Page 27 of Dead Boys Club

“Dad, this is Isaac, Zach, and Bea.” Paige does the introductions again.

Mr. Reid unfolds his napkin, placing it in his lap. “I’ll be honest,” he chuckles like he’s about to tell a joke. “We weren’t sure Parker was ever going to make any friends.”

What a weird thing to say, Zach thinks. Parker’s jaw twitches. Paige has this sort of blank look on her face like she’s determined not to listen. Zach glances nervously to his left, catching Isaac’s eye. He looks uncomfortable too. On his other side, Bea shifts in her seat.

“Henry,” Mrs. Reid chides, before saying: “We’re so happy that you all decided to come to dinner.”

The conversation carries on a little awkwardly after that. Zach is relieved when Bea fields most of the Reids’ questions. Bea is perfectly designed for parents to love her. She knows where she wants to go to college, where she’s applied to, what impressive things she did over the summer (a workshop in New York on Broadway, a screenwriting class at the university, a week in Nigeria with her grandparents). Bea is kind and polite and the more Zach listens to her talk, the more he realizes that she’s really interesting. He wonders if he would have ever talked to her on his own if she hadn’t come up to him at the carnival.

Why is this the first time they’ve spent an extended period of time together?

Isaac is not perfectly designed for parents to love him, but Mr. Reid really seems to take to him anyway because Isaac likes soccer. They get on a roll discussing the poor performance of the men’s national team.

“I always thought that, even if Parker has never been particularly academic, he might be able to use that height to his advantage,” Mr. Reid says, waving one hand absently. “But he’s never been into sports. All that height, it’s wasted potential.”

“Why would I want to play sports?” Parker says, pushing his food around on his plate but not eating. Zach notes that he ignores the dig about his grades. “It’s fucking pointless.”

“Watch your language,” Mr. Reid says sharply.

“What, fucking?” Parker leans back in his chair.

“Parker, please.” Mrs. Reid presses a finger to her temple.

“Knock it off,” Paige hisses. There’s a dull thud from under the table. Zach figures she’s kicked Parker in the ankle.

“I don’t like sports either!” Zach rushes to say, because Parker is glowering at his dad like he might leap across the table at him. The tension in the air is so unbearable that Zach is sure he’s going to collapse under the weight of it. Parker’s eyes flicker to him, his hard stare changing to something like confusion. Zach shrinks back in his seat. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything? But what’s more embarrassing than arguing with your parents in front of your friends?

“I’m—I—” Zach stammers. “I mean, they’re fine. Sports are fine. But I’m, um, really bad at them.”

“Me too,” Isaac says quickly, jumping in to save Zach’s floundering. “I like watching, mostly.”

“I was on the volleyball team for one semester in freshman year,” Bea offers. “I was not asked to come back.”

But Parker isn’t soothed by their attempts to steer the conversation away from him. “I’m sorry, does he just get to take fucking digs at me in front of my friends while I’m the one who gets in trouble for swearing?” Parker snaps, turning to his mother.

“Parker,” Mrs. Reid pleads. “Not now.”

Paige reaches one hand over to grip Parker’s wrist. Zach’s breathing starts to pick up. He’s going to die right here at this table, probably. He’s going to have a heart attack. He left his backpack in Isaac’s car again, so he can’t even excuse himself to take an Ativan. He glances up from his plate. Isaac is very interested in his brussels sprouts and Bea is looking resolutely at a whorl in the grain of the wood table.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Parker mutters. He leans back in his chair so far that the front two legs tip off the ground. Paige doesn’t let go of his wrist.

Mr. and Mrs. Reid don’t act like parents who saw their son through a suicide attempt almost two months ago. And maybe that’s because they aren’t. They’ve buried it away, hiding the evidence, hoping that a short stay in the hospital and new medication can make whatever happened go away. And they’re sitting here eating dinner, pretending that nothing is wrong.

They don’t want to see the cracks in their own facade but Parker is as fragile as shattered glass. Zach feels like he’s going to burst, so he can’t imagine how Parker feels. The Reids are holding him to a vow of silence, and that silence is like a slow-burning flame under a pot, and Parker is the frog in the water.

“We’re still looking for people to join the tech crew for the school play,” Bea says, her voice soft and a little awkward, trying to drag the conversation forward. “Paige, you should join us. You too, boys.”

“Yeah, sure,” Isaac says, shrugging. “I helped my dad build an awning for our backyard last summer. I could help with the set.”

Zach knows nothing about theater or set-building. He looks across the table at Parker, who isn’t looking back. His gaze is firmly on his plate, his fork gripped in his fist.

“I was thinking about doing that, actually,” Paige says, sitting up a little straighter. “Last year’s set was amazing, I don’t know how you guys pulled it off.”

“Tech?” Mr. Reid interrupts. “You’re not going to try out for a spot in the play?”

“I’m already doing the newspaper,” Paige says. “Tech is less commitment.”

“You should try out,” Mr. Reid insists, his tone pressing. “You’re talented. You could really do something with that. Nobody ever remembers the tech crew.”