Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

West the wuss," started up at lunchtime the next day at school he thought wearily that this would keep going and going like it always had, no matter where they moved or what adults thought.
    One of Jesse Snyder's friends grabbed West's sketchbook from the stack of books under his arm and waved it around. "Look what I got! West the wuss's stuff!" He danced around with it, laughing and waving the book, and for the first time West got angry. Really angry, too, enough that he felt his face grow hot and his fists clench, and he was about to fly at the kid and pummel him until he gave the book back when he felt an arm go around his shoulders— a friendly arm, not one that was going to lock around him and drag him down— and Riley said, "Lay off, assholes."
    Jesse Snyder laughed at them. The girls were always sighing over him, saying how cute he was, and West thought in his secret heart that Jesse Snyder was pretty cute if you ignored everything else about him, but his laugh was ugly and wrong. "You're friends with West the wuss?"
    "So what if I am?" said Riley, lifting his chin, and West stared at him in amazement. He didn't dare put an arm around Riley too, he knew that would be pushing it too far, but he relaxed for the first time since the first day of school and gazed back at Jesse, who looked at them like he didn't know what to do. Riley was the only boy taller than Jesse in the class, and with his mysterious battle wounds he looked far more dangerous than Jesse could hope for. When Riley smiled, it was like Riley knew how to hurt, really hurt, and wasn't afraid to show it. "Now give the book back."
    The other boys shuffled uncomfortably, and the kid with the sketchbook held in his hands and looked at Jesse like he was waiting for orders. Finally he handed West the book and muttered, "I'm just having fun, Jesus." They trickled away like a pack of confused puppies, even Jesse Snyder, who looked like he didn't know what had happened.
    West exhaled and muttered, "Thanks," and Riley said, "Anytime," and let him go.
    They ate lunch together that day, and the day after and the day after that. On Friday Riley took West to the garden of the church and they climbed the oak tree and carved their initials, RC and WC, high on the trunk where no would see it but them.
    "This tree will be famous someday," Riley said as he carved. "I'm going to be a world-famous musician when I get out of here, and people will come from miles around to see what I did when I was a kid."
    "Only rock stars get famous," West said. "Not people who play violins."
    Riley flicked some bark at him. "There are famous violin players. I've seen their CDs in the store. I'm going to play for presidents and kings and people will swoon at my feet because my music is so divine." He handed West the pocketknife. "And you'll draw me. They'll pay you thousands of dollars to draw me like only you can."
    West blushed and muttered, "I'm not going to be famous," as he started his own initials, and he was flattered that Riley thought it might happen.
    ****
    Now West was twenty-five. He wasn't famous, but even worse— he'd never really wanted to be famous, anyway, that was Riley's daydream— he hadn't had a good conversation with Riley since their sophomore year of college. He hadn't had a conversation with Riley at all aside from the occasional "Hey, buddy!" email, and the last one had been over a year ago. Now Riley was back in Seattle and West didn't know what to do about it except smile when Riley came into the coffee shop and waved to him before getting in line to get his coffee.
    West exhaled, told himself it would be two friends catching up, and managed to keep the smile going until Riley was sitting at the table across from him.
    "You start," said West. "Why did you come back to Seattle?"
    "Just got hired by the Seattle symphony," Riley said. "Second violin. It's not a prestigious position or anything, but it's a beginning."
    "It's still pretty amazing," said West. "A symphony— that's fantastic."
    Riley smiled and looked at West through his lashes. "What about you? What are you doing home?"
    "Getting my master's degree in psychology."
    That got a cocked head and narrowed eyes again. "Didn't you major in art? I always thought you'd go into art."
    "Majored in art and minored in psychology," said West. "And now I'm studying art therapy. I'm using my talents to take care of people."
    "You always were good at that," Riley said, and they looked at each other for a