy people want to be friends with.”

  In my pocket, my phone vibrates and I pull it out to check my messages. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I exhale, but it’s only my sister.

  HATTIE: heading home soon. your bike is still here. are you okay? ARE YOU DEAD? DID FREDDIE FLOATIES KILL YOU?

  on the beach with Freddie, I type back. see you at home.

  “Not who you expected?” asks Freddie.

  I shake my head glumly.

  Freddie kicks off his flip-flops. “Come on. I haven’t been to the beach since I got here.”

  I step out of my sandals and push the glass bottle into the sand so that hopefully the wind won’t carry it away, then follow Freddie past the shoreline. It’s curious to think how well he knows me, but then again not at all. Eight years feels like a long time, but I can so easily remember us chasing each other on this exact beach. In the time Freddie and I have spent apart, we’ve changed in ways that have defined us. And yet there’s something so familiar about this. About us.

  “So you miss your swim team?” I ask.

  He shoves a hand in each pocket. “I guess you could say that.”

  The tide splashes against our ankles and then pulls back in a rhythm that is steady as a beating heart.

  “Have you ever tried so hard to be good at something . . . so perfect, but it just wasn’t . . . enough?” Freddie asks.

  I know what he means, but no matter how far back I try to think, I can’t find an example. How is that possible?

  All I can do is I offer him a sad smile and a nod.

  He lets out a long sigh before squatting down and using both of his hands to splash me.

  I shriek and splash him back, thankful to him for lightening the mood.

  We skip around in the water, never going much farther than the hem of our shorts. I leave thoughts of Grace and the future on the beach for a little while.

  We walk back to Boucher’s, and I offer to give Freddie a ride on the back of my bike so he won’t have to walk home. After I put my hair up so it won’t slap him in the face, he stands on the seat stay and holds on to my shoulders. We both hoot as the wheels speed down his hill.

  In front of his house, he hops off the back of my bike and pulls me to him for a hug. My chin fits snugly in the crook of his shoulder. Hugging at this height can be so awkward, but nothing about our embrace makes me feel like I’m bumbling.

  In sophomore chemistry, Mr. Culver told us the most important thing to take away from his class was that the world isn’t made up of isolated incidents. Knowing the elements was important, but even more relevant was knowing how they changed when combined with others. And that’s what I’m most terrified of right now—how Freddie and I will change when combined with others.

  I watch as he sneaks around the side of his house into the backyard.

  I have some time to kill before my paper route, so I go home to change my clothes. Hattie is spread out in my bed with a limb touching each corner, and the bathroom smells like puke—from Tyler, I assume. Even though it might be nice to crash on the couch for a little bit, I can’t get out of here fast enough. The whole process of being in my house feels like I’m creeping against the wall of a narrow, smelly hallway. Nothing about it says home right now.

  As I’m walking my bike out of the trailer park, my phone buzzes.

  GRACE: How can I be this lonely when I’m surrounded by people? I miss you.

  Normally this sentiment would feel all too familiar, but tonight I didn’t feel lonely. Not at all.

  Some days are worse than others, I finally type. I miss you, too.

  SEVEN

  It’s been three days since Tyler’s birthday bash, and school starts tomorrow. I love this last day of summer almost more than the last day of school. Hattie and I have made a habit of clearing the day so that we can sleep in late and then get in one last sunburn at the beach before spending the rest of the day in a cool, dark movie theater.

  Saul and Ruth have managed to get the day off too, which is some kind of miracle, since the four of us comprise a third of the waitstaff at Boucher’s.

  After my paper route, I come home to sleep for a few hours more, and I’m so stupid excited for today that I decide to sleep in my swimsuit, a mint-colored tankini that fits more like bikini bottoms and a crop top.

  My eyes are closed for what feels like no more than twenty minutes when I hear heavy feet clomping down the narrow hallway outside my door.

  I try to ignore the noise for as long as I can, but eventually I crack my door open to find Tyler and one of his greaseball friends piling up boxes of records and old gaming consoles and trash bags overflowing with clothes outside of Hattie’s room.

  “What are you doing?” I spit.

  Tyler’s friend shrugs and shoulders his way past me.

  “Moving day,” Tyler says. “Home sweet home, right, sis?”

  A cringe rolls up my spine. I watch as the pile grows, edging me slowly back into my bedroom as the space around me continues to shrink.

  Hattie finally emerges from her room. “Hey,” she says, “so I don’t think I can do the
beach and the movies today.”

  I groan and slam the door behind me.

  Moments later, Hattie’s in my room. “Listen, you can go on without me.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s my senior year, Hattie. We always do the beach and a movie.”

