Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(71)

He wasn’t competing anymore, but the exercise usually lifted his mood when he felt down. Today, it wasn’t working.

Bash more than missed Audre. Was there a level after missing someone? He’d actually googled this, to see if there was a word for it. He’d landed on “anticipatory nostalgia”—or feeling sad about missing memories you haven’t made yet.

Audre would’ve known that term. Audre knew everything.

And he’d pushed her away. Because this wasn’t the plan. Bash wasn’t supposed to fall for someone in Brooklyn. Brooklyn was supposed to be temporary. He was simply supposed to finish high school and save enough cash from Just Because and tattooing so he could move away and start his adult life.

Bash wasn’t supposed to put down roots. To find a best friend who was also infuriatingly pretty. A girl who was his first thought in the morning and his last before drifting off to sleep. A girl who ignited his brain and his heart. He’d only known her for a little over a month, but Audre Mercy-Moore had become essential to his life. It was terrifying.

What was he going to do without her? The thought made him nauseous. Because Bash didn’t know what he was going to do with her, either.

After everything he’d been through in Oakland—all the damage he’d caused to innocent people—being in a relationship was irresponsible. But Bash hadn’t explained this to Audre. He’d basically broken up with her without telling her why. Confessing about his past. How could he do that to her?

He’d hurt her. And it was gnawing at him, relentlessly. He had to tell her. About Oakland, his dad, Clio, everything. He owed it to her.

In the middle of his stream-of-consciousness spiral, Bash heard the front door open. Surprised, his ankles tightened around the ball, which shot it straight up in the air. The ball landed on his bruised face with a dull thwack. He was so out of shape, his reflexes weren’t shit. With an annoyed moan, he clutched his purplish eye and stood up just in time for his mom to breeze into the kitchen.

“Oh! Bash, hi! Hi!”

As always, Jennifer sounded shocked to see him. Like she had come home to find a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle binging The Mandalorian on her couch.

“How are you?” she trilled.

“Good,” he answered, dropping his hand from his bruised eye. And then his jaw dropped, too.

She set her structured black handbag down on the marbled kitchen counter and offered him an exaggerated smile. In her hand was a battered, Smurf-shaped lunch box. Decades of saltwater erosion had faded the Smurf’s facial features to almost nothing.

Jennifer handed it to him. He took it and just stood there, frozen solid, gawking at the lunch box like it had just burst into song. After a long pause, he found his voice.

“Wh-where was this?” he stammered.

“Propped outside the front door,” she said with a confused shrug. “It’s for you, apparently. There’s a note taped to the back. Incredibly odd, no? It looks a million years old.”

Bash flipped the lunch box over and read the note.

Challenge #5, completed. I faced a fear: diving deep into the ocean. These sell for hundreds, so consider this payment for a job well done.

—Audre



Slowly, he shut his eyes. He felt dizzy. Nauseous. As if moving in dreamlike slow motion, he carefully placed the lunch box on the counter.

“Are you alright? Coming down with something?” asked Jennifer.

“No. No, I was just doing some stretches before you came home. I guess I went too hard.”

She let out a surprised yelp. “In my kitchen?”

“Uh… yeah. Sorry?” Bash dug his nails into his palm, itching to get out of this conversation, to call Audre, to sprint to her house, to teleport to her couch, to do anything to get to her.

“No, no it’s fine! You can work out wherever. What’s mine is yours.”

Jesus. Talking to Jennifer was excruciating at the best of times. And awkward on both ends. But at this moment, it was particularly torturous.

“Is that a black eye?” The second she got the words out, her phone dinged. She pulled it out and began scrolling through her messages.

Good, thought Bash. She’s distracted—maybe I can get out of this, fast.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Mmm,” she said, nodding. “What happened?”

“I got hit by a bus.”

“Bummer,” she said, not glancing up from her phone. Thumbs flying over the keypad.

“And then a motorcycle rolled over my face.”

“The worst,” she said, dropping her phone on the counter and turning her attention back on Bash. “So, I’m home a bit early from the center. I thought maybe we could hang out.”

Bash was genuinely confused by this. “Together?”

She scowled a little. And then she huffed out a short, hard laugh without opening her mouth. “You’re so funny. I’m glad that we can share light moments together.” She tapped on the counter, visibly searching for something to say. “You wanna smoke some pot?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Hmm. Oh! Wanna go to Dave and Buster’s? It’d be a hoot. Like old times.”

Old times. Plural? Their Dave and Buster’s trip had happened once, six years ago—and it was one of the only memories they had together. “Sorry, I have to work later.”