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Suddenly, Ezra's feet are clomping up the stairs, and my face heats up at the thought of him knowing what’s on my mind. I think I hear him pause for just a second outside my door. Then he’s plodding toward his room.
His room. That's his room now—right beside mine. Fuck, I share a bathroom with the fucker.
I lie on my bed, my hands behind my head, and stare at the bathroom door. I think of playing some live dealer blackjack online to distract myself, but my head still hurts. I dare take a piss—after locking his door, of course—and brush my teeth, then hit the hay.
I don't know how much time has passed when I open my eyes, woken by...I hear a sound and push myself up on my elbow. What is it? It sounds like stomping. Or walking. But it’s not coming from the hall; it’s coming from behind the wall my headboard's pressed against.
So...outside.
I get up, my heartbeat throbbing in my sore forehead, and walk to the widow seat. My eyes go to the moon, the haze of clouds in front of it. And then there's a cloud…closer. Right on the other side of the window.
That fucker’s smoking on the roof.
He's dappled by the moon's light. I can see his shape, though. He's sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on one arm, shirtless, tilting his head back to blow smoke up at the sky.
I reach for the window, thinking I'll push it up and tell him to—I don’t know what. It doesn’t matter. Mom and Carl's room is right below mine. If I open the window, they might hear; I’m sure he’d find a way to blame me.
Then Ezra shifts his weight, and I remember something awful: there's a weak spot in that roof. I tried to climb out on it once after we first moved here. Almost fell through it myself.
I suck a long breath into my lungs…push the window up as carefully as I can. I lean out just a little, hoping I won’t spook him into falling off. Or maybe that I will.
"Hey…"
He turns toward me, grinning in what looks like surprise.
"Look who it is—DG. In the middle of the fuckin' night, too." He takes a drag of his smoke, blows it out. "Wanna join me for some primo nicotino?"
"What are you doing?" My voice sounds rough from just waking up.
Ezra gives me a deadpan look. "What's it look like, Einstein?"
"He wasn't the only genius, you know. At least be creative and try Aristotle or some shit."
When I hear his smoky laugh, I know I've fucked up. "Okay, DG. You would like to be called Aristotle? That's a little weird, but if you really want me to…"
"No, fuckwit. I want you to stop waking me up. Leave me alone."
He grins—and it's the mean one I've seen before. "Poor Joshua. I can leave you alone," he says in a mimicking voice.
He stubs his cigarette out on the roof's shingles and shoots me a look before rising almost to his feet and slowly walking toward his window.
Six
Josh
The next morning, I hear a truck rev before I open my eyes. When I drag my ass downstairs, already bracing for an encounter with my step-dick, Mom tells me someone picked him up for practice.
I frown at the oven clock. "Wow. It’s only eight."
She laughs. "I know, right? Coach wants them playing till midday, and not again until five."
Makes sense. It gets fucking hot here in the summer. People die and stuff from getting overheated.
I can feel Mom watching me as I pour cereal and the lactose-free milk she buys for Carl.
"Well, how was it?" she asks. "How was last night?"
She sounds bubbly.
"What did he say?" I ask as I walk over to the breakfast table.
"He stopped to talk to us as he came in," she says, smiling as I pull out a chair for myself. "He said it went wonderfully. Everyone was nice and welcoming. He said he saw you there, that you offered to lead the way home but he had so much fun, he wanted to stay."
I nod. "He was having fun."
Mom ruffles my hair, and she steps over to the sink to water all the flowers in the window sill beside it as she asks about my plans for today.
"I've got soccer from ten till noon,” I tell her. “Then an hour in the band room."
"Oh, I forgot that starts today, too. Too bad you boys can't ride together."
"Yeah," I say, in a tone I hope is neutral.
"So what do you think? Do you like him?"
I shovel more cereal into my mouth so I don’t have to look at her. I nod as I chew and swallow. "Yeah, for sure."
"Yeah?" When I look back up, Mom’s eyes are narrowed.
"He's cool. Don't know him that well yet, but he seems cool." I cross myself with a fingertip under the table.
