* * * * *
Wednesday rolled around, and even though it had only been two days, to Ben it seemed like an eternity. Waiting for any sort of signal from Tim was driving Ben crazy, so he decided to try to catch Tim in the hall where he had seen him the first time. There was no sign of him there, so Ben tried again the next day. His persistence paid off. Ben spotted him as he rounded the corner of the hall. Tim was much further down, surrounded by the same snobs and jocks as before. Bryce Hunter was there, repeatedly pointing at his own legs and pantomiming throwing a football and then a tackle. Tim was laughing at his story while leaning on one crutch, his other side occupied by Krista Norman who had wrapped herself around him like a python.
Ben stooped down to fumble with the contents of his backpack while trying to casually keep track of them. Eventually Krista and Bryce left in the opposite direction, while Tim and Darryl Briscott headed down the hall. Ben stood, shouldered his backpack, and began walking toward them. Darryl wore his standard vacant expression, every available brain cell dedicated to keeping him upright and walking. That left Tim free to notice Ben’s stare. Tim held up a hand to his face, one thumb by his ear, pinky in front of his mouth; the universal sign for “call me.” Ben grinned and nodded before he broke eye contact.
Abandoning subtlety, calling was the first thing he did when he got home. The phone rang and rang, and just as he was about to hang up, it clicked and Tim’s voice was on the line.
“Hey,” Ben said, having no idea what to say next.
“Hey,” Tim echoed. “You have to come get me. I’m totally sick of it here.”
“I don’t have a car,” Ben reminded him.
“I think you’ve driven mine more than I have. Get over here.”
Ben rushed over to Tim’s house, trying not to run. He didn’t want to arrive sweaty and disheveled. Tim was waiting for him in the driveway, standing between his car and a white SUV that hadn’t been there last week, meaning that at least one of his parents was home.
“Let’s go,” Tim said, voice tense as he handed Ben the keys.
“Everything all right?” he inquired.
“Yes!” came the impatient response. “C’mon.”
Ben felt uneasy as he unlocked the black sports car and took a seat. He glanced over at Tim, who still hadn’t smiled or shown any sign that he was glad to see Ben. Only after they were a few blocks from the house did the tension evaporate, allowing Tim to act like his old self again.
“Everything all right at home?” Ben asked.
“Yeah,” Tim said. “I’m just sick of being there, that’s all.”
Ben knew there was more to it than that, but he didn’t want to return Tim to his foul mood by playing twenty questions.
“So where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” Tim leaned over and checked the dashboard. “Gas station, first. The tank is empty.”
“Sorry about that. I didn’t have any cash to fill it up last week.”
“It’s all right.” Tim pulled out his wallet and slid a plastic card from it. “Gas card. My parents pay for all of it.”
“Wow! That’s generous of them.”
Tim shrugged.
“Well, if you have all the gas in the world, I know exactly where we should go. When do you have to be home?”
“Anytime is fine. They won’t even notice that I’m gone.”
After refueling, Ben drove to Interstate 45 and cranked up the music as they headed south. Occasionally Tim would turn the volume down and ask where they were going, but Ben would only grin and turn the music back up. After an hour of exceeding the speed limit, they were traveling though landscape that began to give way to water and palm trees.
“Galveston?” Tim read from one of the signs.
“Yeah,” Ben confessed. “Ever been there?”
“No. What’s it like?”
“This is pretty much it.”
They were crossing the two-mile-long causeway now, a tremendous expanse of road that spanned the huge body of water below. They continued across to Galveston Island, which did its best to appear as a hot tourist attraction and failed, coming across more like the trashy cousin of Miami.
“Looks pretty cool,” Tim commented as they passed garishly lit restaurants that were just starting to see an influx of patronage.
They turned left onto the last stretch of the seawall boulevard. Ben kept Tim distracted and looking away from the small area where the Gulf of Mexico could be seen and continued driving until they reached the Bolivar Ferry. The stars were shining favorably on Ben that day. The ferry was docked and cars were pulling onto it. Tim sat up, looking more enthusiastic. Once the car was parked, they left it and walked to the front of the boat for a better view. To the east, water stretched out and disappeared into the horizon.
“Is that the ocean?” Tim asked excitedly. “That is, isn’t it?”
“Yup,” Ben said. “Well, the Gulf of Mexico anyway. My dad always calls it the poor man’s Atlantic.”
“It’s all the same water, right? This is so cool!”
They stayed on deck during the twenty-minute ride, Ben singing sea shanties to make Tim laugh as wind blew through their hair and mist from the waves chilled their skin. When Bolivar Peninsula came into view, they hurried back to the car and impatiently waited for the other cars to disembark ahead of them.
They didn’t drive far before finding a decent beach. Tourist season was starting to die down, and while it was impossible to find complete solitude, they did find an area unpolluted by sunbathers. Tim’s crutches kept sinking into the sand, so they backtracked to solid ground and parked themselves there, enjoying the view. The sky changed its flavor to tropical orange as the sun steadily made its descent, seagulls calling out to each other above the crashing waves.
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen the ocean,” Tim said. “Or gulf or whatever.”
“I guess there’s nothing like this in Kansas,” Ben replied. “I figured that you traveled a lot with your parents, though.”
“Not really. They like to take trips on their own, but I have been to Mexico City half a dozen times. My mom’s family all live there.”
“What’s it like?”
“Beautiful. Very different from here. That’s what I like about it.” A far-away look came into Tim’s eyes as he remembered. “I always make them take me to the volcano, Popocatépetl.”
“Popo-what?” Ben snorted.
“Popocatépetl,” Tim repeated.
This sent Ben into a fit of laughter.
“That’s what it’s called,” Tim insisted, before starting to laugh himself. “I guess it does sound kind of goofy.”
“I love how you say it with the accent and everything,” Ben said once he had calmed down. “Can you speak Spanish at all?”
“Fluently. I was raised bilingual.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious at this point that you’re bi,” Ben teased.
“I’m not,” Tim protested. “I just get really horny sometimes.”
Ben tried not to laugh at this but couldn’t help himself. Tim looked insulted so Ben shoved him playfully and told him to stop taking everything so seriously.
“I don’t care what you are,” he said bravely, reaching out to pat Tim on the back. He let his hand linger there. “I like you for who you are.”