The Return [2]

(Kyle)

Right on time.

The airport isn’t packed with people. It’s never packed when Ace leaves the country, and it’s never packed when he returns.

I feel uneasy as I step off the plane with him. I tuck the hem of my royal blue shirt into my black trousers and nod at passing strangers. I don’t expect to feel like I’m some established guest from a foreign land, but I do. It’s an unnerving feeling –like everyone’s eyes are on me. I don’t want to feel this way –but I know that it’s something that Ace wants. I know he doesn’t care about appearances. He doesn’t have to. Every dirty little disturbance clouding others from noticing his squeaky clean reputation is handled by someone else –by everyone else.

But what about me?

I don’t want to become him.

I will never become him.

I am not like him.

I am not him.

We get into our designated car –Ace in the front passenger’s seat, me in the back.

We pass the mini mart and the little craft and souvenir store beside the cafe. I pull out my phone to reread all the messages Malory sent me. She just won’t stop nagging. There’s no way I can tell her what’s really going on.

I just hope she puts some of that brain to use and keeps what I told her to herself. I hope she hasn’t told Ron or Olivia. Something tells me she hasn’t. I believe that she hasn’t. If there’s one thing the two of us are good at, it’s playing along. I don’t get why even when she doesn’t know what’s going on she covers for me, but she always does, and I have to say, I am grateful. It’s sort of a silent understanding between us. I could never ask her to do it, so I appreciate that she does.

The ride back home is silent; tense. I text Ron so he knows I’m not dead.

Me: Roomie

Are you busy later today?

Roomie: I should say yes just because you went M.I.A again

You’re missing way too much school

are you aware that I hang out with two girls when you’re not there?

what has you so busy lately?

Me: Are you aware that it is almost November?

Roomie: How can one not be aware of that?

Why, though?

Me: You argue too much

what if I was planning to get you a birthday gift and I had to go somewhere to get it?

Maybe I should take the next three days off from school and head right back there to return it

Roomie: my birthday isn’t until the end of November, bitch.

Me: So?

The earlier the better

Roomie: I don’t believe you. You seriously went M.I.A for three days to get me a birthday present? I’m not that important.

Am I?

Me: Your birthday IS important to me, Hoffman. Stop whining and just accept the fact that your birthday is going to be a blast.

I mean the present isn’t much, though,

Really.

Roomie: ?

Me: Don’t over think it

In fact, forget I even told you I got you a present. I don’t want you expecting something and being disappointed.

Roomie: you’re a great best friend. *note the sarcasm*

Me: By the way…

Do you think your mom will let you stay out past midnight on your birthday?

Roomie: Hah! Hilarious. As if you don’t know my mother.

There is a chance, though. I mean… they are getting me a car…

Me: exactly

which is why I asked

Roomie: Why though?

planning a trip somewhere?

Me: don’t ask why. It’s got something to do with your gift.

Roomie: I hate you. I hate you a lot. I hope you know that.

Me: Thanks.

Roomie: heading off to lit lessons. I’ll talk to you later.

Me: Okay. Bye.

So I wasn’t really getting Ron a great birthday present while I was away –but I did manage to grab a few things I know he’d like. They’re just a few bottles of whiskey and foreign brands of alcohol. Ron always wanted to drink –but with a mother and father like his who are pretty strict with him, well, drinking wasn’t a usual pass time.

That being said, if he gets to stay out for his birthday it’ll be a great opportunity to do that. Yes, I know. I’m not exactly a great best friend for wanting to get him drunk, but still. Getting drunk once in his life won’t kill him.

Probably.

“What’s the name of the play you’re in?” Ace suddenly asks, from the front seat.

“Masked at Midnight,” I reply.

“Never heard of it,” he says, bored. “Is it supposed to be good?”

“I don’t know. I’d never heard of it before I got the part, either,” I tell him.

He hums for a beat. “Doesn’t matter to me anyway, I guess.”

The car goes silent again.

Of course it doesn’t matter.

Who would ever go to cheer for me?