portion of your novel, particularly the braiding of each boy’s point of view …”
As Mr. Baziak continued, my dad returned and opened the fridge. He removed a small crate of strawberries. He ran the faucet and rinsed them in the sink, staring at the tube of gushing water with a deadened expression.
“Dad—” Amit called.
“Yep!” Snapped awake, my dad shut the faucet and hurried over with the strawberries, dripping water as he went.
“Neel?” Mr. Baziak paused. “You’re still there?”
“Yes! Thank you, thanks.”
“Thank you for what?”
“For everything. For the opportunity. Excuse me—” I faked a cough. “I should have things sorted out in the next few days or so …”
“Because we need to know fairly soon if we must pull someone from the wait list. You can always apply again next year.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, I’m coming. I’ll look up the visa requirements tonight.”
After hanging up the phone, I found my dad and Amit arguing in the living room. “Strawberries are good for you,” my dad insisted. “Since when did you start hating strawberries?”
“Since forever,” Amit snapped. “Don’t we have any kettle chips? Jalapeño flavor?”
My dad turned to me. “Was that Ivy who called?”
“Uh, yeah. I told her Amit was sleeping.”
“Why?” my dad said. “Call her back, invite her over!”
“Don’t.” Amit pointed the remote at the TV, increasing the volume on Planes, Trains & Automobiles. Steve Martin was throwing a fit in the airport parking lot, clutching at the air and cursing hysterically, hurling his suitcase at the ground. My dad looked sorry for Steve, then waved a hand at the TV and left the room.
I was leaping up the first few stairs when Amit paused the movie and called after me. “Where’re you going?”
I stopped, turned. “Upstairs.”
“Stay here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t laugh when you’re not here.” Amit looked at the TV. A sudden awkwardness sprang up between us. “Nothing’s funny when you watch alone. It’s a fact.” He casually scratched his crotch with the remote.
“That’s nice, Amit. Get your crotch fungus all over the channel changer.”
“Are you coming down or what?”
I glanced at the clock over the TV. The ticking sounded loud and strange, almost impatient. I came down the stairs, and Amit pressed Play.
•
On Sunday afternoon, Amit and I went outside. His therapist had suggested that he increase his arm and abdominal strength by wheeling himself for a few miles. I jogged beside him to his chosen destination, the refurbished playground by our old middle school. The wind churned around us, jostling the swings, the clouds a dingy gray.
Once he caught his breath, Amit removed a blue glass pipe from one pocket and one of Ivy’s Darjeeling tea bags from the other. He undid the sachet on his knee and pinched apart a fuzzy chunk of weed.
“Clever,” I said.
He paused, as if he were about to say something sarcastic, then changed his mind. “Yeah, she is.”
“Not to ruin the mood, but I thought you’re trying to build stamina—”
“Neel, can you not, for once?”
Some time later, I was sitting on the grass, my lungs pleasantly seared. All of a sudden, life seemed manageable again. I flipped my eyelid inside out, a weird pastime I’d forgotten. “Sick,” Amit said, so I flipped the other.
He sucked down the last drops of Gatorade I’d brought along and tossed me the empty bottle. His eyes went soft and tranquil.
“Did you read that Life After SCI pamphlet?” Amit said. “The hospital gave it to me.”
“No.”
“There was a part called Sex on Wheels.”
A little voice in my head whispered: Sex on wheels! I gnawed on the rim of the bottle.
“And there was a picture of this vibrator …” Amit sounded half creeped out, half curious. “A vibrator for dudes.”
We fell into a harrowing silence.
Amit leaned his head back, squinted at the clouds. “Dad wants me to get back with Ivy.”
“You are with Ivy.”
“We broke up a few months ago.”
I tried to focus my gaze on Amit. “Broke up why?”
“She wants to spend the summer in San Francisco. Grow out her armpit hair. Go lesbo for a while.”
“She said that?”
“No.” He turned the lighter over, studying it. “Dad thinks if I pass her up, no one else’ll want me.”
I heard the scratch of the flint wheel. Amit watched the flame until a breeze snuffed it out.
“Seems like Ivy wants something,” I said. “She calls all the damn time.”
“She just feels sorry for me. She’d get bored, eventually.”
“How do you know?”
He clasped his hands over his stomach. “Well, for one thing, she’s not a big fan of the rodeo.