Page 25 of Already Falling

“That is probably the opposite of weird, and a hundred percent does not count.”

I chuckle and say, “Yeah, except new means new to me. So, for example, I’m watching my dad’s favorite movies I’ve never seen. Like old westerns and cheesy nineties comedies.”

“I will say it again, that is not weird. In fact, it is very cool. How dare you say that is a weird hobby.” I cannot help but laugh at her response. She does not let that feisty demeanor of hers fade a bit.

“All right, stone skipping.”

“Excuse me? What? Did you say stone skipping?”

I nod, a chuckle pouring out of me. “You heard me. That’s my weird hobby. Whenever I’m near a body of water, I look for some rocks and try to skip stones as far as I can throw, trying to make as many bounces as possible.”

“Prove it,” she says, giving me a squint and then nodding toward the ocean.

I get up and scope out the sand. Not too many rocks are around today, so I walk a bit closer to the water until I find a decent-shaped stone. It’s smooth and flat. I can probably skip this a few times. I turn around, waving the rock to Annika as she sits on the blankets. I notice she’s moved over to the blanket I was sitting on. She has her legs crossed and her arms propping her up behind. I have a sudden urge to run over and tackle her. She gives me a big thumbs up, which is my cue. I turn around, wind up my arm and skip the rock into the ocean. It takes 6 fast skips before plopping into the water.

Annika starts slow-clapping for me as I return to our spot on the beach. “Wow, very impressive, Parker, but still not that weird. I’m weirdly impressed if anything.”

“Whatever, maybe you just think all my weird hobbies are fun and cute ‘cuz you like me or something,” I say, nudging her shoulder.

She gives me another glorious eye roll and says, “I don’t remember when I said they were cute, but okay.” I notice her face blushing a bit in response.

“Lay it on me. I bet I won’t find your weird hobby that weird at all.”

“Okay, fine.” She looks off like she’s thinking about it. Or maybe she is thinking if she wants to tell me the truth. “I like collecting postcards.”

“That’s not—”

“No, no, not like new postcards. Although I usually pick up at least one from museum gift shops. I like going to garage sales and flea markets and finding old postcards that were already written on and mailed. I like seeing the little messages that people write and the old stamps. There’s something nostalgic about it. I think it’s sweet, and not many people send postcards anymore.”

I can tell she wants to keep going on because she leans forward and starts taking her jacket off, so I stay quiet while she goes on.

“Chloe and I used to send postcards to each other when we’d go away on a holiday break. It’s silly, but I like it. For my birthday in October, Chloe took me to a tattoo parlor, and I got a little stamp tattoo on my back shoulder.”

“Okay, that has to be the dopest hobby I’ve ever heard of, especially when it involves a tattoo. Can I see it?”

She nods and turns her back right shoulder toward me. She’s wearing a T-shirt, so she lifts the sleeve up a bit, and then I see the little one-inch tattoo peeking out. It’s a black line work tattoo of an old stamp. It has swirly edges and an ornate rose on the inside with the number eighteen in the corner. My instinct is to give it a little kiss where the rose is. But I refrain.

“How did you decide what number to pick?”

“Well,.” She shuffles back, facing me, putting her sleeve down. “I thought about putting my birth year, but I’ll always remember that. But I might not remember when I got my first tattoo, so I thought my age would be better.”

“I love it. That’s the best tattoo story I’ve heard. I don’t have any myself.”

“Well, thanks. Maybe you should get a tattoo of a rock.” She falls back laughing at her own joke.

“Ha ha, don’t joke, I just might.”

“I still think my hobby is weirder. Both of yours are total normal hobbies. So you still owe me a weird fact about you.”

“Oh, I probably have a lot of weird facts, but I’ll give you one. My car doesn’t have a radio.”

“And?”

I knock my head back laughing. She’s relentless. “Well, since it has no radio, I’ll sing songs in my car with no music playing.”

This must’ve hit a target for Annika because now she plops her back against the blanket, laughing hard. She’s even holding on to her belly as she cackles. I think I see tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“Are you crying? Do you pity me that much?” That only makes her laugh even more.