Chapter 21: Ricky

It’s been exactly one week since the "Secret Relationship Pact" was signed in the shadows of the East Shore High auditorium, and I’m still not sure if I’m a genius or the world’s biggest masochist.

In the hallways, Roxie is a masterpiece of cold indifference. She walks past me with a look that suggests I’m a particularly annoying smudge on the floor tiles. But then, my phone will buzz in my pocket with a text that just says “Car wash. 10 minutes,” and for an hour, the world actually makes sense. It’s exhausting but it’s also thrilling, and today, it’s my eighteenth birthday.

I’m officially an adult, though I don’t feel any different. I still drive a van with a misspelled band name and I’m still hopelessly stuck on a girl who treats me like a stranger in public.

I was sitting in the living room, trying to tune out the sound of Manny playing with his noisy plastic trucks, when the doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting her to actually show up at the house. We’d talked about it, but seeing her standing on my porch—without the "Ice Queen" entourage—was a total trip. She wasn't wearing the feathers or the high-fashion armor. Just jeans and a soft sweater, looking like a girl who wasn't worried about her reputation for five seconds.

"Happy Birthday, loser," she whispered as I pulled her inside.

The next hour was surprisingly... normal? I introduced her to Mom, who immediately went into "hostess mode," trying to shove cake and soda down Roxie’s throat. Georgie was leaning against the kitchen counter, smirking at me every time Roxie and I accidentally brushed hands. Even Manny seemed to like her, mostly because she didn't mind when he ran his toy cars over her shoes.

For a minute, I forgot about the secrets. I forgot about the "Rising Moon" lies and the East Shore drama. It just felt like a guy, his girl, and his family.

Then the phone rang.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, the air turning thick and heavy. Mom picked it up, her smile faltering as she listened to the voice on the other end. She looked at me, her eyes filled with that familiar, desperate hope that always makes my stomach turn.

"It’s your father," she said softly, holding the phone out. "He... he remembered. He wants to wish you a happy eighteenth, Ricky."

I felt the heat rise in my neck, the birthday high evaporating into cold, jagged anger. Roxie noticed it immediately; she went quiet, her hand slipping away from where it had been resting near mine on the table.

"I told you, Mom," I said, my voice low. "I'm not doing this. Not today."

"Ricky, it’s a big milestone," Mom pleaded, stepping closer. "He’s been calling all morning."

"I would like to not speak to him."

"He just wants to say hey. Just a 'thank you' for the call, that’s all. Please, for me?"

I looked at her, and then I looked at Georgie, who was staring at the floor, and then at Roxie, who looked like she wanted to disappear into the upholstery. The pressure was suffocating. It felt like everyone was waiting for me to be the "bigger person," to play the part of the forgiving son for the sake of a quiet house.

"No," I said, standing up. The chair scraped against the floor with a harsh, jarring sound. "Mom, you promised me. We had a deal. You said you wouldn't force this. You said you wouldn't push."

"I'm not pushing, I'm just—"

"You are pushing," I interrupted, the angst of the last few months boiling over. "It's my birthday. I'm an adult."

"Your dad really misses you."

"He left. He walked away from us for a new life, and now he wants to drop in for thirty seconds of 'Happy Birthday' to make himself feel like a good dad?"

"Honey, it's not like that."

"I’m eighteen now. I’m an adult. And as an adult, I’m choosing not to talk to a stranger who happens to have my DNA."

The silence that followed was deafening. Mom’s hand dropped, the phone looking like a lead weight in her grip. She looked hurt, which made me feel like trash, but I couldn't give in. If I did, the boundaries I’d built to keep myself sane would just crumble.

"I'm sorry," Mom whispered, her voice trembling. "I just... I don't want you to be angry forever."

"I'm not angry forever," I said, though my shaking hands told a different story. "I'm just done. There's a difference."

I turned to Roxie, who was looking at me with a mix of shock and something that looked like genuine empathy. She knew what it was like to have a house built on shouting and secrets. She was the only person in the room who actually understood why I couldn't pick up that phone.

"I think... I should probably go," Roxie said quietly, standing up and smoothing out her sweater. She gave Mom a polite, strained smile. "Thank you for the cake, Mrs. Henderson. It was really nice to meet you."

I followed her to the door, the weight of the phone call still hanging over my head like a dark cloud. Once we were out on the porch, away from the eyes of my family, I leaned my head against the doorframe and let out a long, ragged sigh.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I muttered. "Total birthday disaster, right?"

Roxie didn't roll her eyes. She didn't make a sarcastic comment about my drama. She just stepped in close, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her head against my chest.

"You don't have to apologize for having boundaries, Ricky," she whispered. "In my house, we just scream until someone gives up. At least you stand your ground."

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, the scent of her vanilla perfume finally clearing the ghost of that phone call from my brain. "Thanks, Roxie. For coming over. It meant a lot."

"I know and I'm glad I did."

"I know this secret thing won't last long and then we'll be free to do as we please openly."

"It's for now."

"But we're forever."

"Forever."

"Forever."

"Happy Birthday, loser," she said, pulling back just enough to give me a soft, lingering kiss. "I'll see you in the hallways tomorrow. Try not to look too depressed, or people will think I actually said something mean to you."

"I'll do my best," I smirked.

I watched her walk to her car, the "Ice Queen" mask already starting to settle back into place as she checked her reflection in the window. The secret was still there and drama was still there, and my dad was still a ghost on the other end of a phone line. But as the van's engine hummed in the driveway and the sun started to set on my eighteenth year, I realized that for the first time in a long time, I wasn't just an outsider. I was exactly where I needed to be.