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: : : TIM AND MATT ARE SITTING in the IHOP, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Tim checks the time on his phone; it's 9:30. He needs to be home by ten if he doesn't want to get shit from his folks. He makes sure the phone is off and he sticks it back in his bag.
Matt says —Hey, you got your sketchbook in there?
—Sure, Tim says.
—Can I have a look? says Matt.
Tim pulls out the book, its front cover plastered over with stickers, and slides it across the table. —Most of those drawings suck, he says, as Matt picks it up and begins flipping through it.
—What, are you kidding, man? says Matt. He holds up the book, points to a picture of an evil-looking clown holding two cans of spray paint, skulking in front of a background of wildstyle graffiti. —Look at that, man, that's totally wicked.
—It's all right, I guess, says Tim.
—All right my ass, says Matt. He flips through the book some more. —I wish I could draw shit like this.
Tim leans back and sucks on his cigarette.
—Hey, Matt says, smirking, —is this supposed to be Megan? He holds up the sketchbook, revealing a picture of a chick wearing a leather bikini and thong, standing on top of a giant stone slab, holding a sword up in the air.
Tim grabs for the book, pulls it out of Matt's hands. —If you're gonna be a fucking dickhole about it you can just—
—Hey, c'mon, Matt says. He reaches for the book but Tim stuffs it back in his bag. —Hey, man, let me look at your shit, I'm sorry.
—Forget it, Tim says.
—C'mon, Matt says. —I ain't gonna say nothin'. I just want to look. Don't be a prick.
—Some other time, Tim says. —I gotta get going soon.
—Fine, Matt says. He finishes up his cup of coffee while Tim smokes.
—So what's the deal between you two, anyway? he says, eventually.
—What two? Tim asks.
—You and Megan, Matt says.
—I don't fuckin' know, Tim says. —I mean, she's cool, whatever.
—She's into you, Matt says.
Tim makes a pained expression. —Could you just—could you not? he says. —That just—that just freakin' weirds me out.
They first started seeing Megan at the skate spots this past summer, she had just moved here with her folks, from somewhere out west; she told them where from once but Tim can't remember. At first they didn't really want to talk to her—they know how it goes with the chicks that hang around, they seem like they might be cool at first but mostly they're lame, most of them can't skate for shit, they hang around with skateboards because they want skater boyfriends—that's the cool thing now, apparently. Tim's made out with a couple of these girls in the past—that one, Jennie Branch, even let him put a finger up in her—and that's pretty sweet, but then things always get weird. There's always this time when he'll be like hanging out with the girl, and wanting to fool around, but you need to say something first, you can't just like pull out your dick, and he's never able to think of anything to say, and so he'll say something and the girl will just give him some weird look, and at around that point he's always like why the fuck am I even trying to figure this shit out?, fuck it, I just want to skate, and so he takes off and skates and stops calling the girl back and after a while she stops calling him and that's pretty much the end of it.
But Megan is different. For one thing, she can skate; he's seen some of her moves, and he knows she's good. And she doesn't seem to be into any of that girl shit that freaks him out, like makeup or whatever. She's like a guy. And so Tim hangs out with her like she's a guy: they just, like, talk about stuff, not relationship stuff or anything, but just like tapes that are cool, or tricks, or whatever. And so when Matt or one of the other guys gets all on this oh, she likes you thing, it fucks him up.
—I don't get what your whole problem is with talking about her, says Matt. If I thought she was into me I'd be all over that.
—Hey, Tim says. —You can have her. Let's get out of here; I gotta fuckin' get home or my folks'll be bitchin' at me.
—Suit yourself, says Matt. They pay their bill and leave a pile of change for the tip.
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