Page 18 of Good Vibes Only
“The only time I know they’re being real is when they don’t like me. Otherwise, I know they’ve got dollar signs in their eyes.”
“Damn,” he said. “That’s fucked.”
“Yeah. It is. And this is why I don’t talk about my shit. Nothing anyone says can help. I’m just fucked up, man. Oh well.”
He stopped me from leaving a second time. “Brett, I know it sounds like fairy tale bullshit—”
I finished his sentence. “But one day I’ll meet ‘the one,’ and it’ll feel oh-so-very different, and I’ll know it in my heart when I meet her?”
He chuckled. “Huh. How’d you know what I was going to say that?”
“Because I’ve only heard it a million times.”
“Well, damn.” Rust wore a defeated grin. He’d given it his best shot. “Thanks for talking with me, kid. Sorry I’m not much of a therapist.”
I chuckled. “Nah, man, you do alright. Hey, maybe you could open a practice when you finally hang ’em up?”
“Yeah. Right.” He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s head back.”
5
McKayla
The setting sun was painting the desert sky a lovely shade of orange when I rolled up at Sofia’s house in Summerlin on Saturday night. Well, I callit a house, but I think it might actually be a literal mansion. Their place is unreal, with a view overlooking the mountains, an enormous pool, and too many other amenities to list.
But man, my best friend works hard for it.
I rang the doorbell. I must’ve waited a full minute before someone finally answered and suddenly jerked the door wide open.
“McKayla! Hey!” Brock said, looking and sounding like he was in a rush. “Come on in!”
“Hi, Brock. How are you?”
“Good!” He hugged me quickly, his body tense and vibrating with anxiety. “Sofia’s still getting ready, but she should be down in a minute!”
I was wondering why Brock was acting so panicked—but one look over into the spacious living room, and I suddenly understood. Connor lounged on the couch, Xbox controller in hand, staring at some kind of shoot-’em-up video game on the gargantuan flat screen.
Ah.
“We’re just gamin’ if you wanna chill with us until Sofia’s ready!” Brock said before he raced back to the living room. He hurtled over the back of the couch and picked up his controller—just in time for Connor to pull the trigger and kill Brock’s character.
“Aw c’mon, Con-man!” Brock said, punching his friend on the shoulder. “Really, bro? That’s so lame.”
Connor laughed. “Hey. At least I waited until you touched your controller.”
“Pft. Barely.Touchedis truly the operative keyword there, isn’t it.”
I joined them in the living room and slinked into an armchair. “Hi, Connor.”
“Sup, McKayla?” Connor said without taking his eyes off the game.
I sat and watched the two play, a tense and competitive vibe lingering in the air as they focused on trying to shoot each other.
“So what’s this party we’re going to?” I asked, trying to make someconversation. “One of your teammates’, I assume?”
But the only conversation was the sounds of video game warfare: gunfire, explosions, and the frantic clicking and clacking of plastic controller buttons, and the occasional muttered curse word.
“Ya, Showtime’s party,” Brock finally answered a minute or two later.
