I met those boys in the video in kindergarten, maybe all at the same time. Even then, you rarely saw one without the other two nearby. The reason I considered Seth Frasier my oldest friend was that he lived the closest, whereas, Ethan Scott and Tristan Lazaro lived in other parts of town. I got to spend extra time with just him.
There weren't many kids who lived in our neighborhood and we were the only ones in our grade. Even though we didn't seem to have that much in common, it was natural for us to gravitate toward each other. We didn't have that many options, especially when we were really small and weren't allowed to go any farther than up and down the street on our own.
We rode the same bus to school, waited—and were dropped off—at the same stops, and ensured that, rain or shine, there would be at least one guest at each other's birthday parties.
That had been the extent of our friendship until, one day, when we were nine years old and in the third grade, my dad signed me up for piano and singing lessons with his mom. I went to his house everyday for about a year, and, in the process, got to know him better.
That was, basically, all I had to show for those lessons but it seemed like a good deal at the time. I got a best friend who lived, not only in the same neighborhood, but also on the same street, just five houses away—or, more accurately, four houses and one empty lot. Said lot was sandwiched between two houses on my side of the street and two on his, making it the hallway point from one house to the other. We were always running into each other there and it sort of became our usual meeting place over the years.
It was also the last place where I last saw Seth Frasier—live and in person.
***
On the last night of school before summer vacation, I got dressed and headed out for my usual early evening run at the neighborhood park. I preferred this time because my mother always told me to avoid the sun and I couldn't be bothered to get up at dawn.
In a lot of places, this would be inadvisable, but I lived in Riverside, in what was probably the most boring suburb in the Inland Empire. The only danger here was an overactive imagination.
The sun had set but it was not yet completely dark when I left the house. The park I was going to was a few minutes' walk in the direction of Seth's house and the empty lot. As I neared it, I noticed that Seth was there, which wasn't at all surprising. He was crouched on the sidewalk and leaning back on the fence of tall wooden planks built around the uninhabited property to keep trespassers out. He was fidgeting quite a bit and looking distraught, for some reason. I picked up my pace and approached him.
"Hey, Seth." I touched his black Converse All-Stars with the toe of my light pink Nikes. He must have not noticed me because he looked startled, at first, and then, relieved.
"Hey, Adrian," he said, smiling.
"Were you waiting for me?" I asked, my brows furrowing. I checked my phone before leaving the house and there hadn't been any messages telling me he would be here. I was about to unzip the pocket of my track jacket to look at my phone again when he scoffed.
"You wish," he said. I was dumbfounded, until his big brown eyes twinkled, giving away the joke. He laughed shortly after; I felt defensive all of a sudden and glared at him.
"Rude. I was just wondering why you're here," I said, huffing.
He pursed his lips together, suppressing his smile. "Maybe you're not the only one who goes running at night anymore." I rolled my eyes and he quirked his mouth once again at my reaction. "Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Because I know you. You've never played a sport in your life."
"What are you talking about? I play all kinds of sports— baseball, basketball, football, tennis..."
"You play the video game versions of those things," I corrected, dismissing his claim with a wave of my hand. "It's not the same as actual sports."
"Running's hardly an actual sport," he said.
Oh no, he didn't. My eyes widened and I let out a long, high-pitched gasp. "How dare you?"
The look on Seth's face let me pinpoint the exact moment he realized he had said the wrong thing. I was all-too familiar with that look. He flustered and backtracked immediately, making wild gestures with his hands. "You know what I mean—it doesn't have all those crazy rules like other sports. That's why I like it."
One of my eyebrows lifted; I wasn't convinced. "Since when?"
"Since I need to look good for the ladies, now that it's beach season," he said, smirking. I made a face and the smirk on his widened into a full-on grin. "I'm kidding. I don't need any help there."
He wasn't wrong; there had been no shortage of girls hovering around him. Not so many that he'd be considered a dog, but a normal number, spread out over the years like any normal, likable guy who had his ways. I didn't say so out loud because he already looked so smug and I did not want to encourage him.
I eyed him up and down, my expression blank, snorted, and gave him a sarcastic double thumbs-up. "Yeah, thank God for the dad-bod trend, right? Seems to really be working out for you."
Seth gaped at me, which made it that much harder to keep a straight face. "Dad-bod?" he asked in a hushed tone, rapidly blinking several times and then saying the word again, more outraged. "Dad-bod?"
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Hearing Seth echo that ridiculous term, so indignantly, with that confused expression on his face, was freaking hilarious. I wasn't even expecting him to know what that was, but I guess he did because he swiftly got on his feet, drew up his shirt and showed me a perfect example of what it wasn't.