  She sinks down onto my bed beside me. “I know. And I’m sorry, Ro. But we have to get all that shit into my room, and it’s just so much.”

  “He really does have a lot of stuff.”

  She sighs and rests her head against my shoulder.

  “Like, can’t we throw all that shit in a shopping cart and leave it out front for Mrs. Pearlman to pick through? We don’t have room for all that stuff in here.” Mrs. Pearlman is a connoisseur of junk and gossip.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she says. “You help me get all that crap in my room and we can go to the movies.”

  I hold my hand out to her and we shake on it. “Deal,” I say.

  While Hattie gets started on Tyler’s stuff and he begins to install his consoles in the living room, I text Saul and Ruthie and let them know we’ve got to bail on the beach. Saul sends a series of dramatically disappointed selfies and Ruthie simply responds with a K.

  I decide that since we’re already breaking tradition, I might as well invite Freddie to join us at the movies. I waver back and forth for a moment on whether I should call or text. Since I haven’t officially waved my gay flag for Freddie, I don’t want him to think this is anything more than us hanging out as friends. I opt for a text.

  Tyler’s crap is endless, and most of it is dirty laundry. And the fact that he took his dirty laundry from his mom’s house to his girlfriend’s house? Well, that pisses me off.

  When Dad leaves for work, he calls to us from the other end of the hallway, because the floor is completely covered in Tyler’s stuff. I can see my dad’s neck and ears turning red—a sure sign of his rising blood pressure. I wish he would say something. Anything. Tell Tyler he can’t expect to fit all this shit in our house or tell him he can’t move in at all. But all Dad sees is Hattie. He couldn’t make it work with Mom, so the best he can do is give Hattie and Tyler a fighting chance. “Y’all make sure to close the door when you’re coming and going. Don’t want that cold air to get out. Love you, girls.”

  Tyler doesn’t say anything. Not even a weak thank-you.

  “Love you, too,” Hattie and I chirp back.

  I glare at Tyler, but he’s oblivious.

  After the three of us spend a few hours weeding through boxes and trash bags, Saul picks Hattie and me up. I’m too lazy and sweaty to change out of my swimsuit, so I throw a dress on over and grab a flannel shirt for the movie.

  As we’re leaving, Hattie asks Tyler if he’s sure he doesn’t want to go. He says, “I’m gonna stay in and finish my game.”

  “And look at porn,” I add the minute he closes her bedroom door.

  Hattie shrugs as she locks the front door behind us. “He’s not getting it here,” she says. “I feel about as sexy as a watermelon.”

  “Well, I think you’re a super-sexy watermelon!” Saul calls from his Jeep.

  My sister takes the front and gives Saul a huge kiss on the cheek while Ruthie and I hop in the back, and the four of us leave to pick up Freddie.

  “Sorry we missed the beach,” I say on behalf of the both of us.

  Ruth pulls her shoulder-length blond hair into a ponytail. She has that perfect, thick kind of hair that’s only ever been dyed by the sun. “That’s okay,” she says. “Saul got into it with our parents this morning, so we didn’t even go either.”

  He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “They’re trying to institute some kind of curfew on me, like I’m not an adult.”

  “You didn’t come in until four a.m.,” Ruth reminds him.

  “And you think Dad would’ve cared if a girl was dropping me off?”

  She sighs and leans back into her seat, because he’s right. The two of them have plenty of things that Hattie and I don’t—a nice house, money for college (unless you’re Saul and don’t plan on going), and a guaranteed car as a high school graduation present. But something we have that they don’t is our dad. He’s not perfect, but he accepts the two of us in a way Saul and Ruth’s parents have never been capable of. I’m not even allowed over at their house—as if I could somehow make Saul or Ruth gayer than they already are.

  When we get to Agnes’s, Freddie is sitting on the front porch waiting for us in shorts and a striped tank top.

  “Is this the piece of meat you ran off with the other night?” asks Saul. “He’s even cuter when I’m sober.”

  Ruthie rolls her eyes and nudges me to scoot over so that I’m sitting in the middle. “I hate uneven numbers.”

  “Get over it,” I tell her. It’s not so much uneven numbers but new people that Ruth isn’t a fan of.

  Freddie hoists himself up using the roll bar and slides in next to me. “Thanks for inviting me.” His voice drops to a whisper when he asks, “You sure your friends don’t mind?”

  I laugh. “This is the most exciting thing to happen to them all summer.” I pat his bare knee. “Guys, this is Freddie.”

