2. I'm Going Camping with Socko, These Two Really Hot Girls We Met at the Junkyard, aaaaand Socko's Grandmother. Incase there are bears.
While both were artists and friends, Socko and Spencer didn't run in the same circles a lot. She was friends with all kinds of people. There were some normal people, like him-if Tyler and their cousins could be considered normal- and then there were people who were literally trying to turn themselves into lizards by getting green scales tattooed everywhere and cutting their tongues in half, people who practiced magic, or spoke to ghosts, and a lot of them had names like Plum or Juicy. When she wasn't hosting art exhibits in a ware-house space she owned, she was at a concert, or a cook-out, or off on some non-violent protesting thing, some kind of Statement that needed to be made.
Spencer preferred a less social week. He liked having his calendar with space in it. That way he could be sure to be there for Carly if ever she needed him, and if she didn't need him, he could think about his next project. He spent hours imagining and planning, and then hours creating. He never craved a crowd and if he did, two days with Socko and her friends usually lasted him a few weeks.
His life was all himself, his work, and Carly, with the occasional spice of Socko.
He liked it that way.
In this way, three years passed and the joke of misunderstood genders was maintained, since they never really saw each other's friends. For Carly, Socko continued being an ambiguous man who possessed wicked talents with socks and tiny light bulbs. And for anyone who asked Socko about the art she exhibited,Shay continued being just another one of the creative women that Socko tended to know. No one ever asked for his first name in the same way that Carly never asked for Socko's. After all, in the circles of artists, it was typical for someone to have only one name.
Carly was in high school, a full fledge teenager with teenager issues that demanded a lot of Spencer's Guardianship. At first it was nothing he wasn't ready to handle. Just girl stuff. She was in love with a boy and then she wasn't. She was mad at Sam and then she wasn't. He had loads of time for himself and his art. But after Carly began the eleventh grade, Spencer decided if he lived to be a hundred years old he never wanted a daughter because if it was this hard with a sister—no wonder Dad left it all to him.
For one thing, she thought she knew everything. And she didn't. But if she didn't get her way she pitched a fit and called Dad, who spoiled her to make up for not being there. So she always got her way in the end, one way or another. It only worsened her illusion that the world was easy and people were always nice. He tried talking to Carly about it but she wouldn't listen because she thought she knew everything. It sparked plenty of shouting matches between them that ended with slammed doors and calls to Dad.
Besides all that, Spencer liked to think he was a cool guardian. He never forced her to do chores or anything like that (she did them anyway because she was a neat freak) and he stressed the importance of expressing oneself. He remembered what it was like to be a teenager and he knew the harder he tried to be involved in this period of her life the worse it would get. She had to figure things out herself, make her own mistakes. But not too many. Nothing huge.
Sheesh how did parents do it? How did they keep themselves from literally locking their daughters in towers like in the fairytales so nothing bad ever happened to them? What a simple, beautiful idea. Lock her up, save all the trouble for the noble knight who would rescue her and marry her. Let him take care of her. Done. Free to worry about nothing.
But then she found her noble knight and Spencer's worries did anything but disappear. In fact they doubled. She was dating Gibby, who was less awkward these days with scruff on his jaw, and Spencer was grounding her for missing curfew. Dad got her a car and she got a speeding ticket. Gibby got her a ring and Spencer, with a bug in his ear that'd been planted back when Socko made him blush on the bus, put Carly on The Pill.
It'd been an awkward decision, but all the movies and commercials were saying the same thing. Kids would try—heck, he did—and it was better to educate them. Prepare them so nothing bad happened. So embarrassed that she couldn't even say most of the words she was being forced to use, she'd promised that those were way over cautionary because she and Gibby weren't—hadn't…you know…because it was just way too…yikes and sheesh she so didn't need…those. He believed her because he just needed to. Gibby still wasn't allowed in the house when Spencer was gone and her curfew was tighter than ever.
He just tried to stay cool, connected, but aloof. But it was way easier said than done. It was a one-day-at-a-time thing, being there for his growing-up sister. By her senior year, he could barely plan a full week ahead of time. He could see a lot of it had to do with the kind of girl he taught her to be. Her confidence and ideals seemed to butt heads with a lot of people, to cause jealousy and betrayals and the like.
