He knew it was stupid, but Ricky found himself checking his reflection again anyway. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for; his hair looked the same as it always did, no more or less messy than usual. The same eyes stared out at him, his lips curved into a slight frown as he studied the face in the mirror. His clothes were clean but stained with oil and dirt from working in the garage, but that was exactly what he was planning to do today so there was no sense putting on something nicer. And even if he wasn’t planning to spend the whole day flushing out fuel lines and digging through junk yards there was no reason to care about his appearance.
There was no one to impress. He'd told himself that at least a dozen times since he first caught himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the only mirror in the house, and until today he'd never really given much thought to the cloudy spots that made it hard to look at his entire face at one time. He wasn't sure why it was bothering him today; he already knew what he looked like, and that wasn't going to change even if he could see himself without the distraction of the discolored spots marring the glass.
He took one last look at his reflection, telling himself the whole time that there was nothing to look at. He was just a regular-looking guy; okay, he was a lot taller than most of the kids his age, but other than that he was pretty ordinary looking. He'd never wasted a lot of time worrying about whether or not he had the right clothes or if his hair was in style; it wouldn't have done him any good anyway, because his family didn't have any money to waste on stupid stuff like clothes. Even if they did he'd never cared about that stuff, so there was no reason for him to start worrying about it now.
Not that he was worried about it. The only reason he was thinking about it at all was because of Clifford. If he hadn't gone to the hotel to see Clifford yesterday he wouldn't have spent most of the night thinking about how he didn't fit in with Clifford's family, and he wouldn't have spent the morning staring at himself in the mirror. He knew scowling at his reflection wasn't going to make any difference; he was still going to feel like a fish out of water whenever he went to Clifford's place, even if he had the right hair and the right clothes.
It shouldn't bother him as much as it did, but lately the differences between his life and Clifford's seemed a lot more important than they used to. He was sure his friend had never even thought about it, but lately Ricky couldn't seem to think about anything else. When they first met it hadn't mattered; he'd been a little jealous of the way Clifford lived, but other than that it hadn't made a difference. Back then it had felt like Clifford needed him, even if it was just as some kind of protection from Moody. Then Ricky had proven that he couldn't even do that right, and now…now there was no reason for Clifford to want him around at all. He still did, though, and Ricky couldn't help wondering if it was because the other boy felt sorry for him.
The thought of Clifford's pity made Ricky's stomach turn. He'd wished at least once a day since he told Clifford about his brother that he'd just kept his big mouth shut, but there was no way to take it back now. Trying to shake Clifford hadn't worked either, and if he was honest with himself Ricky would have to admit that he didn't want to stop being Clifford's friend. The two days they'd gone without really talking had been bad enough; he couldn't imagine going back to pretending they didn't know each other. It would raise way too many questions anyway, and he wasn't ready to deal with the rumors or whatever Moody and his buddies would come up with when they figured out that Ricky and Clifford weren't hanging out anymore.
He felt trapped in a way that he'd never experienced before, but as much as he hated it, part of him didn't want to give it up. He wanted to hold onto Clifford as much as he wanted to push him away, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. That was the reason he'd invited the other boy to hang out with him in the garage today, it was why he'd told Clifford to show up around noon and why he'd spent most of the morning staring at himself in the mirror. So far he hadn't accomplished anything except a growing dislike for his own features, but for some reason he kept going back to look again.
But no amount of staring was going to unravel the mystery of why Clifford kept coming around, so he finally let out a frustrated sigh and turned away from the mirror. It was almost 11:00 anyway, which meant his mother would get up soon to do a few chores and maybe run some errands before she had to report for the swing shift. The last thing he wanted was to hang around the house, pretending he didn't see the worried glances his mother gave him every time their paths crossed. Sometimes she'd come home from work and stand in his doorway for a long time, just watching him sleep and sighing every once in awhile. He wasn't sure why she did it, but it almost always woke him up, and then he'd have to lie there and pretend to be asleep until he heard her leave again.
He knew even without looking that she was wearing that sad, worried expression when she watched him at night, and he didn't want to see it during the day. So he didn't spend much time at home when he knew she was going to be around, and if he didn't leave soon he'd have to talk to her. That was the last thing he felt like doing, especially after spending the whole morning confusing himself about Clifford. He ran his hands through his hair one last time and reached for his jacket, pulling it on and heading toward the living room. His father didn't even look up when Ricky walked past him on the way to the front door, and for a second Ricky contemplated saying something like 'I'll be back later' or 'Tell Mom not to worry'. He wasn't even sure if his father would hear him, though, so he stifled the urge for the hundredth time and reached for the doorknob just as someone knocked.
