Narrowing my eyes, I put a hand on his stomach – the stomach that I was kind of riding yesterday – and give him a push. He leans back and I say, “Very funny. Why do you call your bike by a name that you call me? And while we’re on the subject, let’s talk about why do you call me Blue?” Zach throws a look at my hair and shrugs. “Yeah, that is a mystery.” “I didn’t get blue hair until the eighth grade. You’ve been calling me Blue since day one.”
Your eyes.