Her life right now was like sensitive explosives that could blow at any small impact and then no matter what he was hoping to accomplish, no matter who he'd been planning to go camping with, he had to cancel and help her deal with these things no one could change. Things like losing friends because they had grown too far apart as they discovered themselves; things like loving a boy so much she couldn't breathe and he wasn't interested in her anymore. Things like not having a mom when she needed one the most.
Starved for a crowd of people his own age, he began to crave the spice of Socko and her intense friends. But those wild weekends were fewer and farther between these days. Socko was involved in a project to build schools in Africa. He got emails full of pictures but no camping trips.
Then the morning he turned thirty, he woke up and found he already had a voicemail waiting for him.
"HAP-PEE BIRTH-DAAY BUDDY-BUDDY-BUDDY!"
Spencer listened to the rest of the message and then got out of bed. He was still grinning an hour later as he emerged from the hallway into the living room.
Carly was crying. Who knew why any more. Spencer sighed.
"What's wrong?"
Sam's answer was five or six carefully chosen words full of venom. Freddie clarified by launching into a detailed story full of drama, love, hate, and confusion. Spencer had heard it all before with the names in different places and gave his same answers because they were the only ones he had. The only ones anyone had.
"Sorry kiddo. Hang in there. It'll all work out," he said sympathetically, trying to make the words sound brand new, but they just sounded bored and distracted. Freddie looked around, saw that Spencer was holding his helmet and keys.
"Are you going somewhere?" Freddie asked.
Spencer hesitated. "Well, my buddy Socko just got back from Madagascar and he's throwing me a big three-day-late birthday barbeque at the camp grounds, and I was going to meet him at the airport but..."
The joke came so naturally now that Spencer didn't even have to think before referring to his buddy Socko as a man in front of Carly. Carly sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Spencer, I'm okay. You don't have to stay. It's your birthday weekend, go have fun."
She didn't look okay. Spencer started to protest. "Yeah but you're—"
"Please!" Carly said. "Don't make me feel worse for ruining your plans."
"We'll take care of her." Sam promised. Freddie nodded.
Spencer couldn't resist his chance to have fun since forever. He cheered and had the door open before guilt made him pause. He looked back at Carly.
"You sure?"
"GET OUTTA HERE! I can take care of myself."
He smiled. "Proud of you, kiddo! Later!"
It was actually a beautifully sunny day. Spencer let up on the throttle and wove through the traffic outside of the airport, looking for bell pepper red hair. When that failed him, he leaned low and checked out the legs, looking for knee high socks. Bingo.
And wow.
He laughed outright as he parked and pulled off his helmet.
"HI!" she called happily. She was wearing shorts and a loose comfortable white t-shirt, golden bangles on her wrists and socks with stripes that flashed one after the other, like running Christmas lights, bouncing from her knees to her favorite red sneakers. But those weren't what drew the double-takes from passersby.
"YOU SHAVED YOUR HEAD?" he shouted hopping off the bike.
"ONLY PART OF IT!" she yelled back, twisting and turning so that he could see all angles. Exactly half her head was buzz-cut. The other half was bleached blonde, highlighted with purple and black and twisted into a braid that rested on her shoulder.
Spencer's eyebrows were bunched together as he took in this new style, and his lips stretched further and further into a smile when he perceived the tattoo the no-hair revealed. It was another star like the ones falling down her arm. He wondered how many of those she really had and then she was hugging him and cackling loudly.
He hugged back. She took a deep breath and stepped back to look around. "Oh it's so great to be home! I can't believe how much I missed this place!"
He really couldn't believe how much he'd missed her.
"How was it?" he asked.
"HOT but amazing! Oh I wish you could have come with us, you won't believe some of the stories!"
"Can't wait to hear 'em," he said, taking her bag.
"You cut your hair!" she cried, reaching up and yanking one of his short locks that stuck out in all directions from the helmet.
He chortled. "YEAH! I got a funny story about that but you HAVE to tell me about Africa and the school and all of that first."
