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No one else laughed. Joh
He was war paint and fire.
Insane.
Joh
He started to leave, then saw Gerald, who stood three rows back, tall and broad, with sandy hair and skin the color of fired clay. Joh
Joh
Joh
The boys stalked through the press of silent people. Joh
The security door accepted the key card that Steve had given him. The door clicked open and Joh
“Well,” Joh
Jack put his face on his knees and Joh
“How did you get us in here?”
“Uncle Steve.”
Jack sucked in two quick breaths, smeared mucus along the back of his bad arm.
“Those guys are dicks,” Joh
Jack sniffed. “Shit munchers.”
“Yeah. Asswipes.”
Jack laughed, a nervous expulsion, and Joh
“He wanted me to say something,” Jack explained. “I wouldn’t do it.” Joh
“Fucking Gerald. How’s your arm?”
Jack rotated his arm at the shoulder, then pressed it across his chest. He pointed at Joh
“I tore some stitches.”
Jack stared at the bandages. “Is that from the other night?”
The bandages darkened. Joh
“I should have gone with you, Joh
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Joh
Jack beat a fist on his leg. “I’m a bad friend.” The fist sounded like a hammer on meat. “I am”-he paused, hitting again-“a bad friend.”
“Stop that.”
“I didn’t do anything for Alyssa.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“I saw it happen.”
“There was nothing you could do, Jack.”
But Jack ignored him. “I didn’t do anything for you.” He hit again, hard.
“Stop it, Jack.”
Jack stopped. “Is it true?” He looked at Joh
Joh
“What the hell, Joh
Joh
Joh
“You remember that book we read in English? The Lord of the Flies? About those boys on the deserted island and how they go feral with no adults around to tell them different. They make spears and blood paint. They run wild through the jungle, hunt pigs, beat drums. You remember?”
“Yeah. So?”
“One day they were normal, then one day the rules didn’t matter anymore. They made up their own rules, their own beliefs.” He paused. “Sometimes I feel like those boys.”
“Those kids tried to kill each other. They went insane.”
“Insane?”
“Yeah.”
Joh
“You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe.”
Jack picked at a thread on his jeans, looked around at the concrete and stairs. “I thought you hated your Uncle Steve.”
Joh
“I wouldn’t do anything special for that cop,” Jack said.
“What do you mean?”
He waved a hand. “Stuff I hear from my dad. Cop stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s sweet on your mom. That they’ve been… you know.”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s what my dad says.”
“Well, your dad’s a liar.”
“He probably is.”
A silence fell. They were awkward together for the first time. “You want to spend the night?” Joh
“My dad won’t let me hang out with you.”
“Why not?”
“Lord of the Flies, man. He thinks you’re dangerous.” Jack tipped his head against the wall. Joh
“Not if we can’t hang out.”
They fell into another long silence. “I really loved your dad,” Jack said. “He made me feel like the arm didn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I hate my family.”
“No, you don’t.”
Jack wrapped his arms around his knees and his fingers went white where he squeezed them. “You remember last year? When I broke my arm?”
The arm was weak; it broke easily. Joh
“Gerald’s the one that did it.” The small hand danced at the end of its narrow wrist. Jack’s voice fell down a well. “That’s why my dad gave me the new bike.”
“Jack-”
“That’s why I never ride it.”
“Shit, man.”
“I hate my family.”