Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(44)

“No complicated thoughts,” repeated Audre in a dreamy voice. “Must’ve been nice.”

“The running part was nice. But the pressure that came with it was stressful. It was like a vise tightening around my head.”

“I know how that feels. I like student government. I like school, even. But when I step away and think, I just worry that I’m not good enough.”

“Same,” he said. “That I’ll fail everyone who believes in me.”

“That I’ll end up a loser.”

“That I’ll waste my talent.”

They looked at each other. Game recognizing game.

“When I first moved here, I decided to say yes to everything,” explained Bash. “My whole life used to be a ‘no.’ No McDonald’s, no late nights, no drinking, no weed, no sleeping past 4 AM, no mention of the grown-ass adults bribing me to lose or win depending on their bets.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Why was he revealing so much? “Whatever. The point is, this is why I said yes to you. But, look, we can abort this mission. Come up with a different challenge, even. Who says Reshma’s the boss?”

“What’s not gonna happen is that. I know she thinks I’ll chicken out.”

Bash cocked a brow, sensing some edge in her voice at the mention of Reshma. “Let’s just get it over with. And then we’ll go to Tacombi. Their tacos smack.”

“You mean slap.”

“Slap? No, no, no. That’s what y’all say out here? Music slaps, not food.”

“Excuse me, the tacos smack.” She laughed, her mood lifting. “Hey. Can I please therapize you?”

“Nooooo,” he groaned, turning to walk down the kitchenware aisle. She followed him with a cheeky, dimpled grin. God, Bash thought, she’s so endearing. “I told you, I don’t believe in therapy. Not everything means something.”

“It actually does, though.”

“Nah, man. Therapy is manipulative. Is it trauma, or just a generic bad memory? Is it gaslighting, or someone’s perspective clashing with yours? Is she a sociopath, or just hungry?”

Audre giggled at this. “You’re so wrong I can’t even begin to explain how wrong you are. Plus, everyone could use therapy. Don’t overestimate your mental fortitude, B.”

“I’m just trying to put one foot in front of the other, A.”

“You must have some plan. What college are you going to?”

He pretended to check out some generic wall prints. “College isn’t for everybody.”

Audre’s eyes widened to unreal dimensions. “Why bust your ass to excel at a sport and not reap the rewards? At least get a scholarship out of it.”

“Nah, my athlete days are over. Besides, does excelling at a sport have to equal college?”

“Why else do we work so hard if not for our future?” she challenged.

“I’d rather be happy in the present.”

“But you can afford that. You have generational wealth from your mom. My parents do well, but they worked for everything they have. There’s not a lot left over after my tuition.”

Bash frowned at this. “My mom has money, yeah. It’s not mine, though. I won’t take it.”

“But that’s your choice. You have a safety net. Most of us don’t.”

Bash and Audre faced each other, their eyes sparking with challenge. They were on opposite ends of the same experience. Excellence was their brand. But where it motivated Audre, it broke Bash down.

“The point is,” he started, “I don’t think college is necessary to have a good life. All I want is a tattoo chair at a solid studio. Have some steady clients. Live near a beach so I can surf. That’s my dream. And it’s my life, right?”

“It just feels unorthodox.”

“What? Nah, bruh, I don’t believe in religious discrimination.”

Audre stared at him. “No, I mean ‘unorthodox’ as in unusual.”

“Oh.” He paused and then hung his head in shame. “Fuck. Maybe I do need college.”

“I’m an obnoxious former spelling bee champ—ignore me.”

“I’ve noticed something,” said Bash carefully. “You like pointing out the competitions you’ve won.”

Audre flinched, immediately embarrassed. “I… I guess I want to seem impressive.”

“But you’re impressive without winning. You’re impressive just standing there, trying to figure out why you’re in Target buying a sex toy with a guy you didn’t know two weeks ago.”

Audre smiled bashfully, casting her eyes downward. “Thank you.”

“Back to college, though,” he said, feeling a little dizzy in her presence. “All I know is that every part of my life was logged on a spreadsheet. And now I have choices. I love it.”

She nodded. “Makes sense.”

He wanted so badly to tell her about the Fifth Angel Ink call. He hadn’t told anyone. He hadn’t even said it out loud yet, made it real.

“I kind of have news. So, there’s this well-known tattoo shop, Fifth Angel Ink? A few months ago, I sent them my portfolio. And the owner just asked me to come in for an interview. I might be working there by the end of summer. Professionally.”