"You don't really want to hear the details," she said, speaking from years of experience trying to share only to find that his eyes had glazed over.
He shrugged, still smiling. "Sure I do."
Those bright blue eyes looked up at him through thick eyelashes, her eyelids lowered in speculation. Spencer suddenly realized something and looked away, licked his lips. The potentially awkward moment was dashed away when she flashed perfectly white teeth, twirled over to the bike and crammed the spare helmet onto her head. "Let's go! Your party's starting without us!"
"YEAHEH!" he shouted, forgetting the weirdness that had just happened. He pumped a fist and hopped on in front of her. When she wrapped her arms around him he remembered that thing again and felt butterflies in his stomach as they roared away.
...
Camping.
Socko and her eclectic group of friends had a place. Spencer had no idea who owned it, and if the owner was aware that masses often flocked there for long weekends, weddings, and the occasional may pole, but it was beautiful and secluded, and always full of people.
Her people.
Jeeps only made it so far into the wilderness. Where the dirt road ended, the walking trail began. It was a ten minute hike through a twisty green trail. The path was extremely well-worn. There were tire tracks from four wheelers and golf carts, and the occasional gurney or two. It was an easy walk, no big hills, no rocks, just trees on either side, and the occasional sound of a stream or distant waterfall.
Walking down it, Spencer always felt like he was leaving civilization behind with every step. Yet suddenly around a bend there would be a tent and outside it any number of surprising things; a grill, a TV, a cloths line, a drum circle complete with girl-dancing inside.
Socko greeted a lizard man warmly as they went by; Spencer gave a smile, but tried not to make eye contact. He and Socko tried to keep going but what ended up happening was that Spencer got ahead and Socko kept lagging behind, with just one more thing to say.
As she fell into a conversation about the living conditions in Africa, Spencer was forced to stop—he was safe, too far away to be included in the conversation. He waited patiently with his hands in his coat pockets. Under the thick foliage of the forest, Socko's socks were casting reddish light around her in a pulsing spotlight around her feet. He watched the alternating colors, and lost track of Socko's conversation as he noticed the curve of her calf under the sock.
She had strong calves. He'd never noticed before. Maybe it was a new thing. Maybe she walked everywhere she went in Africa. He would have to ask. He realized he was staring at her legs.
Lizard guy now had a baby on his hip and a lady lizard beside him. They were talking about Socko's flight.
He drew in a deep breath and turned to study the scenery. Birds called shrilly from the abundant foliage around them. River rapids roared nearby. Aside from the blue tent of the lizard family, he saw no other signs of people, but he could hear them. A distant girl was giggling and shrieking wildly with the baritones of a man supporting her high voice with his own deep gutted laugh.
"Sorry," Socko breathed, suddenly at his side. She slipped and arm around his, golden bangles jangling. They were walking again.
"No problem."
"So what's been going on in your life?" She asked, giving his arm a squeeze.
"The usual," he said with a shrug, then he cried, "GAH! I can't believe how much I've missed you!" as he squeezed her arm in return.
She laughed as his voice reverberated through the trees around them. "You nut."
"I'm the nut?" Spencer laughed, "I'm the nut? YOU TATTOOED YOUR HEAD!" He stopped and ran a hand over that side of her head.
"Aha," she laughed, "I was wondering when you'd mention it!"
Buzz-cut hair had that always-surprising delightful feeling under his palm, like velvet. He rubbed it a couple of times, a goofy grin on his lips, as she said, "It hurt like hell, but I love it—it's my favorite one."
Spencer scoffed, "Of course you love it the most, if it hurt the most."
Socko laughed, one low gaffaw. A moment passed in silence.
Seriously, the feel of a buzzed scalp was so interesting. Spencer couldn't get enough of it—he vaguely recalled rubbing his dad's head when he was a small boy. Other than that, he hadn't spent a lot of time rubbing shaved heads, though he'd known plenty of guys with the style. It just wasn't something a guy did to other guys.
It felt so awesome, Spencer kind of wondered why.
Socko broke the momentary silence with, "You gonna rub my head all day?"