  Saul whistles, and Ruth offers a short wave, which is probably the closest thing to cordial I can expect from her. Ruth is all hips and thighs and makes no apologies about it, plus Freddie and I are definitely not small people, so it’s a squeeze, but we fit. And to be honest, this is my ideal platonic people-sandwich.

  “You know Hattie,” I say. “And that’s Saul and his little sister, Ruth. The three of us will be seniors together.”

  Saul speeds down the coastal highway to Gulfport, which is about a thirty-minute drive and has the closest movie theater.

  “You got a girlfriend, pretty boy?” hollers Saul over the wind.

  “I do,” Freddie shouts. “Her name’s Vivienne.”

  I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. A girlfriend?

  He grins and shrugs.

  I feel a little uncomfortable that he didn’t tell me about her, and I’m not sure why. I almost say something or crack a dumb joke, but then I remember my own lie of omission. I promise myself to tell him about Grace as soon as I can.

  “Long distance?” asks Hattie once we roll to a stop at the red light off the shipping docks.

  “We’re making it work,” says Freddie. “When it’s supposed to work, it does. But you gotta make it happen.” He speaks with such conviction I almost believe him.

  “Long distance is bullshit,” Hattie tells him, but I know it’s me she’s talking to. “Just askin’ for someone to get hurt.”

  Freddie grins. “That’s how you know it was worth it. When it hurts.”

  Ruth and Saul both sigh for entirely different reasons.

  The wind silences us for the rest of the drive and my hair swirls above us, like a blue demon chasing us out of town.

  When we arrive at Gulfport Galaxy 9, the storm clouds that hovered over the coast all morning have nearly caught us, so we help Saul put the vinyl top on his Jeep, which he’s always lovingly referred to as the Heap (of shit) since it’s broken-down more often than it’s actually running. The Jeep is a yellowy cream color and before she was the Heap (of shit), he used her for mudding—which is part of the reason why she’s in such tough shape now.

  “All right, kiddies,” says Saul as we stand below the marquee, studying the showtimes available to us.

  “I want to see Silent Bloodbath,” says Ruthie with determination.

  Me, Hattie, and Saul all oooooh in unison.

  “No can do,” says Freddie.

  “Is Freddie Floaties scared?” says Hattie in that horrible whiny voice she used to tease me with when we were kids.

  He shrugs. “Promised Viv we’d see it together.”

  Saul rolls his eyes and mimes pointing a loaded gun to his head.

  “It’s cool,” Freddie says. “Y’all guys see it and I’ll chill in the arcade or see”—he scans the marquee for a moment—“Kissing in F
rench?”

  “Sounds good to me!” Saul steps up to the window to buy tickets for himself and Ruthie. “Two for Silent Bloodbath.”

  Before Hattie buys her ticket, she turns back to Freddie. “You could see it and pretend like you didn’t.”

  Freddie grins but shakes his head.

  It kills me—it really does—because we don’t go to the movies often and I am dying to see Silent Bloodbath, but I turn to Freddie and say, “I’ll go see Kissing in French with you.”

  He shakes his head at first but says, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do that.”

  “At this point, I want to sit in a cold, dark theater and forget that school is about to start.” It’s a half-lie. Or a half-truth. I’m not sure. But I’m not going to let him see some lame rom-com by himself.

  “Okay,” he says. “But my treat, cool?”

  I nod and follow everyone else inside to the concessions. Normally we pack our purses full of cheap gas-station candy and soda, but popcorn is half-price before two.

  Saul swings back behind me as Freddie joins me with our tickets. “Blast from the past at three o’clock!”

  “Huh?”

  He kicks me in the shin. “Working behind the hot dog rollers. CarrieAnn Cho.”

  Behind the counter stands an Asian girl with deep-brown hair swept into a loose ponytail and a T-shirt advertising this summer’s Super! Big! Explosion! Aliens! blockbuster tucked into her black pants.

  She lifts her head and I feel the color drain from my face. “Oh shit.” Instinctively, I take cover behind Freddie and crouch down a bit so that my height doesn’t give me away.

  “Uh, what’s happening?” His voice is unsure, but he guards me like a wall.

  Saul sighs. “The hauntings of first love.”

  “She was not my first love,” I whisper. “More like my first kiss.”

  Freddie laughs stiffly.

  “Ramona?” CarrieAnn’s high-pitched, far-off-sounding voice finds me.

  This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I decided it was time to come out to Freddie.

  I straighten my posture and take a few steps closer to the counter. She’s petite and bouncy and reminds me of the fairy art from Hot Topic that Hattie was obsessed with in middle school.