Page 48 of Dead Boys Club

“What do you usually listen to?” Parker asks.

“Oh,” Zach says. “I guess whatever is on the radio. Or NPR. My mom likes to listen to investigative stories.”

“You are so lame,” Parker says, laughing. It doesn’t sound like an insult. He flips open the container in the middle console and digs through a bunch of CDs, glancing between the names of the bands and the road. He picks one out and shoves it into the CD player. The music switches from the top-40s radio station to a thumping, heavy bass.

“Consider this your introduction to the best music on earth,” Parker says. “Taking Back Sunday. Their first album, from 2002.”

Zach’s never heard of the band. But from where he’s sitting, the song that comes out of the Subaru’s speakers sounds like noise. And not even particularly good noise. But Parker knows all the words, and when he sings, he laughs and throws his head back and forth. Watching him does something strange to Zach’s chest. Not for the first time in his life he wonders if he’s on the verge of having a heart attack.

But the music, and Parker, make the two-hour drive zip by. After Taking Back Sunday, Parker introduces Zach to Hawthorne Heights and Glass Jaw, both of which are just more noise. He likes Coheed and Cambria, though, and Parker celebrates by promising to let Zach borrow the CD when they get home.

As Parker takes the highway exit toward Saratoga, Zach clutches at the passport in his lap, thumbs rubbing back and forth over the leather. It’s probably the nicest thing he owns now.

They spend the next half hour on the winding road leading from the highway to Saratoga National Historic Park. Eventually, they make it, Parker pulling recklessly into the parking lot of the visitor’s center. Parker leaps out of the driver’s side. Zach follows, excitement bubbling up like anxiety, but better.

The visitor’s center greets them with a timeline of the Revolutionary War, along with a fiber optic map that shows the movements of the troops on the battlefield. Zach’s never been particularly interested in the revolution—or any war for that matter—but he spends a good five minutes in front of both displays, overwhelmed and unable to move forward until he gets a good look at all of it.

At first, he’s worried that it’s too dorky to ask Parker to take pictures. But before he can work himself up over whether or not he should ask, Parker already has his cell phone out. He takes pictures of both the displays, and then a few of Zach in front of them, obnoxiously directing Zach on how to stand until they both can’t help but laugh.

The cancellation station is set up in the bookstore. Parker finds the stand and pulls Zach over.

“This is a momentous occasion,” Parker insists, crowding up against him.

Zach opens his passport to the first section, the North Atlantic Region, and flips to its first page. He presses the stamp into the inkpad, face burning as Parker stands so close that they’re practically touching shoulder-to-knee. Parker’s long hair is soft and dry now. It brushes against Zach’s cheek a little as he leans in.

Zach checks three times that the stamp is upright—and that the date is correct—before he presses the green ink into the corner of the Official Cancellations section. When he pulls the stamp away, it reads:

Saratoga nhp

Nov 7, 2009

North atlantic region

“There,” Parker says, his face still so close that Zach can feel a puff of breath on his skin when he talks. “Now you’ve officially visited your first national park.”

They get muffins at the cafe, and Parker gets himself a coffee and Zach a water. They sit together in the picnic area behind the visitor’s center that overlooks the former battlefield. Now, it’s a blanket of slowly dying grass lined with trees. The air is chill, but the sun is the perfect temperature on Zach’s skin when he turns his face upward.

“I have an itinerary,” Parker says. He eats the bottom of his muffin first, leaving the top for last. Zach finds this weirdly endearing, which sends embarrassment rushing through him, so he looks away. “We already did your passport stamp. We should go check out the national monument—you can, like, climb inside of it? And then there’s a hiking trail.” His normally caustic, indifferent tone is replaced with something like excitement, soft and eager.

Hearing Parker talk about this stuff makes Zach feel strange. Like there’s something light and expansive filling his body. He lifts his eyes and catches Parker watching him, his face open, vulnerable.

It clicks that Parker’s earlier nonchalance about this trip was all an act—maybe Parker thinks caring about things makes him look like a loser, or something. Except, by now, Zach knows that Parker cares, like… a lot. He cares what people think of him, even if he pretends that he doesn’t. And he cares what Zach thinks about this trip, which means he probably cares about Zach.

As far as Zach can tell, Parker doesn’t like doing outdoorsy things. He’s not really into any of this stuff, but here he is. Sitting with Zach, overlooking a battlefield, eating muffins, two hours away from home.

It’s suddenly difficult for Zach to draw a full breath. He nods, agreeing, and Parker practically glows as he gathers up their garbage and chucks it into one of the outdoor cans.

Zach gets the feeling that this trip wasn’t actually planned as a spur-of-the-moment response to their night at the lake. Parker seems to know exactly where to go, and Zach pictures him sitting in front of Paige’s laptop, carefully lining up each activity. Zach’s own excitement feeds off of Parker’s, which is uniquely infectious, considering Zach is used to seeing Parker care very little about anything at all.

They climb the monument, which is very tall, skinny, and steep. Zach is huffing by the time they get to the top, his back growing damp under his coat as the walls of the monument shield them from the chilly breeze. At the very top of the 188 steps, they squeeze together on the viewing platform and peer out a small, square window. Spread out before them is a view of the Hudson River Valley, still green in the places not yet swallowed by the sharp bite of winter. Parker’s arm is pressed all the way against his own and Zach can smell his laundry detergent.

Parker wants to take more pictures and Zach lets him. He doesn’t like pictures of himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever taken a single selfie. But Parker winds an arm around his shoulders, holds his phone out in one hand, and takes a picture. When they review the pictures together, huddled at the top of the monument stairs before they descend, Zach looks… okay. He looks nice, even. And Parker is grinning in the picture, lips crooked, cheeks and nose flushed from the chill or maybe the climb up the monument stairs. Most importantly, Parker looks alive.

After the monument, they stop back at the visitor’s center and buy big water bottles from the cafe, then head over to the Wilkinson trailhead. It’s supposed to be hallowed ground or something, following the footsteps of the soldiers and battalions, but Zach is deeply uninterested in the history. It’s much more enjoyable to walk side by side with Parker in the midday sun, the cool breeze biting at their noses, enjoying one of the last few warmish days before winter sets in.

“Thank you for this,” Zach says, after they’ve been walking a short while. Parker’s boots crunch heavily on the path beneath them, and Zach can’t help but think that he came incredibly ill-prepared for a day at a national park. “This is… like, I don’t think anyone has done anything this nice for me, like… ever. Including my mom, and she’s obligated to do nice things for me.”

Parker’s brow winkles a little, but he’s screwing up his lips like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling. It’s a good expression, one that Zach has grown increasingly fond of over the last few months. It feels like no one else gets to see Parker like this. As if this side of him, loose and happy and funny, is just for Zach.