It's the End of the World and I'm in My Bathing Suit: List 3

I’m not just tossing shoulder hunches out left and right like they’re going out of style. Nope. I respect that gesture and therefore I only resort to it when it is absolutely necessary.

...and it’s too late, the sword is already connecting, except it misses Sonia’s face, walloping the back of her head instead with a loud WHOOOOMP!

I can’t even get back to my feet before she’s pelting me with a dizzying array of kicks and punches (clearly holding back because, duh, she doesn’t actually want to hurt me) and I play along, loudly grunting UGH with each blow.

But in reality, I’m ecstatic because, just like that, Sonia, my wise and wisecracking friend, is back!

But in the heat of slyly snagging snacks—say that three times fast—people panic and forget that pockets are built-in stash spots for fruit snacks, juice boxes, or a bag of my favorite sour gummies.

And as you’re forced to hand over the goods, you realize all this could’ve been avoided if you’d only consolidated and used all your available resources—arms, pockets, and, yep, your teeth!

And you’re like, Eddie, celery’s a classic snack food staple. We’ve been down with celery sticks since preschool, my man.

Yeah, Mom’s the Snack Time Terminator, and WBD’s all health food’s the best food yada yada nada, buuuut they also both work full-time. Which means every Monday through Friday, outside of The Bronster, I’m all alone with infinite time to explore Snacktopia—scanning the pantry, scouting the kitchen cabinets high and low, foraging wherever Mom hides the best treats because she clearly doesn’t trust me.

But night’s starting to creep into the horizon, and if you stare east, you can see the frothy blue moonbeams swirling.

1. Closed-lip smile—perfect for when their joke’s not funny but you don’t wanna be rude. See: my reaction whenever WBD tries to be funny.
2. Chuckle (often sounds like hehe)
3. Giggle (you don’t wanna laugh but you just can’t help yourself)
4. Pig (a combo of snorting and squealing)
5. Guffaw (No, I’m not making it up, it’s a real word!)

1. Closed-lip smile—perfect for when their joke’s not funny but you don’t wanna be rude. See: my reaction whenever WBD tries to be funny.
2. Chuckle (often sounds like hehe)
3. Giggle (you don’t wanna laugh but you just can’t help yourself)
4. Pig (a combo of snorting and squealing)
5. Guffaw (No, I’m not making it up, it’s a real word!)
6. Chortle (Also, a real word! You guys really should read more!)

And we’re all tossing our heads back and conjuring the biggest belches we can burp and it’s a contest, who can burp the loudest and the longest, and Sage wins easily, burping the entire alphabet in one continuous belch, which makes us laugh even more as we cheer her on, all of us impressed that the smallest and youngest person left us losers in her ABC burping dust.

And okay, I know it sounds crazy but somehow the grass is softer, greener, lusher, the slender blades tickling our arms and legs, the breeze rippling over us.

Usually this time of day you heard parents calling out their front doors, hollering across their yards—the screech of screen doors opening, the swoosh of patio doors gliding closed—as the stampede of young people returned to their respective homes.

“All the coolers are at the beach along with all our friends and family and favorite slushies, so there goes your plan,” I say.
“I’m sure we can find something well insulated to keep whatever provisions we—”

The three of us are always together, but depending on the day and our moods and a host of other factors, whose side we were gonna take in our inevitable debates, arguments, and decisions changes all the time.

So yeah, while I’m most definitely still very much prone to doing and saying things I regret, underestimating any of my fellow Homo sapiens? Yeah, that’s not one of them.

Until we have reason to believe otherwise, let’s just presume everyone’s okay and instead focus our energy on holding down the fort until they come back.

I was only trying to give him the space to be his completely authentic self—like what Dr. Liz says. I wanted to give him whatever room he needed to be honest about how he actually feels but I pushed too hard.

I pause, wanting him to stop me from rambling, but he stays quiet, so I do what I always do whenever I’m unsure what to do—I keep talking, ha.

I know that it’s one of those important conversations—where you walked away feeling seen, understood, and validated. Where a friendship based on trust and respect is cemented.

You’re all, Oh snap, Eddie, what a terrifically touching—and super- sappy—moment.
Seriously, the only way that could’ve gotten any sappier is if it were in the middle of the forest.

We try to corral him.
We try getting ahead of him.
We try boxing him in and forcing him to run into one of us.

Trey does what only the most special of athletes can do: He kicks things up a notch, throwing himself into high gear and leaving the three of us to gawk in admiration, amazement...and, okay, maybe a pinch of jealousy, too, because dang, dude has Superman speed.

In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s got a whole other gear he could ratchet up to, if need be.

“It looks like Trey’s eaten enough of Mr. Bubble’s doggy dust to last him a lifetime, and he’s packing it in. Even still, what a valiant effort by that young man. He should hold his head high.”

“Miracle of miracles, Trey Davis does it again,” I say. “This guy’s special.”
"Understatement of the year, Edster,” Sonia says.

Maybe it’s because we realize that we’re more resilient, more adaptable than what we gave ourselves credit for.

“Because you’re not an ageist, bound to caveman rules whereby gender or age has no bearing on who gets what, because all of us are equal.”

X begrudgingly nods. “Right. That.”