Page 45 of Dead Boys Club

Like every Thursday, Parker and Paige were absent from play practice. Opening night draws nearer, scheduled right before winter break. Most of the backdrops have already been painted, which means he’s had to learn a whole host of other duties backstage—changing the sets, putting the props where they need to be, helping the actors change costumes. It’s not quite as mindless as painting had been, but for once, Zach’s anxiety works with him instead of against him, helping him keep pace with the frenetic intervals between set changes.

Zach approaches the Subaru. It’s the edge of fall, turning to winter: the air is bitter, and the first inklings of snow appear late in the evenings, gone by morning.

“Hey,” Parker says, his voice dull. His face is flushed, maybe because of the cold. His lips are pressed into a thin line. “Wanna hang out?”

Zach exhales a puff of visible air. “Yeah,” he says. He always wants to hang out with Parker. His mom isn’t home, and what is he going to do other than go home and stare at the walls, or the television, or his homework, just waiting until the next day when he can see his friends again?

Zach climbs into the passenger seat. Parker sits behind the wheel, gripping it, his knuckles white.

“Nice car,” Zach offers.

Parker doesn’t respond right away. There’s a beat of silence. Zach struggles to not fill it with nervous commentary. Parker looks exhausted—and a little bit like he’s been crying. His eyes are red-rimmed and glossy. Zach tries to think about what might have happened to make Parker look like that but it just hurts his feelings, so he stops.

“It’s Henry’s version of an apology for being such a shit dad,” Parker replies, finally. He throws the car into gear and peels out onto the main road.

“Oh,” Zach says. “That’s… nice?”

“It’s stupid,” Parker says.

Zach doesn’t mention that he doesn’t know anyone else who would get a car as an apology. He pulls at a loose thread on his jeans, where a little hole has begun to rip below his pocket. They drive in silence, making loops around the same three or four streets.

“Maybe we should, like… make a real plan,” Parker says, after they’ve been silent for a while. “Become part of the Dead Boys Club for real.”

Cold shoots down Zach’s neck and spine. He presses his hands against his thighs, breathing quick and hard. This is exactly what he’d been worried about ever since that conversation in his bedroom. He’d been waiting, all this time, for the other shoe to drop. Despite everything, Parker is still thinking about… the Dead Boys Club. It makes Zach’s stomach hurt.

“Um,” Zach rasps. “I thought—I thought you wanted to wait?”

Parker shrugs. His left foot, the one not on the gas pedal, begins to jiggle.

In that moment, Paige comes to mind. Not just Paige, but the way she’d taken him somewhere that used to help her when she felt overwhelmed. The way she’d tried to help him through his own feelings. And it had worked. The memory of rolling down the hill, when everything had felt like too much, is bright in his mind. He doesn’t have a hill for Parker to roll down, but he does have something that might be just as good. Steeling himself, Zach sits up and points at the next upcoming right-hand turn.

“Turn up here,” he says.

“Huh?” Parker swerves into the right-hand lane without signaling. Zach clutches the handle above his seat. He’s never considered whether or not Parker is a good driver. Maybe he didn’t crash his car on purpose after all.

“Here,” Zach says, pointing ahead. “Okay. Now go straight. The turn is up here.”

Somewhere between the ages of seven and ten, Zach’s anxiety hadn’t been so bad. He’d had an easier time just… existing, at all. It was as if all his problems hadn’t fully formed yet. Back then, his mom would drive him out to a small, marshy lake, and they would spend early Saturday mornings skipping rocks and drinking Big Gulps from the 7/Eleven. It’s not a very big lake, with tall grass surrounding it instead of a wide dirt shore. There are a few bike trails that connect it to a nearby residential neighborhood. Still, it feels like it’s far outside of town, even if it’s only a few short turns away from the nearest house.

It’s a little silly, but Zach remembers it very fondly: There’s nothing quite like chucking a big rock into the water.

The gravel parking lot that surrounds the lake is tiny, with only a few parking spaces marked by cut logs. Parker pulls into one of the spots crookedly.

“What are we doing here?” Parker asks, lips turned down at the corners. His expression is so heavy. Zach opens the door and climbs out, heading right for the tall grass at the edge of the lake. Parker’s door slams behind him, and the sound of his long legs beating through the weeds follows. “Hey! Zach!”

Zach turns only when they’ve reached the narrow shore. He looks down, kicking at the grass and dirt. He finds what he’s looking for and bends down to pick up a hefty rock. He doesn’t even care about getting dirt on his only nice jacket as he holds it up. Parker is staring at him, incredulous, but at the very least confusion has overtaken the profound sadness from before.

Parker exhales a half-laugh. “What—”

“Here,” Zach says, heaving the rock toward Parker. He grabs it, holding it in both hands. “Throw it.”

“What?” Parker looks down at the rock, turning it over in his hands.

Zach digs around a little and finds another rock, not as big as Parker’s. He turns toward the lake and overhand throws it right into the water. The rock hits with a splash, sending a spray into the air.

Parker stares at him. Zach grabs his arm, jostling him. “Throw the rock, Parker.”

Parker turns forward, his expression twisting up into almost a smile—like he’s trying to fight it, or like he thinks Zach has lost his mind. He uses both hands to launch the rock away from him, into the lake. It splashes a little closer to shore, sprinkling them with water.