“If we don’t burn the thing,” I mumble.

“Knock it off, Pynes. We are going to make the best-looking cake you’ve ever seen.”

“Judith, you should find these boys some aprons,” Grandpa says. “Pretty ones with lots of ruffles. And be sure to get a picture — I bet the Valley Times would love to see what some of the Eagle football players do in their spare time.”

“Don’t tease them, Hank,” Gram says. “It’s not nice.”

“Yeah, just tease Benny, Grandpa.”

Benny drops the grocery bag and attempts to put me in a headlock, but I wriggle away before he gets the chance.

We’re both laughing as I grab the bag and head for the kitchen. “Come on, big guy,” I say. “Let’s do this thing.”

The kitchen smells amazing, with the roast cooking away, and my stomach rumbles. I set the bread I bought at Jiffy Mart along with Benny’s grocery bag on the counter before I take out the cake mix and pan. I read the instructions and say, “Well, what do you know. It looks to me like you picked the easiest cake ever. We just have to add water to the mix and that’s it.” I look at him. “Why’d you come here? You could have done this by yourself.”

He shrugs. “This way, if we somehow screw up the easiest cake ever, I can blame you.”

I pull a bowl out of the cupboard. “You’re such a good friend, Ben.”

“I know it.”

“You do realize I’m gonna have to follow you home when it’s done, right? Unless you bought a special cake carrier for your motorcycle while you were at the store too.”

He slaps himself upside the head. “Dang. I didn’t think about that. You’re right. But I’m guessing you don’t have anything better to do tonight. Hey, you can even come in and have some cake with us. Ma would like that.”

I have to say, I do love strawberry shortcake.

“Twist my arm.”

On the way to Benny’s house, the warm wind blows through the open windows of my truck as the sun hangs low in the sky. Benny’s in front of me, on his old Suzuki. He loves that bike almost as much as he loves football.

We drive through town, past the Hasty Freeze with a parking lot full of people. Past Purcell’s New and Used Cars, where most kids get their first cars. And we drive past the Towne Pump, the gas station where we all meet up on Saturday nights, trying to figure out where we can find some fun.

As much as I think about leaving and moving on to bigger and better things, there are moments, like right now, where this small town makes me smile. It is home, after all.

When we reach his house, Benny pulls his bike into the driveway behind his mom’s car. I park on the street, and then I grab the cake and strawberries.

I hand the cake off to him before we go inside. “Nice job, Rachael Ray,” he says before he opens the door and yells, “Happy birthday to the best mother in the whole wide world!”

She peeks her head around the corner. When she sees him carrying a cake, she claps her hands over her mouth and comes all the way out from the kitchen.

“Benny. And Colby. What did you boys do?”

He walks over and hands it to her. “It’s angel food. We made it ourselves. I got strawberries too.”

“Oh my word, it looks wonderful.” She looks at me. “You boys really made it?”

“Sure did,” I say. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Lewis.”

She sets the cake down on the coffee table, pulls Benny into a hug, and kisses him on the cheek. Then she does the same to me.

“Can you stay for dinner, Colby?” she asks. “The lasagna is just about ready. As soon as Ben’s dad and brother get here, we’ll eat.”

“Ma, you shouldn’t have cooked,” Benny says. “We could have taken you out.”

“I don’t mind,” she says. “As long as we’re together, that’s the important thing. So, Colby, you staying?”

“Yeah, my grandparents aren’t expecting me home for a while. They know it’s your birthday and that Benny and I wanted to help you celebrate.”

“I just can’t get over it,” she says. “You boys doing this for me.”

Just then, Mr. Lewis walks in the door. He’s carrying a bunch of red roses wrapped in floral paper.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says as he hands her the flowers and gives her a kiss.

Benny motions to me to follow him into the kitchen, so I do.

“They like kissing each other,” he tells me. “But that don’t mean I have to watch.”

It makes me laugh. “Well, it’s good they love each other that much after all this time, right?”

“Right,” he says as he flips through the pile of mail sitting on the counter. He flashes a couple of college brochures at me. “Since I took the SATs, they keep on coming.”

“Hey, that’s a good sign. Your scores must have been pretty decent.”

“Yeah, I guess. Not sure it’s gonna happen unless I get a scholarship, though. And I’m not talking one based on my academic achievements, if you know what I mean.”