The sound was so unexpected that Ricky jumped and looked back at his father, but the older man hadn't even looked up. He took a deep breath and pulled the door open, expecting to find one of the neighborhood kids or maybe one of his mother's friends. A few of them still came around every once in awhile, although most of the neighborhood pretty much steered clear of them these days. When he found himself staring back at Clifford his heart skipped a beat, and he frowned and stepped out onto the porch before he pulled the door shut behind him. "What are you doing here?"
"I was bored," Clifford answered, shrugging as though that was a perfectly reasonable explanation for wandering around in Ricky's neighborhood alone. "I figured I'd see what you were doing."
"How'd you know where I lived?"
"I've been here before." Clifford's smile faded as Ricky stepped around him and headed for the sidewalk, the smaller boy hurrying to keep up with his longer strides. "Didn't your mom tell you?"
"You talked to my mom?" Ricky asked, not quite managing to hide the panic that rushed through him at that news. "When?"
"The day you told me about…you know," Clifford answered, glancing around automatically as though he was expecting someone to be listening. "I told you when I found you on our patio that I'd looked everywhere for you. Your mom seems nice."
"She's okay." He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, ignoring the way his fingers shook as he pulled the pack out. He wasn't even sure why it bothered him so much that Clifford knew where he lived; they were friends, after all, and most friends hung out at each other's houses. He'd spent enough time at Clifford's place that it was only fair Clifford at least knew where he lived, but the thought of Clifford in his house made Ricky cringe. "You shouldn't be down here by yourself. This is a rough neighborhood."
"I can handle it. Besides, it's broad daylight, what's gonna happen?"
Ricky opened his mouth to tell Clifford all the things that could happen in his neighborhood even in broad daylight, but he had a feeling that if he did he really would scare the other boy into never coming back. That was what he wanted; it was exactly what he should do, but that wasn't what came out. "Yeah, well, just be careful."
Clifford just grinned, and Ricky rolled his eyes and looked away. He took another calming drag off his cigarette, veering suddenly off the sidewalk and into a vacant lot. Clifford had to work to keep up with him, and by the time they finally reached the garage the smaller boy was practically panting.
"What's the hurry?" Clifford asked as Ricky pulled the door open and stepped into the soothing darkness of the garage.
"Gotta get started," he answered without looking back at the other boy. "Sooner we get this one done, the sooner I can start on the next one."
Clifford raised his eyebrows as he watched Ricky uncover the motorcycle he was rebuilding. "So what're you planning to do with all the money?"
Ricky shrugged and glanced up at Clifford long enough to register the other boy's curious expression. "Beats me. I just like building stuff."
~
All things considered, it had been a pretty good day. Okay, so there had been a little weirdness when he showed up at Ricky's house, but once they got to the garage and started working Ricky seemed to mellow out. Mellow for Ricky was pretty uptight for most people, though, so Clifford still wasn't sure if everything was back to normal between them. He hoped it was, but it was impossible to tell without coming right out and asking. And anyway he knew Ricky would say yes whether it was true or not, so there was no point in asking the question.
Ricky had a bad habit of not answering questions directly, like when Clifford had asked him about what he was planning to do with the money. He had a feeling Ricky just hadn't wanted to tell him, but he had no idea why the other boy wouldn't want Clifford to know. Unless he was planning to save up until he had enough to run away for good there was no reason to keep the truth from Clifford, but something about Ricky's expression when he'd answered with a noncommittal 'beats me' let Clifford know that he wasn't telling the truth.
He was past that whole running away thing, though, wasn't he? Unless he was just pretending to be okay with being Clifford's friend again, in which case he might just go along with it long enough to keep Clifford off his back, then disappear without so much as a goodbye. Just the thought left a hollow feeling in Clifford's stomach, but he knew if he accused Ricky the other boy would just tell him he was crazy. He hated the thought of being the reason for Ricky to want to run away, though, so much that he was seriously considering whether or not he should just leave Ricky alone.
It would be hard to pretend he was okay with ending their friendship, but it would be better than knowing Ricky was out there all alone because of him. As far as Clifford knew Ricky didn't have anywhere to go, no friends or relatives to take him in and make sure he was okay. He was bigger than everybody else in their class – in their whole school, really – but he was still a kid, and he wasn't any more prepared to take care of himself than Clifford was. The thought of being out there all alone terrified Clifford, so he knew Ricky must be scared too.
He looked up from the pile of motorcycle parts he'd been digging through and spoke before he had time to convince himself it was a bad idea. "Hey, Ricky?"
"Yeah?" Ricky looked over at him, his expression unguarded for the first time all day. Clifford felt a stab of some emotion he couldn't name, but he swallowed against it and forced himself to ask the question that had been on the tip of his tongue all day.
"When you built your first bike were you thinking about taking off?"
"What, you mean running away?"
Clifford nodded slowly, steeling himself for the answer he already knew. For awhile Ricky just looked at him, but finally he shrugged and turned back to the pile of scrap metal. "I guess I thought about it."
