Kids These Days

Chapter 41: Finn

I wake up late the next morning, exhausted by a restless night of sleep. A bizarre sight greets me when I trudge downstairs.

My mom and dad are sitting on the couch. Together. They're fast asleep, even though the TV is blaring a black-and-white Western in which the two main characters are trying very hard to blow each other up. Gunfire rattles over the sound of my dad's snores.

I rub my eyes blearily, half-expecting to wake up back in my room. But this isn't a dream. It's real. Sure, my parents are on opposite ends of the couch, as far apart as they can be without falling off, but it's the first time in months I've seen them share a room without arguing about it.

Like I said. Bizarre.

I tiptoe quietly into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb them, and fill up a mug with lukewarm coffee. As I do, a thought crosses my mind that makes me chuckle -- why is it, that after running into a ghost and narrowly dodging a bullet, seeing my parents getting along is somehow the craziest thing that's happened to me all summer?

I don't think I'll ever understand them. 

The screen door is open, so I head outside to the porch. It's another sweltering August morning -- we're in the dog days of summer now -- so I'm not surprised to see Ronan taking cover in the shade of the pergola. He's sketching something in the corner of the newspaper, and for the first time in weeks, looks relatively at ease.

"'Morning," I say, walking over to the table.

Ronan's head snaps up. He's still wearing those flashy sunglasses, the ones that make him look like Tom Cruise in Dirty Dancing. I'm not sure who he's trying to fool. "More like afternoon. What's up? You never sleep in this late."

"Just tired, I guess." I take a seat across from him and squint at the newspaper. "Hey, that's pretty good."

It's a drawing of a spiderweb collecting dew in the grass. I don't know how he did it, but the way Ronan shaded the droplets of water makes it look like they're being struck by morning rays of sun. The blades of grass are almost three-dimensional.

Ronan shakes his head and flips the page to the weather section, hiding the drawing. "Looks like it's going to be windy tomorrow."

"We could use a breeze."

"Did you come out here to ask me something, Fish? Or just to talk about the weather?"

"Actually..." I take a sip of coffee, using the bitter taste to brace myself for what I have to say next. "Can you teach me how to drive?"

Ronan's mouth quirks into a half-smile. There's a scab on his upper lip from when he toppled over the fence at Jackson's disastrous party. (I don't think I'll ever be able to drink fruit punch again.) "Is this a joke?"

"I'm going to be a senior in a few weeks," I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Part of me still can't believe I'm doing this -- asking for driving lessons from the boy who trashed a priceless car. "I don't want to be the only one who doesn't know how to drive."

"Yeah, you're already pretty lame. Biking to school won't improve your social status."

"Bikes are environmentally friendly! Look, if you don't want to teach me, that's fine. I can ask Floyd --"

"Slow the hell down, Fish, I never said I wouldn't teach you. I just wanted to make fun of you first, okay? You're the one that put off getting a learner's permit until seventeen."

"You don't need to rub it in..."

"Which poor idiot did you convince to lend you their car?" His expression suddenly brightens. "Was it your dad? Can we borrow his cruiser? I've always wanted to hot-wire a --"