Free Days That End in Y by Vikki VanSickle

way. He takes us to a 7-Eleven and gets two giant freezies: red for him, blue for me. I perk up a little. Blue has always been my favourite. I’m not sure what flavour it is — raspberry, blueberry, some kind of berry — but it doesn’t matter, it’s pure delicious. Benji forgot to ask the cashier to snip the top, so I have to tear it with my teeth. I open Benji’s, too, since even his teeth are too delicate.
    It feels good to tear into something ferociously when you’re in a bad mood.
    “Let’s go to the river to eat them,” Benji says.
    Right now, with my skin so hot and sweaty it’s prickling, the river sounds perfect. “Okay.”
    ***
    A few summers ago we discovered our own secret part of the river. Well, not secret — none of the river is private. But every time we came to cool off, we were the only ones there. Less than a ten-minute bike ride from our houses, it has a small strip of beach (gravel, mostly), a willow tree that neither of us is brave enough to climb and a boulder that juts out from the water, perfect for sunning yourself after you cool off in the water.
    As hoped, there is no one else around when we arrive. So far this is the luckiest thing to happen to me all day. I let my bike fall, whip off my backpack and helmet and step out of my shoes, heading for the water. The river isn’t deep, so the water isn’t very cool. But after all that biking, it’s still refreshing to feel it slosh against my ankles. I grab fistfuls of my shorts, yanking the hems up as high as they’ll go, and wade out a bit further.
    Benji takes his shirt and shorts off, folds them neatly and places them on top of his helmet. He wades in up to his waist, wearing just his boxer shorts, and then sinks into the water, carefully keeping his hair from getting wet. At the back of his head a cowlick stands straight up. He looks like a duckling.
    “It’s really nice!” Benji says, dogpaddling in circles around me.
    “Don’t rub it in,” I say.
    “It’s not that nice,” he says dutifully.
    I wish I could take my clothes off as well. There was a time when I would have whipped off my shirt and shorts and dived in with only my underwear on, too. Benji is more like my brother than a friend. But back then I didn’t wear a bra. Everything changes when you start wearing a bra.
    I scratch furiously at the clasp, as if it’s the source of all my problems.
    “I want to go in, just for a minute. Can you turn around?”
    “Sure. I’m going to dry off, anyway.” Benji hauls himself onto the sunning rock. Not only does he face the other way, but he closes his eyes and covers them with his hands. As quickly as I can, I wiggle out of my shorts and sweaty t-shirt, tossing them at the edge of the water. Then I wade back in, plug my nose and plunge into the river. It feels wonderful.
    Underwater, I turn my head slowly, loving the feeling of my hair floating around me. When my nose starts to burn, I emerge, shaking the water from my ears.
    Benji is still sitting with his back to me, eyes covered. I slip my t-shirt back on and haul myself onto the rock beside him. I leave my shorts on the bank. My shirt is long enough, plus it will dry in about five minutes. Wet shorts take forever to dry out.
    I’m surprised to find that there’s barely enough room for the two of us on the sunning rock. The last time we were here, we comfortably sat side by side. Benji scooches over without ever opening his eyes.
    “You can look now.”
    Benji takes away his hands and blinks at me in the sunlight. “Better?”
    “Better. I feel like I can think now.”
    “So what do we do next?” I like how Benji says “we.” It makes me feel less alone.
    It’s strange, but tracking down my father has made me feel lonely. Shouldn’t I feel like I’ve found something?
    “Maybe he went somewhere on a day trip,” I suggest.
    “Or he’s visiting someone.”
    “Or he just happened to be out driving when we went by.”
    There are lots of perfectly good