“Everything in our human world is fake,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “We do what we learn. We’re all like robots, products of our environment. We think we’re choosing things but we really aren’t, you know? We’re doing what we were inevitably programmed to do.”
I looked up at the sky, into the beauty of the sunset. “How are things so beautiful and yet so ugly? People die every second, like, grisly, terrible deaths. People here live on the street in their own shit, starving, needle marks all across their arms, and yet the fucking sky looks like that.” I thought of Max then, what he would say. He’d bring up some fucked-up video he saw online, grainy footage of a man’s leg severed off by a train, someone’s broken body on the streets of a war zone. Things you never saw in the news. But they were real, with no added segments, no jaunty music or cut-ins. That was life.
The soft splashing of the pool and the drug made me feel like my muscles had evaporated, like I was floating through empty space.
A flock of birds flew over us in perfect formation, the sound of their wings beating silence into submission.
A dull, dreamy sleepiness was taking over me. Connor and I were drying off in the last touch of daylight, sharing a plastic recliner by the pool. “I’m sorry,” I said to him, putting my lips to his collarbone. “I shouldn’t have shut you out or pushed you away.”
“It’s okay,” he said. He ran his fingers through my scalp the way I liked as birds tweeted their dusk-time songs. Cars rushed by across the way, close enough so we could hear their honking but far enough from the prying eyes of their drivers. It was peaceful here, with no one to judge us or try to make us feel like we had to be anything other than what we were.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I want to tell people about us,” I said. “Maybe. I go back and forth. But I never want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you, because I’m not.”
“I know you’re not,” he said.
“Because honestly…I love you. I love you so much, and I would never do anything to hurt you. I’d never let anyone hurt you either. I would kill for you.”
I must’ve been higher than I thought because things were spilling out of my mouth like liquid. I didn’t care if it sounded cheesy or emotional, or even if he didn’t love me back. The freedom of being able to say those words and feel those things was like being able to fly.
“There’s really nothing to be afraid of, Jack,” Connor said.
That’s when my phone chimed. I immediately checked, hoping that it was Jess, but it wasn’t. It was a flurry of texts, all from Toby.
SOS.
Big problem.
Come to the garage.
Please.
And then, a few seconds later: I need you.
50.
I thought about ignoring Toby’s texts. I thought about calling him and telling him to fuck off, to never speak to me again. But the more I thought, the antsier I got. I had to confront him eventually. It might as well be now. And yet, I wondered about the SOS. Connor didn’t even try to stop me. It was like he wanted to go. He walked fast, with purpose, holding my hand and pulling me along even though only I knew the way to get there.
We took the bus from the community pool a few stops to the garage, the old, abandoned auto repair shop that Toby’s parents had once owned. The one that had killed them slowly over the course of long, hard-worked years. The one that had been meant for Toby someday, when he was old enough to work there and maybe own it himself.
Now it sat vacant, paint peeling off its dull concrete walls, the big MILLER AUTO REPAIR sign above the entrance vandalized and hanging all crooked.
Well, it was mostly vacant anyway. I hadn’t been in there since before the death of Toby’s parents. But I knew what his uncle and cousins used it for now. It was one of their meeting spots.
We were at the back entrance, near the office where his mom used to sit at the desktop and crunch numbers all day. The little metal door was covered in cobwebs now. Somewhere in the near distance a dog snarled, a big, mean one. A siren blared as a cop car raced up the street, lights flashing.
It occurred to me that we shouldn’t be here. This was dangerous.
I knocked three times.
I heard shouting from inside, deep male voices arguing. “Who the fuck is that?” More shouting. Then the door swung open with a creak and there was Toby.
He looked terrible. His broken nose was covered in a huge bandage, but there were other bruises on his face, and deep purple marks along his wrists and arms that Connor couldn’t possibly have caused. Like someone had been grabbing him roughly, violently.
As soon as he saw me, he smiled a little, this sad, relieved smile, like he was genuinely happy to see me. But then he noticed Connor, and his smile disappeared.
“Seriously? You brought him?”
“Nice to see you too, Toby,” Connor said.
Toby just stood there, swaying back in forth in the doorway, as if unsure of what to do. He had this look in his eyes. Wild animal prey paralyzed. It was scaring the shit out of me.
“Can he leave?” Toby asked. He looked to me pleadingly. Like we were still friends. Like nothing had happened between us these past few weeks. Like he hadn’t harassed me for days and called me a faggot. Like he hadn’t tried to rape my best friend. “Jack. Please?”
I wanted to hit him as