"You call this a dad-bod?" His tone was challenging and his warm brown eyes locked with my pale green ones before traveling downward. As a reflex, I followed his gaze and was treated to the sight of a trim, well-defined stomach.
I couldn't be sure how long I had stared and I might have swallowed a little too loudly at one point but eventually I managed to snap out of it. I looked away and felt the sudden need to sit down, so I did, on the ground; it was still hot from the sun, but had cooled down enough to not cause discomfort. Seth sat back down beside me and I turned to him once I had calmed down.
"You know, the beach isn't such a bad idea; you're so pale," I said, acting like I hadn't just been perving on this boy. He said nothing, so I continued to bait him. "Like, positively ghostly."
"Seriously, I could be your new running buddy," he said, ignoring my previous remark. And then, obviously thrilled by the idea, he started speaking faster. "Come on, I'll race you to the park. Don't be surprised if I beat you."
I scoffed, but that wasn't as far-fetched as I made it seem. It was possible Seth could make good on that claim. He wasn't lacking in physical ability. He used to do odd jobs, usually yard work, around the neighborhood. On a good day, he was a ball of boundless, inexhaustible energy. And he was strong. And, he had the body to show for it.
He didn't always look like that, though. He had been more than a little chubby all throughout our childhood, and I still teased him about once in a while—call it nostalgia on my part. I wasn't sure when or how that happened and would sometimes actually forget that it did. More than once, in recent years, I had caught myself staring at him, wondering two things: One, who was this hottie, standing in front of me? And two, when is Seth—that fatty—gonna come and save me from making a fool of myself in front of this cutie-pie?
Sometimes I got a little mixed up; it was getting to be a real problem.
Anyway, the reason Seth didn't play any organized sports was that he had trouble following the rules and was also kind of a klutz; he was always causing injury (mostly to himself) and damage to (mostly public) property. Because of it, the school always tried their hardest to keep him away from the really expensive equipment.
Seth started to get on his feet but I stayed put. "Come on," he said again, making his voice sound whiny, like a kid's. I still didn't budge. "I'll get you an ice cream cone after."
I was this close to giving in; very few people could resist Seth's wheedling. Also, ice cream. But what he wanted was out of the question. I was sporty, yes, but I still cared about my appearance. I was not about to let anyone, least of all, a cute boy, see or smell me all sweaty from running on a hot night—even if that boy had known me all his life and had seen me in all sorts of embarrassing situations. I needed to think fast.
"I want to; I really do," I said, affecting a regretful tone. I was lying to his face, now. "But I don't want to be responsible for you falling, and breaking your hand, and never playing the piano again. I don't want to give your mom another reason to hate me, okay?"
"Adrian, we've talked about this. My mom doesn't hate you," he said, exasperated. He paused, and then, gave me a mischievous look. "She hates your singing." I gaped at his brutal honesty and was about to protest, but he wasn't finished talking. "We all do."
"Shut up," I told him, feeling my face heat up. He did, but even without looking I could sense his shoulders literally shaking from his soundless laughter. It was ridiculous. I threw up my hands. "I'm not as bad as you're making me sound right now!"
More lies, but I rolled with it.
"Then why do cats always join in when you sing?"
"Because they like it, duh. Cats have excellent taste in everything, especially music," I said. That set him off once again. I scowled. "Whatever, we're still not gonna be running buddies."
Seth huffed, and pouted, and wouldn't look at me after that. I nudged him with my elbow and he actually scooted away. God, he was moody.
"You're not even dressed to go running!" I exclaimed. He wore a plaid shirt over a graphic tee, dark wash jeans and sneakers.
Forget running; what he wore was hardly suitable for standing around doing nothing on a sultry California summer night. I sensed something odd and shifted in my seat to face him.
That was when I saw the overstuffed backpack on the ground, on the other side of him.
"What are you really doing out here, Seth?" I asked, my tone softer and more serious. He stayed quiet and still wouldn't look at me. His leg that was nearest me was drawn up and one of his hands rested on his knee. I started to reach for it, and then at the last moment, touched his sleeve with my thumb and forefinger, instead, and then tugged. "Hey."
Our eyes met, briefly, and then, he looked away again. "I'm waiting for my dad, " he said, mumbling, eyes downcast. "He's picking me up."
"Your dad's here?" This news surprised me. Seth's parents were no longer together and I knew that Seth went through a really tough time when they divorced. His dad lived in New York now, but he was a very busy man who was hardly home even when he lived here. "Well, shit."
"He came for Bree's eighth grade graduation today. I don't know why. Nobody told him to," he said, scoffing and rolling his eyes. He was referring to his sister, who was two years younger than us. "Now, I guess it's our turn to bond."
"What time is he supposed to be here?" I asked. Seth shrugged, which made me frown. It seemed like he had been here a while. It was starting to get dark. One by one, street lamps and porches started to light up. "Why don't you just wait at home?"