"Maybe," he replied and he surprised himself with that playfully low and smooth tone he used with the ladies—ha!—but wait…
Socko was a lady. Well, she had the lady-parts anyway; her personality wasn't exactly like the princesses he hunted for—she was his wing man for Pete's sake, faithfully backing up whatever bogus story he came up with to snare a giggly blonde or a shy brunette. She was practically just another guy like Tyler, always blunt and curious about his conquests (which he was only ever too happy to brag about to bask in praise.) Yet here he was, unable to get the shape of her legs out of his head.
His hand was still on her head but not moving, his palm and splayed fingers covering the big star there as they warmed that side of her scalp. Her ear, left bare with no hair to hide in, had a lady bug on it. He brushed it off.
"Gotta girl?" she asked suddenly.
"Not on me," Spencer replied in that same smooth tone, one side of his mouth quirked up.
"Haha, yet." Socko said, going to her toes and putting her face so close to his to say it that he smelled peppermint tea on her breath. A moment later she was back in her space and he in his and they were walking in step down the path, laughing.
Someone had strung up white Christmas lights through the trees. The light they emitted was enough to see the paths in the night. Tiki torches or lanterns, or fire pits lit the rest of the sprawling camp yards.
The smell of grilled hot dogs filled the air, mingling with the natural forest-y smells of dirt and fresh water rapids as well as smokes of the wood, cigarette, and weed varieties. A live band was picking away furiously at an assortment of string instruments. There were some hand drums and someone had a flute and was playing it very well.
Spencer was having a blast. It had been far too long since he'd had his dose of her world. "Don't ever run off to Africa again."
They were sitting on a log around a fire. Children were roasting weenies and adults were doing a dramatic poetry reading. Socko sighed, rolling her eyes and giving him a playful shove, nearly knocking him from the log. "You know you are welcome here without an invitation from me!"
"Yeah, but I don't know half these people as well as I know you."
"That's because you never see them without me!"
"Well they aren't as much fun without you," he said, lowly, of course, so as not to offend. There was a beefy guy nearby and he scared Spencer a little bit. To be heard over the intense dramatic shouts of the poetry reading, he'd had to lean out of his personal space bubble and into hers for a visit to say it.
Now he didn't want to go back.
The firelight was doing something awesome with her eyes and turning her skin all sherbet-y on her shaved side and full of shifting shadows of darkest purple on her other side. Her braid there had purple on it. He liked purple.
"I haven't given you your present yet," she said.
"This is my present," he said, meaning the whole party but then he found that he meant just being with her, close to her, like this.
She stood suddenly. He stood, too. She was calling for someone to bring her "the thing" and he was wandering what in the hell had just happened. Someone that Spencer actually liked a lot, a guy called Rocky who maybe liked rock climbing a little too much but who was smart and nice, arrived with a big flat box.
"It's real African wood," Socko said, "This here is Swahili. It's a prayer—a birthday prayer, actually. It's for sketch pads, and drawing things."
"Whoa. It's beautiful," he said, taking it and eyeing the carving of the foreign words. He spotted his name in there and smiled—it was still Spencer, even in Swahili. How cool! He put it under one arm.
"Thanks," he said and without putting much thought into it, but with twice as much confidence and smoothness, he stepped forward on one foot, put a hand on her lower back to pull her in, and kissed her.
Suddenly a noise, which had through the whole of the last five minutes been persistently growing louder and fiercer—a human voice sprouting intense emotional words—ended abruptly. Applause broke out for the grand finish of the poetry reading. Spencer kept kissing Socko, oblivious. Then the box wasn't under his arm anymore—Rocky had taken it off his hands for him. He was cool like that.
She kissed him back, her arms snaking under his to wrap around his body to form a kissing hug, the regular hug's much sexier cousin and Spencer's favorite. When they resurfaced for air, they were both breathless and amazed.
"Awesome," Spencer breathed.
"Yeah," Socko said and then her mouth was covering his.
He could have kissed her in the Christmas lit woods all night. When the first fat drops of rain hit their heads, their string of deep kisses broke. Rain. Spencer had been here enough to know what that meant. Suddenly, the whole camp was moving as everyone began getting anything of value into a safe dry place.
