Page 34 of Palm South University: Season 3
After the ribs are scarfed down and an entire cherry cheesecake is devoured, Clayton and I work on washing the dishes inside while everyone else cleans up the picnic table and grill. I take the job of washing and rinsing while he dries, but after a few minutes of easy conversation, Clayton grows quiet.
“Has it been nice seeing Bear this weekend?” I ask, handing him one of the large casserole dishes.
He smiles, and it’s then that I notice how big he is. I just saw him six months ago, but he’s already growing more and more into a young man every single day.
“It’s always amazing to have him around. I miss him, but I’m glad he trusts me to live with Mac and his family. I was so worried he was going to drop PSU.” He turns to me then. “I guess I kind of have you to thank for helping me convince him to stay.”
I shrug. “Ah, Bear just wants you to be okay. He still has a level head. Just have to knock some sense into it sometimes,” I add with a laugh.
Clayton smiles, but it fades quickly, his eyes on the dish he’s drying.
“Are you, Clayton?” I ask after a moment. “Okay, I mean.”
He nods. “Yeah. Clinton is doing everything he can to help me while also taking care of his own expenses, but it’s rough, you know? Football is expensive. Mac’s mom lets me do some chores around the house for a little extra money, but it’s not much, and I’m not old enough to get a job anywhere. At least, not at the places I’ve applied.”
“I get that,” I say. “Have you talked to Clinton about it?”
He shakes his head quickly, taking the heap of forks I just rinsed from my hand. “No, he’s done so much, Skyler. I’ll be fine. If I have to sit out a dance or hang back while my friends go to the movies, it won’t be the end of the world.” He shrugs. “Just four more years and I’ll be out of Pittsburgh, anyway.”
My heart breaks at his admission, not just because I don’t want him to miss out on his high school experience but because he seems in such a rush to grow up.
“Come with me for a sec,” I say, drying my hands on the soft gray dish towel before passing it to him.
He does the same, following me back through the house to the front foyer where my purse is hanging on the coat rack. I flip through it for my checkbook, scribbling one out for three-thousand dollars before handing it to him.
His eyes go wide, his head shaking before I can even speak. “I can’t, Skyler, I can’t take—”
“Yes, you can,” I say, pushing it toward him again. “Look, I was a nerd in high school. Like, I had absolutely zero friends, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there, just like how you feel right now. But looking back, I wish I would have taken more chances. I wish I would have gone to the dances and the games and been a part of the class instead of just walking across the stage with them as a stranger at the end of it all.”
Clayton’s eyes soften, and he finally takes the check, folding it once and tucking it in his back pocket.
“I want you to have fun, Clayton. I want you to enjoy high school, and Clinton would want the same thing. We can keep this between us, okay? That way he doesn’t stress himself out thinking he’s not doing enough and you don’t have to worry about missing a dance. Everyone wins.”
“What about you?”
“Meh,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’ll just enter a local tournament and clean those suckers out one weekend. No big.”
Clayton smiles, because he and I both know itisa big deal, but I don’t care. I’d give anything to Clinton and his family, because they’re my family, too.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Anytime, Baby Bear,” I answer, leaning in to give him a hug. He squeezes me tight, a softer version of the Bear Hug I love so much, and I smile into his chest, heart warm and full and happy to help. “Anytime.”
Later that night, Clinton and I sneak onto the roof of the hotel we’re staying at downtown, one I booked us with hotel credits I got as a prize in a tournament last semester. The bright, full moon is shrouded by low-hanging, gray, wispy clouds, setting an eerie yet beautiful setting as we polish off a twelve-pack.
“Okay,” I say, cracking the top off my fifth beer just since we’ve been on the roof. Add this twelve pack to the drinks we had at Mac’s house before we left, and I’m already three beers past drunk and going strong. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”
Clinton grins, happily taking a drink from his own beer.
“Are you freaking kidding me?! Who, when?!”
“Freshman year,” he answers with a shrug, as if having a threesome is commonplace. “I don’t even know the girls’ names. They were best friends, seniors, and it was on their bucket list before they graduated. I was happy to help them tick that one off.”
I snort. “Oh, I’m sure you were. Your turn.”
“Never have I ever done anal.”
“Really?” I answer in surprise. “I mean, I haven’t either, but I’m just shocked to hear those words come out of your mouth.”