Page 35 of Icarus

Julian leaned forward. “Obviously, you dipshit.”

“Then—”

“There’s a lot of bad things in life you can’t control,” Julian said. “That’s why it’s good to control the ones you can.”

“What does that mean?” Icarus asked, when it was clear Julian wasn’t about to elaborate.

Julian tapped his fingertips against the wood of the table.

“It means that if all it costs me is an extra two dollars a day to keep someone smart from fucking up their life over something stupid like being tired . . . it’s worth paying.”

“I don’t need your money—” Icarus started.

“Don’t fucking insult me, bro. Just accept the kindness and do your fucking work. Only a few of us are going to make it out of this town.”

Icarus didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t . . . embarrassing, it was just . . . He usually had answers for things people said to him already pre-written in his head. He didn’t have anything on deck for this.

Julian rubbed his nose straight up, pressing a little red line into the bridge of it, and sniffed.

“What do you do every night that makes you so tired? You working a job or something?”

Icarus rubbed his eyes until sparks flashed behind his lids. “Kind of. I guess I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Julian tilted his head to the side, the way he had earlier this morning. Curious, gentle.

“People notice everything,” he said. “I don’t know why you thought you’d get away with it. Everyone else probably just decided it wasn’t worth it to push.”

“People push,” he admitted.

“And I assume you punish them in some way for it? It’s very unsatisfying, if you’ve ever wondered how you make people feel,” Julian snapped.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Julian bit his lip and looked out the window over Icarus’s shoulder.

“Yeah whatever,” he huffed. “Sorry for assuming you’d fuck up our group project, for whatever it’s worth.”

Icarus shook his head. “No, it’s fine, it . . . makes sense that you’d think that. Sorry for . . . not noticing you . . . caring.”

Julian didn’t smile, but his face softened a bit. The table got really interesting to him, suddenly.

“Just. Don’t be weird about it. Try not to waste it.”

Other people in the library were still staring. Icarus put his head in his hands and pressed his temples until they hurt.

Dry

He tore the drawing of Julian out of his notebook and trimmed the rough edges. He dated it and signed it.

Titled it Art Shit.

He folded it into quarters and slipped it into the vent of Julian McPherson’s locker.

Meat

He could feel his father watching him as he went straight from dinner to his room. He never asked if Icarus was okay. Ever.

But Icarus could always tell when Angus was concerned about him, because he would begin to stare and would only stop when he felt the issue had passed.