Spencer realized the time, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Carly's number.
"Hola, mi amigo," Freddie answered.
"Fred, where's Carls?"
"In the shower," he said, and Spencer smiled. He heard it in the boy's tone. She'd been in there for a while.
"Okay, well, tell her to call me when she gets out," he said. "It's raining so I'm just going to camp out here and come home in the morning."
"Ah, bueno," Freddie said, "I'll tell her."
"Thanks,"
He hung up, shoved his phone into his pocket, spied someone who needed help, and dashed forward to help untangle the generator cords from the underbrush. The rain was getting stronger, and the density of the forest wouldn't protect them much longer.
After helping with the electric wires, he helped someone move in a reclining chair, someone else to erect a tent, and had just helped gather up a scattering of cardboard and paper that had been in the process of becoming picket signs, when the rain was finally hard enough to start soaking through his jacket.
He dunked against the rain as he sprinted down the sodden paths to what he thought of as the corner of Rock Face and Downhill. Socko's tent, which flashed with squiggly lights, was set up in front of a rocky crag at the top of a hill that led down to a swimming hole. She was already inside, brushing raindrops from her shaved side.
He dunked low to slip into the tent, folded his long legs up and sneakers squeaked on the tent floor. She zipped it up behind him. The squiggly lights outside the tent cast little squiggly lights down on everything inside it. The lights on Socko's socks were still bouncing up and down her legs, lighting up half the tent.
"Stuck here, I guess," she said, turning from the door. She was still standing, hunched over.
Spencer said nothing in reply, just sat smiling at her remembering all the kissing. She sat down beside him. Butterflies were back in Spencer's stomach and he was remembering that thing again, the thing that he'd remembered in the airport; it's been awhile.
They sat smiling in silence for neither knew how long. Then he kissed her.
Her skin was smooth as he pushed his hands under her shirt, slid up her back to pull it over her head. She broke his impassioned kiss to recline herself onto her sleeping bag. He followed, unable to keep his lips too far from hers. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a smile as she wiggled out of her shorts. He found another starfall that began between her breasts and disappeared beneath the hem of black cotton underwear.
He told himself it was the cold rain seeped into his coat that was making him shiver, but the coat was gone now, and between the two of them, nearly everything but her socks were gone, too. The squiggly lights raced over all of her bare skin, and he chased them with his lips.
She was pushing his t-shirt up and he was holding his gut in, making plans to keep it held in the whole time when—
Burrrring! Burrrring!
His phone vibrated as it rang from his coat pocket in the corner. He could not freaking believe it. He groaned. Laughing, she reached for it and handed it to him. He would have ignored it, but it was Carly. He drew a deep breath, tried his best to find a calm place where he might sound normal.
"Yep?" he answered.
"Hey," It was Carly. "Freddie said you're staying the night there?"
He glanced down at Socko reclined beneath him without a shirt and answered, "Yeah, something came up." he laughed, unable to stop himself, "It's raining, I came here on my bike, and you know how bad the roads can get on the way up here."
"No I don't, I've never been there,"
"It's a figure of speech, Carls," Spencer said, "The roads are bad."
She laughed and he asked, "So, is the crisis over?'
Socko was walking her fingers up his stomach, sliding them back down, and walking them back up as Carly sighed heavily on the other end of the line, "For now."
"I'm sorry I'm not there." He said batting Socko's hands away. He mouthed stop it! but she just started touching other things.
"It's fine." Carly said.
He somehow managed to grab both Socko's hands, holding a knot of all ten of her fingers in just five of his.
"Okay, well, I gotta go." Spencer said as he pinned Socko's hands to the ground above her head. "Lock the door, don't let anybody stay over—including Sam—and I'll be home in the morning."
"Okay, love you."
"Love you, kiddo." He hung up and tossed the phone away, pointed down at Socko, "Are you trying to kill me?"
She laughed, her fingers slipping under the elastic hem of his boxers, "No, that part comes at the end."
Spencer's laugh and cry of "OH YEAHEH!" was loud enough for the neighboring tents to now be in on the events of the night, especially with Socko's wild laughter to follow it, but neither cared.
