The Sunshine Boy and the Weaver King

Chapter Eleven

"YOOOOOOO." Ryan yanked Anthony into a spine-breaking hug, smacking him on the shoulder a couple times before releasing him and grinning widely. "How you doin', man?"

Anthony blinked dazedly. Did he still have all his limbs? "Um, good," he said, rolling his shoulders out. "How's your hangover?"

"Hangovers are for the weak," said Ryan. 

"You had one, didn't you," Anthony said with a knowing look. 

"Fuckin' right, I did. This morning was hell." 

Ryan went over to his bed, dropped onto it, and patted the space next to it. "Grab a controller. We're going in. Pizza will be here in ten."

The next few hours flew by. Between bites of barbecue sauced chicken and sausage pizza and aggressive button pressing, Anthony completely lost track of time. It was always like this when he hung out with Ryan. He could physically feel the tension seeping from his bones like he was at some daytime spa instead of in a cramped, off-smelling dorm room. 

"So," Ryan said, lounging on the mattress and holding two pieces of pizza put together like a sandwhich, "tell me. How was the party for you? I know we didn't get to talk a whole lot while we were there."

Aaand there it was. A small portion of tension back in his shoulders. And who's fault is that? he wanted to ask. 

Instead, he said, "Well, it was kind of terrible."

Ryan laughed as he took a giant bite and leaned over Anthony to grab his cup of water. "I'm sorry, man. Did you just stand by the wall the whole time?"

Anthony sighed past a sudden burst of irritation. "Well, it wasn't like I was happy to be there, Ryan. I had some drinks and--" he remembered Maddox's presence, "-- and... I talked to a couple people, and then I went home."

"A couple people," Ryan said, pulling a face. "Right. Sure. Describe these people to me?"

"A girl. Really pretty." Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. "I forgot her name."

"How convenient." Ryan smirked. 

Anthony held the controller a little tighter and flicked a glance at the ammo counter. "I was drunk."

"Yeah, so was I." Ryan took his pizza sandwhich and dipped it into a plastic container of ranch. "I can still remember the girls I danced with, though." With a long-suffering look at Anthony and a massive bite of food, he said, "Look, man, it was a new experience. The first one you've had in, like, ever. Aren't you the least bit glad you got out of your shell?"

"No," Anthony snapped. 

It came out loud and angry and harsh, grating along his throat painfully like he'd swallowed sand. 

Ryan blinked, surprise and hurt flicking across his face. 

Anthony tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "I'm sorry. I... I was glad to get out of my shell. It's just been a rough day."

"Right," Ryan said slowly. He didn't say anything else, though. Instead he just took another bite of his pizza and then set it down like he no longer wanted it. 

After a few seconds of silence, he said, "I was just trying to get you to..." He sighed loudly. Anthony flicked a glance over at him in time to see Ryan scrub his not-pizza-eating hand over his face. "To be more like me. I'm sorry, man. I should've just... let you be you."

"It's okay," Anthony said automatically. 

Ryan shot him a look. "No, bro, it's not. It's okay to get pissed at me."

Anthony had spent so much time looking at Ryan and going over the words in his head that his character got killed. As it crumpled to the ground, he stared at his best friend and thought I do not deserve to have any of this. He swallowed hard. "I forgive you, I mean. You were just trying to help."

The corner of Ryan's mouth quirked up. "Thanks, Tones." 

A smack on the shoulder. Ryan picked up his pizza again. 

"We can watch movies, if you want," he said around his mouthful, "or we could go for runs after class, if we've got time. I could teach you what I know about boxing."

Anthony blinked, realizing that the last boxing lesson he'd gotten had been almost three years ago. His dad had punched him hard enough to make him see stars. A dirty trick made him open on his left side, and his momentum was too strong to switch positions so he could block the incoming hook. His mom had been watching from the sidelines with ice and a towel. His dad had bent over, gripped his chin, and said, in rapid-fire Chinese, "Always look at my eyes. You can tell what kind of man your opponent is just by looking at them. Mouths lie. Eyes don't."

His dad was iron-hard. His eyes matched. Pitch-black. A crooked, violent slash for a mouth. High, razor-sharp cheekbones. He was slim and short, but tough as nails. Anthony could never look into his eyes for very long at all. 

"Okay," he said, his chest tight and pained. He shoved a smile onto his face because Ryan was watching him carefully, looking for cues that Anthony might be saying yes when he meant no. "I'd like that. Keep in mind, though," he set the controller down and grabbed a slice of pizza. "I have experience."

"Oh, really?" Ryan smirked. "How much?"

How much?

"Eight years," Anthony said. 

Ryan's smirk faded into an 'o.' "Eight years? Damn." He laughed. "How old were you when you started?"

"Seven." Anthony took another bite. 

"Seven?"

My dad was strict, he almost said, but instead he grinned and shrugged. "My parents were jocks that both served in the military."

He tucked the lie away for later reference.

Ryan made an impressed face. "Tell them I thank them for their service, and I'd also like some lessons. Thanks." He winked.

"Should I add the wink?" Anthony asked. He was thinking, You'll never meet my parents.

"For your mom," said Ryan. 

Anthony snorted. 

It was two in the morning when Anthony got back to his room. They'd watched a movie, played another few rounds of Fortnite, then hopped in Ryan's car and went to Wendy's for frosties and fries. When they were done, they sat in the park near campus and swung on the swingset for maybe twenty minutes. Ryan triple-dog-dared Anthony to climb on top and do a blackflip off, and then called him a weenie when he wouldn't do it. 

"I don't want to die, Ryan," Anthony said. 

Ryan pulled a disgusted face. "That makes one of us."

Maddox was gone, bed made, and backpack missing with him. Anthony stared around the room for a minute, wondering where his roommate would go so late, and then he decided it was none of his business, and climbed into bed. 

He didn't fall asleep until four, and he knew he'd regret it, but Ryan's grin and his apology kept running through his mind. I don't deserve this, he thought, but I'm too selfish to let it go.