‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ I asked, waving my hand in front of Casey’s face. He glared up at me groggily, trying to unclip his helmet.
‘I don’t know, idiot,’ he groaned. ‘Four. Now get out of my way!’
‘Unfortunately the correct answer was six,’ I said, pulling out the two fingers on my other hand that I’d been hiding behind my back. ‘We will have to do brain surgery just to be safe.’
He slapped me in the chest and I laughed, stretching a hand out to help him up.
‘That was quite a stack you took,’ I said, impressed. ‘How fast were you going?’
‘Fast enough that I didn’t see the rock,’ he said, limping over to pick up his skateboard, a hand pressed to his sore back.
‘Really?’ I frowned. ‘That rock was huge. You couldn’t see it.’
He shook his head and sat down on the skateboard, wobbling slightly. ‘Came out of nowhere,’ he grimaced, touching a graze on his knee.
‘Maybe you do need to see an optometrist,’ I laughed. ‘Like a quality paediatric optometrist near me, one that’ll give you a lollipop when you’re done.’
‘Optometrists don’t do that,’ he glared, throwing a pebble at me. ‘Do they?’
‘How would I know,’ I shrugged. ‘Twenty-twenty vision, baby!’
‘You can’t possibly know that if you haven’t been to an optometrist.’
‘I mean, I can avoid gigantic rocks at least,’ I shrugged. ‘Doesn’t need to be much better than that.’
I laughed as he threw a small handful of pebbles this time.
‘I don’t even know if there is an optometrist near me,’ Casey frowned. ‘The one I used to go to as a kid closed down.’
‘Who isn’t, in this economy?’ I said, in a deep-cut parody of my father. Casey didn’t seem to get – or even hear – the joke.
‘I wonder if there’s an optometrist in the Cheltenham area that I could go to.’
‘You could convince your mum to take you to the beach after,’ I nodded. ‘Smart.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Can I come?’
‘With your twenty-twenty vision?’ Casey grinned at me. ‘Why would you be invited?’