Seeing it on paper makes it real. It makes my stomach clench.
Ozzy taps the pen again. “Okay. Back to the list. Something lighter.”
I swallow. “I’ve never… traveled. Like, real travel. I’ve never been on a vacation.”
Ozzy’s eyebrows lift. “Not even a beach?”
I laugh bitterly. “My beach was the curb outside my apartment. I’d sit on it and pretend it was sand.”
Ozzy’s eyes darken with something fierce.
I rush to add, “But it’s fine. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look like he believes the word “fine” exists.
He writes:
Vacation someday (actual sand)
My chest does something weird at the word someday. Like it might be possible.
Ozzy looks up again. “What about fun? What do you like?”
I hesitate, then say the truth. “The skatepark.”
His eyes brighten slightly. “What do you love most about skating?”
“Well.” My mouth tilts, pride flickering. “It’s the only time my brain shuts up.”
“We need to find you a board,” he says.
My chest tightens. “No.”
He pauses. “No?”
“I don’t want you buying me things,” I say quickly, the words sharper than I mean. “I don’t— I can’t—” I stop, because the truth is ugly. Because accepting things makes me feel owned. Because the moment someone gives me something, my body braces for the part where they take something back.
Ozzy’s gaze stays steady. “Okay,” he says calmly. “Then I’ll phrase it differently.”
I blink.
He sets the pen down and leans forward slightly. “I’m not buying you a board because you’re a charity case.”
My breath catches.
“I’m buying you a board,” he continues, “because it makes me furious that you lost yours. And because you deserve to have something that’s yours again. And because—” his mouth twitches, “—I want you to teach me.”
I stare at him. “Teach you?”
Ozzy nods, eyes gleaming. “Skateboard lessons. From you.”
I snort. “You’re going to die.”
“Probably,” he agrees. “But it’ll be a noble death.”