Spencer had shared a sleeping bag with ladies before. After all, camping was the only time he ever got to, as Dad put it, "live the bachelor life" since he made it a point to never bring girls over to the apartment for the night.
But this time was different.
It wasn't the socks, either; no, one or two of the other girls had been big fans of Socko's socks, so their glow wasn't what made things different. It was the girl who made the socks. He knew much more about her than her name and life's ambition, which was a vast improvement from the others. So maybe that was why they fit and moved and strained together so well.
He knew what she liked in the world, which made it easy to guess what she liked in a sleeping bag and she was right when she guessed what he liked, and afterward, Spencer was exhausted, but far too happy to really notice.
He dropped off to sleep with the sound of rain on the tent canvas and Socko's breathing beside him, against him, tickling over his chest. He didn't dream. Spencer usually considered a night without a dream a disappointment, but not this time; no dream could have outmatched reality tonight.
He woke to twittering sounds of morning birds. For a split second, he didn't know where he was, and it was a surprise to find a whole lot of lady-skin mashed up against him. All at once his belated birthday barbeque rushed back at him, and he thanked Jesus, Yaweh, and Buddah for the rain.
Socko's tattooed arm was draped over his chest like a quilt would be. He studied the design of stars there, each one just like the one on her head, and he smiled at the memory of finding all the others. She had lots more. He couldn't think of ever having had more fun than that.
It was several minutes before the rest of the world came back to him. He sighed. He had to go home and check on Carly. He peeled away from Socko and dressed. He was tying up his shoes when she woke.
He crawled over her, supported himself above her with that turtle smile back. "Morning star shine," he said.
"Morning," she slurred, eyes still foggy. He kissed her long and sweetly. "I gotta go."
She stuck out a lower lip, her eyes fluttering shut. She must have been exhausted, doing what she did for him after a flight back from Africa. That was stamina, no wonder she was so skinny.
He kissed the puckered lip, "Get some rest. Call me later."
"Bye, bye," she sighed, eyes still closed. A moment later she was asleep again. He had a ridiculously big smile on his face as he pulled on his coat, found his phone, and unzipped the tent flap.
Outside was fresh and bright and Spencer was sure there were new things added to the world. He'd never seen that shade of green before—and what kind of bird was that with the pretty sounding melody?
He found Rocky, who returned his box to him with a knowing smile and wink. Rocky walked with him back down the path to his motorcycle, trying to winkle out some details, but it was all much too new and awesome for Spencer to be ready to share. Rocky clapped him on the back as he tied his box to his bike. "I congratulate you, sir. She's a hellova a lot of woman."
Spencer found he knew exactly what he meant. He laughed and was instantly afraid it might have been a girly sounding laugh, but then he decided he didn't care. He swung a leg over his bike, said goodbye to Rocky, and kicked it into life. The roar of the engine filled the serene forest around the dirt road. He lingered a moment after buckling on his helmet, to look back down the trail where Rocky had disappeared. He thought of Socko, her white, black and purple hair splayed out around one side of her head.
His whole world was changed now.
He pulled the clutch, twisted the gas and headed home.
...
The apartment was quiet. It was seven in the morning on a Saturday. Spencer went straight up to Carly's room and looked in on her, as he used to do every morning when she first moved in with him—a kind of reassurance that nothing went horribly wrong with her in the night under his care.
Then he took a shower and then dug a sketch pad and pencils out of his closet. He was starting the shading when Carly slumped down stairs.
"You're back,"
"Hey kiddo,"
"Have fun?"
"Tons," he laughed. She stopped, frowned at him.
"You're sketching."
"So?"
He looked up. She was standing beside the counter, smiling at him. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she was still in her pajamas. She held a glass of carrot juice.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing. You just look all smiley," she said and her tone was a little too all-knowing. She was eighteen now, old enough to catch on to why he went camping at all.
He blushed and went back to his sketch. She laughed and headed back upstairs.
AN: I don't know what I like better, Spencer managing to sound so casual on the phone with Carly while in a sleeping bag with someone, or this brother/sister conversation on the matter...eh, who am i kidding, Spencer in a sleeping bag FTW :) What do you think