It was April and the sun was shining. Jeff shrugged out of his jacket and lay back, tucking it under his head. The radio claimed it was 72 at the airport, but on the hill a breeze was blowing, raising the hair on his arms.
"Catch."
Jeff looked too late and something landed on his chest. "Bastard." It was a shell, a sea-shell, curving and pink. "What the hell?"
"I found it over in the trees. God knows how it got here." Troy dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged. "Did you leave me any beer?"
"In the cooler." Jeff pointed, but Troy just took the bottle from his hand and drank, tipping back his head. His neck was long and the tendons stood out as he swallowed.
"Thanks." Troy smiled and stretched out on the grass, hands laced beneath his head.
"Fucker." Jeff wanted another beer, but it was too much effort. He looked up at the clouds, trying to see the pictures. That was too much effort too.
"Zibo doesn't know what he's missing. It's not like him to turn down a chance to cut class."
"He had a test." And Jeff wasn't missing Zibo at all right now. Zibo was too loud, too jittery. He didn't know the art of being lazy and Jeff had a hard enough time relaxing as it was, trying to sweep away his troubles like cracker crumbs between the sheets.
Not Troy. Troy was languid, indolent, king of the golden afternoon. He sang along with the radio. It was smooth and sweet and it was a warmth in Jeff's chest and a tickle down his spine. Jeff closed his eyes to slits, like a lizard in torpor, and turned his head. Troy's hair was ruffled in the wind and he'd rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt. Sweat darkened a ring under his arm. His chest rose and fell.
The bitter aftertaste of beer was on Jeff's tongue. He held the shell, rubbing his thumb back and forth across its ridges. He didn't want to hear the ocean. He listened to Troy and hoped he'd sing the next song too.
FINIS