“Yeah, yeah, I know—you were a monumental asshole,” said Drew.
“No. It was worse than that.” Michael put the engine on idle, and went over to sit beside him. “I had this parasite living inside me. . . . It drove me nuts . . . and kind of twisted everyone around me—"
“—And so you all took a trip to Oz, killed a few of your Flying Monkeys, and then realized there’s no place like home,” said Drew. “Lourdes told me the whole story while you were asleep—but that was like another lifetime. Who you were, and who you are, are two different things. I won’t hold all that other stuff against you.”
Michael glanced at the closed curtain of the cabin. “I just want you to understand why Lourdes and I get so weird at each other. It’s like you said—we were all different people. But Lourdes still wants us to be the same.”
“So, how do you feel about her now?” Drew asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael whispered. “When I try to dig down and pull up feelings about Lourdes, all I get are rocks.” Michael took a deep breath, and the smell of diesel fuel and seaweed cut a stinging path through his lungs. “I don’t think I feel anything anymore.”
“Maybe it’ll come back,” suggested Drew.
“I don’t think so.”
Drew nodded. “Good.”
Michael snapped his eyes to Drew curiously. “That’s good?”
“Well . . . yeah. I mean, how are you two ever going to deal with this Dillon dude if all you can think about is each other? This way you’ll be able to give it all your attention, right?”
Michael had to admit it made sense. “I wish we had you on our first trip,” Michael told him. “It would have been a whole lot saner with you around.”
“I would have gone, if I knew you back then.”
Michael laughed at that. “If you knew me then, you’d probably be first in line to swing a bat at my skull.”
But Drew shook his head. “No matter how screwed- up you were, I would have still been your friend.”
Although he appreciated the sentiment, Michael knew it couldn’t have been true, but still, it was nice of Drew to say so.
Drew put his hand on Michael’s shoulder in a gesture of friendship. “And whatever happens now,” continued Drew, “I’ll still be your running partner.”
In a moment the disk of the sun seemed ready to pierce the dreary sky, and Michael felt a bit embarrassed that his emotions were as easy to read as skywriting. He wanted to tell Drew what it meant to have a friend so true—so devoted. But before Michael could offer his thanks, Drew’s face eclipsed the light of the clearing sky like the face of a full moon.
A full moon on a collision course.
Michael realized what was about to happen, and he tried to say something—anything—but suddenly found his lips otherwise occupied.
... It did not feel right . . . .
... It did not feel wrong . . . .
It just felt . . . odd. Like stepping onto an escalator that wasn’t moving.
Michael just sat there, too stunned to respond to Drew’s kiss. It went on for a slow moment, and a moment more, before Michael’s reflexes kicked in like an emergency generator. He grabbed Drew’s shoulders and pushed him away so hard, Drew nearly fell off the boat. Michael should have known what would happen next—but his brain was lagging way behind his gut in reacting to the new spin that the world had taken on. He began to feel long before he had the chance to think, and what he felt was not flowers and sunshine.
Drew must have seen it in his eyes.
“Michael, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that!”
Michael wiped his lips with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off of Drew. The air around them began to thin, as hot air shot up through the clouds, and cold air spiraled down around it, picking up speed.
“It was stupid. It was a mistake!” said Drew, his tan cheeks taking on a deep-red embarrassment.
The boat was moving now. Not forward, not backward . . . but clockwise. The boat had slowly begun to spin, and the thin air around it gave way to a sudden horizontal wind beneath a sky that had turned a strange shade of green.
Is this what Drew had been moving toward all this time? Not running partners. Not friends—but this?
“Please forget it, Michael,” Drew begged. “I need you to forget it.”
“Shut up!” Michael screamed, beyond hope of control. “You’re not my friend! You’re not anything!”
Lies—everything he and Drew shared as friends was a lie! But worse, it wasn’t just Drew. Somewhere down in a place his own thoughts didn’t reach, Michael knew—but Michael had let it happen.
His confused rage drilled a hot tunnel through the clouds, while a chill funneled down to the very place they stood, and the boat began to tilt as its slow, clockwise spin picked up speed.
Lourdes stumbled up from the cabin. “What is it? What’s happening?”
But Michael couldn’t speak to her, he could only stare at Drew, not even knowing who he saw anymore when he looked at him.
“Michael, don’t!” shouted Drew. “Please, don’t!”
The boat shuddered and tipped. Water began to slosh over the side, and they were all thrown to the wet deck. Michael, suddenly understanding what was happening around them, tried to take control of the swirling winds, but they were too far gone now, taking on a life of their own . . . and through the seawater that spat into his face, he could see the dark funnel of a full-fledged tornado.
“Grab on to something!” screamed Lourdes, just as the floor fell away beneath them, and the boat was plucked out of the sea. Lourdes locked her strong arm around the steering wheel, Michael grabbed the base of the driver’s seat, and Drew was hurled down into the cabin. The boat was dragged at least thirty feet out of the water. The waterspout spun it around its waist iwice, and then hurled it like a slingshot at the California coast a hundred yards away.
On Pacific Coast Highway, a businessman in a brand-new Lexus sped down the winding coastline road, imagining himself the lead driver in the Grand Prix. So focused was he on hugging the random curves, that he didn’t see the cyclone a hundred yards beyond his tinted side windows. He thought the salt water hitting his windshield was just a sudden downpour. He thought the wind was just the resistance his powerful car created as it sped down the coast. And so he had no warning at all when the cabin cruiser hit the pavement in front of him, skidding toward him on the wet asphalt. He stomped on his brake and heard an awful crunch, which became the sound of an inflating air bag.
Battered and bruised from the short but violent flight, neither Michael nor Lourdes dared open their eyes yet. They just listened as car after car screeched to a sudden halt, and the violent, offshore winds finally died.
Michael turned to Lourdes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m alive,” answered Lourdes.
Michael’s wind-reddened eyes began to blink back into clearer focus. The world around him began to take shape again.
The boat rested on the smashed, starboard side of its hull. At this angle, its deck was closer to being a bulkhead than a floor. Before them, motorists stood by their cars, stunned and confused by this anomalous sight before them. It would have been funny if they didn’t hurt so much from the brutal ride.
And then Lourdes asked, “Where’s Drew?”
Michael felt a wave of nausea, chased by a wave of dread. Where was Drew?