"Because I don't want him in the house."
I felt a tightening in my chest. Seth and I didn't talk about stuff at home much but it always seemed to me like all his hard feelings about what happened were reserved for his dad.
"And the bag?" I was almost afraid to ask.
"I'm spending the summer at his place." More tightening. He was talking about New York. I wasn't going to see him for three months.
"We still have school tomorrow." My tone came out a bit sharp; even Seth looked startled.
"I think I'll be fine," he said, tone flat.
He had a point. If it were up to me, school would've ended a week ago. Exams were over; summer homework had been given out. Even the teachers looked done; my classes in the last couple of days consisted of watching educational movies or solving puzzles that they got off the Internet. There was no justifiable reason for them to expect us to keep coming until tomorrow.
I knew I was overreacting; this was nothing new. Seth wasn't really the kind of guy who stayed in one place for very long. He was always leaving, in one way, or another. But, that didn't mean I ever got used to it or it got easier each time.
"Want me to wait with you?" I asked, leaning closer. He looked at me, seeming to think about it but then, he shook his head.
"It might take a while, and you still have to go to the park," he said. I was about to argue that I didn't have to go and could miss one day when he got on his feet. He wiped his hands down the leg of his pants before holding one out to me. "You shouldn't be out on your own so late. Come on, I'll walk you to the corner."
What was he talking about? I went out alone at night all the time. I stared at his hand and frowned, feeling rebuffed. I considered refusing to budge and planting myself right where I was but thought better of it. This night must be hard enough for him, as it was. I put one hand in his and let him pull me up, withdrawing it as soon as I felt steady on my feet. For a moment, I didn't know what to do with the hand he touched, so I clenched and unclenched my fingers behind my back until the tingling feeling dissipated.
"No, that's okay," I told him. I tried to think of how to say goodbye but got distracted; sitting cross-legged on concrete was a bad idea—the seat of my shorts, as well as the back of my legs got so dirty. So much for caring about my appearance, I thought. Giving a distressed wail. I dusted myself off, turning so that Seth wouldn't see my backside.
Seth tried to help; he had his moments. First, he picked off microscopic bits of fluff from my shirtsleeve. Then, he reached for a lock of hair that had strayed from my ponytail and tucked it behind my ear. I straightened up to give him a look. He dropped his hand, sensing my discomfort.
"Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks reddening.
"No, it's fine," I assured him, feeling flushed as well. I took out my hair-tie and redid my ponytail more tightly so that it wouldn't happen again. I tried to think of something to say to diffuse the sudden heaviness in the air, all the while still straightening out my clothes. "Look on the bright side, Seth. You're spending the summer in New York, and three months is gonna go by faster over there than it will over here." He nodded, seeming to agree. I continued, laughing, "especially with you gone."
"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding surprised.
"Just that I don't know what do half the time, when you're not around."
I stopped laughing and things got quiet again. I started to think that maybe that was a weird thing to say, even to someone who was such a good friend, but only that. I wanted to tell him I only meant that because he lived so close and we hung around the same people, he was the one I usually counted on for a ride.
Before I could explain, however, Seth's eyes got huge, but only for a moment. And then, he shut them and leaned in. All of a sudden, he was kissing me. His hands were on my waist and he had skillfully maneuvered me so that my back was against the fence. Then his lips brushed gently against mine. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds. I couldn't have survived my soul leaving my body for longer than that.
It wasn't too bad. As far as kisses went, I definitely had had worse. My palms went up and flattened against his chest. This would have gone on longer if not for the voices in my head telling me all this was wrong.
This wasn't me; I was a girl who only looked but never touched, and in fact, hated being touched. Seth was my best friend and not someone I should be kissing—ever—and why the hell didn't he know better?
Even the place was wrong. Like, even if I actually enjoyed kissing, I would never do it here, on my street, where people knew us, our families, and could tell my mom and my sister if they ever saw. Panic struck at the last thought and I pushed him away.
"Seth, what the fuck?" I whispered, eyes wide. He had a similar expression on his face as he took a step closer.
"I thought—"
"No" I said, still whispering, but more harshly; I wasn't ready to hear where this was going. I must have sounded outraged enough—not wobbly, which was how I actually felt—because he froze in his tracks and did not continue. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Not cool."
After that, I turned around to walk away, in the direction of my house. Even through the pounding in my ears, I heard Seth call my name, but it only made me take off running, like I was the one with somewhere to be.
By some miracle, I managed to make it all the way home before my legs gave out and I slumped down on our front porch.
Seth and I hadn't spoken since.
Author's Note: Rewriting is fun, but I'm also cringing a lot, haha. Thank you so much for giving this story a chance. Let me know what you think. <3