Page 46 of My Family

Harry nods. "Anything. All the drugs you want."

Ethan doesn't think it's so funny. He starts the scolding: "This is what landed your ass in this situation…!"

"You have no sense of humor, Farley," Harry cuts in.

Jack nudges my elbow. "Think your boyfriend's gonna get us all murdered by a billionaire?"

I grin. "Well, it'll be a good death."

"You're gonna love the house, we're gonna have so much fun," Harry swears.

That afternoon, Harry doesn't show up to rec.

I notice before anyone says anything. It’s weird, not seeing Harry around. He’s usually walking from group to group, charming people, making jokes, winking too much.

Jack notices too. He's pretending not to, flipping a card over and over between his fingers, but his eyes keep going to the door.

Rec is over. We go back, and I’m hoping to see him in his bed. He’s not there. We don’t say anything, but when Harry finally comes back to the room, I know immediately.

He's moving wrong. Too careful, one hand on the wall, the other at his side. His glasses are slightly crooked and there's something dark and wet soaked through the fabric of his gray sweats at the knee, where the skin has been scraped open against something rough, something like concrete.

"Harry," I say.

"Don't," he says.

"Sit down," Ethan says, and it isn't a request.

Harry sits on my bunk, which is easier for him to reach, as he doesn’t have to climb up to his. He doesn't argue, which tells me something is really fucking wrong. Harry always argues about everything. Just like me, who’s always complaining.

Ethan crouches in front of him, pulls the fabric back. The scrape is bad. Not deep enough to need stitches, but raw and dirty, the kind that stings for days and gets infected if you leave it.

"Did you fall? Did someone push you? Who?" Ethan asks.

"Doesn't matter."

"Harry."

"Ramos sent people. Two guys I don't know very well, I think they’re in room 9, Lefebvre and Martin. Waited until I was in the back hallway. One shove and they were gone. Very professional." He adjusts his glasses. "I'm impressed, honestly. Clean execution."

Nobody laughs.

Ethan goes to his drawer. He keeps a small first aid kit there, of course he does, and brings it back. He cleans the wound without being asked and also without having permission, but he doesn’t care about these details. Harry looks at the ceiling the whole time, jaw tight, not making a sound.

"You need to tell Griff," Ethan says.

"No."

"Harry…"

"There’s no way. If he learns about the drugs, I’m screwed, you know." He finally looks down. "I just need to get through the break. Talk to my dad. Get this resolved."

Ethan wraps the knee in a clean bandage, presses the edges flat. Then he sits back on his heels and looks at Harry for a long moment.

Jack leans forward from his bunk, elbows on his knees. "Ramos's people aren't going to wait a week."

Harry considers this. "I can avoid anyone for a week. I've been avoiding my feelings since I was six."

I laugh, loud. He has a commendable sense of humor, at least.