"Do you still…I mean, do you ever think about it anymore?" He didn't even want to know the answer, but somehow he couldn't stop himself from asking.
"Why?"
Ricky was carefully not looking at him now, and Clifford's heart skipped a beat as he realized that there was no way he could answer that question without giving away more than he wanted to. He'd promised himself he wouldn't bring up the kiss again no matter what, but he wasn't sure he could tell Ricky why he cared without opening himself up to a whole bunch of questions that neither of them wanted to deal with.
"Just wondering," he finally answered, blushing as he realized how lame that sounded. What he really wanted to do was grab the other boy and hold on as tight as he could, possibly even beg Ricky to promise that he wouldn't leave without telling him first. He couldn't do it, though, not unless he wanted to guarantee that Ricky would never speak to him again.
For awhile neither of them said anything else, but finally it dawned on Clifford that somehow Ricky had managed to get out of answering. He turned toward the other boy again, a petulant 'well, have you?' dying on his lips when he realized Ricky was watching him. As soon as their eyes met Ricky looked away, but the moment lasted long enough to tell Clifford at least part of what he needed to know. Ricky didn't want to go anywhere; maybe he still felt like it was the only way out sometimes, but somehow Clifford knew that he wouldn't be able to go through with it any more than Clifford would be able to pretend he didn't care if the other boy just disappeared. He wasn't sure yet what any of it meant, but he smiled to himself anyway.
"Will this work?" he asked, holding up a twisted piece of metal that vaguely resembled the part they were looking for.
"Maybe," Ricky answered, barely glancing at it before he turned back to his own search. "Toss it in the pile."
Clifford nodded and did as he was told, barely registering the sound of metal clashing as he tossed the part in the general direction of the pile Ricky had been making for almost half an hour. He had no idea how they were going to get all the stuff they'd collected back to the garage, but Ricky didn't seem worried about it. It didn't really matter to Clifford as long as he got to spend as much time as possible in the other boy's company, just like he hadn't been paying attention to the lesson on flushing out fuel lines so much as he'd been listening to the sound of Ricky's voice. He had a feeling Ricky wouldn't be too thrilled to hear that, though, so he just nodded at what he hoped were appropriate intervals and pretended he was paying attention.
The truth was he didn't care what they did as long as they were together. He'd been privately impressed by Ricky's mechanical skills since the first time Ricky had showed Clifford his bike, but he didn't care that much about the actual process of putting it together. He was willing to pretend whatever he needed to, though, especially if Ricky was going to be spending a lot of time working in the garage. Besides, he kind of liked watching Ricky work. Whenever he was trying to figure out a tricky mechanical problem he got a really intense look, and Clifford could stare as much as he wanted without worrying that Ricky was going to catch him.
At first he'd worried that somebody would notice, but nobody else in the garage ever paid much attention to them. Some of them knew who he was, like the guy who had recognized him when he'd found himself outside the garage the day before. None of them cared enough to watch two teenagers working on a rusty old motorcycle, though, so most of the time Clifford could watch Ricky uninterrupted.
The only problem with spending so much time watching Ricky was that Clifford couldn't get the memory of their kiss out of his head. He knew he was supposed to be working on forgetting, but it was practically impossible to look at Ricky and not think about the way their lips had felt when they were pressed together. He could still remember the feeling of Ricky's hands on his hips and the pressure of fingers digging into his skin as Ricky had pulled him forward. It had all been over way too fast; it was over so quickly that he'd never gotten a chance to see how Ricky's hair would feel under his fingers, or to trace the curve of Ricky's jaw with his fingertips.
He hadn't gotten to do half the things he'd been wondering about since they became friends, and he had a feeling that he was never going to get to do them. Even if part of Ricky wanted to there was another, stronger part of him that was holding back, and Clifford had no idea what to do about it. He didn't know why Ricky was so scared of the prospect of changing their relationship, but he knew if he brought it up he'd ruin everything for good this time.
"Cliff."
Clifford started and looked up at the sound of his name, heat creeping into his cheeks when he realized Ricky was watching him. "Huh?"
"You ready to go?" Ricky asked, raising an eyebrow as Clifford shook off the last of his daze and nodded.
"Yeah," he answered as he fell into step beside the taller boy. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I think so," Ricky answered, holding up what looked to Clifford like another hopelessly twisted piece of metal. He launched into an explanation of the lines of the curve and how they'd work with the bike's design, and Clifford nodded and promptly stopped listening to the actual words. He let Ricky's voice wash over him as they walked back to the garage, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he listened to the other boy go on and on without actually hearing what he was saying. Even if he tried to listen Clifford wouldn't understand what Ricky was talking about, but the words didn't really matter. He didn't care what Ricky wanted to talk about, as long as Clifford was the one he wanted to talk to.
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