Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(28)

“Honestly, I’m not used to any physical activity. I’m pretty much a stationary object. So whatever we do will be a stretch for me.”

“Cool. We’re going out to Rockaway!”

“Rockaway Beach in Queens? To swim?”

“No, to surf,” he said brightly.

Audre laughed, positively certain that he was joking.

“Wait. You can’t be serious.”

“In general, no, I’m not serious. But about surfing, I am.”

“You don’t look like a surfer.”

“No? What’s a surfer look like?”

She thought this over. “Ken.”

He chuckled. “We surf, too, Audre. Expand your mind.”

“No, I meant…”

“I heard enough of that back home,” he said mildly. “My dad wasn’t feeling it. He was… what’s the word? Strict. He never saw surfing as a real sport.”

Audre wondered why he was speaking about his father in the past tense. She tried to hold herself back from digging deeper, because she wanted to respect his rule. No therapizing.

She tried for a full ten seconds. But she was dying to learn more about Bash’s background. Good thing she knew how to get people to open up without asking intrusive questions. She’d figure him out. Bash was no different than any other stubborn kid she’d convinced to open up.

“I bet you have a basketball dad, right? With your height, he wanted you to be LeBron.”

“Nah. My dad’s a track coach. He qualified for the Olympics for Jamaica, where he was born, but got injured. I never had a choice but to run.” He paused. “Sometimes parents see talent in you before you see it, I guess.”

Bash sounded stilted. Like he was reciting lines he’d heard before a thousand times.

“So,” she said, “I’m in the presence of a bona fide track star.”

He shrugged, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Something like that.”

“What track star runs in Crocs?”

“You don’t miss anything, huh?”

“Be careful,” she whispered. “It’s my superpower.”

“The Crocs were intentional. I’m not a competitive sprinter anymore. Bad memories. But sometimes I’ll go on a half-assed jog to clear my mind. And if I’m wearing Crocs, it’s a reminder that it’s not serious. Helps me relax.” He grinned. “Happy?”

“Happy,” she confirmed. “You know, I could tell you were from the Bay Area the first time I heard you talk. ‘Hella’ this, ‘fosho’ that. It made me miss Cali. I spend the summers with my dad and stepmom in Malibu.”

“Hold up. You spent summers in Malibu and never surfed? Illegal behavior,” he said, shaking his head. “Malibu surfing is elite.”

“So, you’re really a hang-ten, gnarly-dude, life’s-a-beach surfer.”

“You sound like a kook,” he said, striking a goofy surf pose. “‘Kook’ means beginner.”

“Wait. The blond tips are natural, then. From the sun! The streets are saying you dye your hair with L’Oréal bleach.”

“Whaattt? Do I look like a person who’d do that?”

“Well…”

“Don’t answer that.” He fingered an errant curl and sighed. He’d been offended, but now he dialed it back. “Nothing against those drugstore box dye joints. Mostly old ladies use them, right? Elders deserve to look and feel their best. I’m not ageist. It’s just that, if I was gonna color my hair I’d get a professional to do it. My homegirl in Oakland worked at a salon on weekends, right? She said my texture is fragile. So it isn’t something I’d do by myself.”

Audre’s mouth dropped open, and she dissolved into giggles. She couldn’t help it.

“What?” he asked, dead serious. “I respect the natural hair journey.”

“As you should. We must protect our texture at all costs.” There was something so earnest and innocent about Bash. Guys that looked like him, with the floppy hair, thrifted aesthetic, and ungendered jewelry—they were usually putting on a softboy cool act. But Bash seemed so… pure. Nice. Like he was one of Santa’s helpers.

Acknowledge the crush, she told herself. Make peace with it, and let it go.

“I’m just, like… why is my hair a topic of conversation, though? Of all things.” Bash shrugged in confusion.

“You can’t fault people for being curious about you,” said Audre. “New kid. Blank slate. Interesting dating life. And a part of you encourages rumors because you never clear anything up. Never complain, never explain, right?”

Bash shoved his hands in his pockets, thinking this over. After a moment, he glanced at her with an amused expression. “Why do you like therapizing so much?”

“I guess I’m fascinated by what lies beneath. Some philosopher said that unless you deal with your unconscious mind, it’ll direct your life and you’ll call it destiny.”

He chuckled. “Great answer. Okay, I’m going to the beach. You can come and chill or stay here and explore your unconscious.”

“But I want to explore your unconscious.”

“It’ll never happen. You won’t break me.” He tugged on her tote bag and set off toward the subway. “Come on, let’s go.”