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He sees a little bit of his old self in Argent. Was Connor ever this much of a creep? No—he couldn’t have been. And besides, he got past it, but Argent never did. Argent is maybe twenty, but he’s still wallowing in the loser mud hole, letting it turn into a tar pit beneath his feet. The anger that Connor feels toward Argent dissolves into the liquid of his thoughts, spreading into a thin, wide layer of pity.
Argent takes another hit and reels. “Oh man, this is good stuff.” He looks bleary-eyed at Connor. The combination of tranq and weed have made Connor emotional. He knows it’s about his own past, but Argent takes it as a connection between them.
“We’re the same, Connor,” he says. “That’s what you’re thinking, right? I coulda been you. I can still be you.” He starts giggling. “We can be you together.”
The giggle is contagious. Connor finds himself giggling uncontrollably as Argent makes him take another hit.
“Gotta show you this,” Argent says. “You’ll get mad, but I gotta show you anyway.” Then Argent pulls out his phone and shows him one of the pictures he took with Connor yesterday.
“Good one, right? I put it up on my Facelink profile.”
“You . . . did what?”
“No big deal. Just for my friends and stuff.” Argent giggles again. Connor giggles. Argent laughs, and Connor finds himself laughing hysterically.
“Do you know how bad that is, Argent?”
“I know, right?”
“No, you don’t. The authorities. The Juvenile Authority. They’ve got facial tracing bots on the net.”
“Bots, right.”
“They’ll take down this house. I’ll get taken in. You’ll both get five to ten for”—Connor can’t control his laughter—“for aiding and abetting.”
“Ooh, this is bad, Argie,” says Grace from the corner.
“Who asked you?” Argent says. Being wasted doesn’t temper his treatment of his sister.
“We gotta get out of here, Argent,” Connor says. “We’ve gotta go now. We’re both fugitives now.”
“Yeah?” Argent still doesn’t quite grasp it.
“We’ll be on the run—you and me.”
“Right. Screwing with the world.”
“It was fated, just like you said.”
“Fated.”
“Argent and the Akron AWOL.”
“Triple A!”
“But you have to untie me before they come to take us out!”
“Untie you . . .”
“There’s no time. Please, Argent.”
“I can really trust you?”
“Did we or did we not just do tranq together?”
That’s enough to clinch the deal. Argent puts the pipe down, then goes behind Connor to undo his hands. Connor flexes his fingers and rolls his aching shoulders. He doesn’t know whether the numbness in his arms is from being tied up or from the tranq.
“So where do we go?” Argent asks.
