The toilet flushed for the last time and then a series of creaks on the dusty floorboards. Scott tried to catch his eye, but Caegan went to the cabinet and grabbed the essentials. He shouldn’t be helping a thirteen-year-old through another hangover, but better him than someone else.
“Why does it feel like there’s an earthquake in my head?”
“Sounded like you were sea-sick, to me,” Scott said.
Caegan passed the kid a mug of black coffee. Gabriel looked as shitty as he felt, no doubt. Face splotchy. Bruises under his eyes. Caegan could smell him from the hallway.
Gabriel looked into the mug, uncertainty wrinkling his brow. Not that he’d never had caffeine before, but he wasn’t sure if it was the best idea on an empty stomach. Except the thought of food made him want to puke his guts out all over again, so he risked a small sip.
“Take a few.”
Caegan chucked a bottle of aspirin. Scott snatched it out of the air before the orange plastic could hit Gabriel in the face.
“Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to do drugs?” Scott said, rattling the container in the Kid’s ear.
“If I did everything my mom said, I wouldn’t be hanging out with you.”
Gabriel tried swatting Scott away and stumbled, still off balance. Most of his ass made it into a chair, at least. He tilted the mug to his lips to cover the taste of stomach acid in the back of his throat. Scott kept crunching through his cereal. Pastel cheap shit that was ninety percent sugar, but it worked for a morning or midnight snack.
The Kid downed a handful of pills with ease, but he couldn’t swallow them dry. A few more mornings like this and he might be able to. Or maybe he’d remember how this felt, and would lay off trying to seem like a badass.
“What happened last night?”
Caegan sat on the counter as Gabriel reached for the lumpy bag. As much cereal spilled onto the table as into the bowl. Gabriel shook his head and immediately winced.
“Ow, that hurts.”
“No whining,” Scott said, his mouth half-full. “You wanna party like us, you pay for it. Eat up.”
“Drinking’s one thing,” Caegan said, still eyeing the Kid. “Making an ass out of yourself is a different story.”
“I wasn’t that drunk!”
Caegan crossed his arms and waited. Staring.
“So what’d you take, huh?”
Gabriel dug his spoon into his cereal, avoiding Caegan’s gaze. At this point it didn’t matter; the Kid had learned to be more careful with what he swallowed.
“Next time, you find your own way home.” Caegan leaned back, arms still folded, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Bet your momma would love to tear into you for stumbling in after midnight, completely shitfaced.”
“I wouldn’t be go home like that,” Gabriel muttered. “I’m not that stupid.”
“’Course not. You’d pass out before you got there, and Mama Leverson won’t bother looking for poor little Gabe. She’s not going to come save your ass, and neither will I.”
Scott filled his cereal bowl for the third time that morning, sweeping his palm across the table to catch the cereal the Kid had spilled. Gabriel said nothing to either of them, head too foggy to serve up any lip.
“There are levels to the streets, Kid,” Caegan said. “The rules might be different out here, but they’re still rules.”
“Okay, yeah, I get it.” Gabriel’s face scrunched as he realized that coffee didn’t pair with cereal the same way milk did. “Do everything your way.”
“Only if you want to live,” Caegan shrugged. “A little fun goes a long way and a lot of fun will make you wish you were dead.”
“I’m fine,” Gabriel tried not to gag on the last of his coffee. “Like I said, I wasn’t that drunk.”
“Yeah, keep telling your stomach that. You might even convince Mama Lev when she comes to collect.”
The bowl of cereal almost flipped over. The Kid was too jumpy for his own good, which was another reason he was a hassle to have around. Now it was Gabriel’s turn to talk with his mouth full.
“What the hell, man? I thought we were cool!”
“You can’t stay here.”
Caegan glanced at the greasy microwave clock. It read two-thirty, but that was because the left side of the display was still busted from when he’d punched it three years ago. Weird, to think he’d been the Kid’s age back then. Caegan didn’t have to worry about Gabriel being like him. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
“Don’t she get off at one? Gives you an hour, if traffic is busy on Keppler.”
“I don’t know why she cares, anyway. It’s not like I’m flunking out of school or anything. I’m always over here.”
“Yeah, that’s her problem.”
“All she’s going to do is bitch at me for not wanting to be in the boy scouts or something, but I don’t even get in that much trouble.”
“Right, you were totally clean last night.” Scott’s voice was almost serious, but he was grinning. “I’ve never seen you so not-in-trouble before.”
“Shut up! I’ve partied with you guys and stayed the night before.”
“You really think she hasn’t noticed when you smell like Jack and Malboros?”
This time Scott doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. Thankfully he swallowed his cereal first. Gabriel grabbed a handful from his bowl and pelted them Scott’s way. Scott managed to catch a few in his mouth and flipped Gabriel off. The Kid slouched back into his chair, pushing his twists out of his face.
“It’s not like she knows if I was the one drinking or smoking.”
“If you keep talking, she will this time.”
“You really going to do me like that?”
“If you don’t shower, she’ll probably notice you can’t handle your drink for shit.”
Caegan slid off the counter and grabbed the broom from the other side of the fridge. He poked the Kid’s shoulder, nudging him out of the chair by the bristles.
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” Scott stuck out his tongue, greenish-pink from his breakfast. “Your breath fucking stinks.”
“Let me just hang out with you guys for the day?” Gabriel half-swayed, placing his palm on the table so he didn’t keel over. “By the time I get home tonight, maybe she’ll be cool.”
“If you’re lucky, you might get some hot water.” Caegan shrugged. “Then again, if you want to sober up before she sees you, cold might be a better option.”
After cleaning up the stray cereal bits, Caegan let himself into the other half of the duplex. He had a few things of his own to take care of before Mrs. Leverson arrived, if they were going to make this batch keep longer than the summer ones. Scott had less self-control than Gabriel, and Caegan didn’t want either of them getting ideas about how to make the weekend any more interesting. He would have done it last night, if not for making sure the Kid didn’t have a seizure in his sleep or something.
The drywall between the fridge and the pantry was brittle with age and easy to punch through. Caegan widened the small hole as best he could, given the space felt as tight as a coin slot. He stuffed two sandwich bags of marijuana inside and heaped chunks of debris around the opening. The narrow spot was mostly hidden by shadows. The fridge was wedged in tight, like an old hooker in her best trick-turning outfit from younger days. Come to think of it, the beat-up appliance sagged like one too. No one would look twice for goods.
The cabinets were the first place someone would look, if they needed to do some discounted grocery shopping. Too bad they’d end up with sprained fingers. Caegan reached around the mouse-traps and grabbed the naked coffee can in the back corner. From eye-level, the label-less container looked like duct work for the oven. Caegan slipped another two sandwich bags inside. Some to sallow, some to smoke.
Cheap housing like this didn’t come with a basement or a proper attic, but there was a crawl-space above the pantry to use for storage. He pulled down the ladder and hoisted himself up. The air was dark and thick, and for a moment it felt like he was floating in deep space. The grey light from the bare pantry below added a hint of depth, and he regained his sense of gravity as his eyes adjusted.
The old trunk was still where it should be, even though he had no clue how it’d gotten here in the first place. When he opened it, the drawstring sack was there too. The sack had a collection of pocket-sized breath-mint and gum containers. The neighbors had never noticed that one or two containers had gone missing. They hadn’t noticed anything else, for that matter.
He’d sampled their goods for years, rationing between their products and what he bought on the block to keep a steady kick and still have enough to blow on special occasions. At the rate the neighbors had tasted the rainbow, it was no surprise they disappeared. Caegan filled the containers with the efficiency of a practiced pharmacist. He put a few plastic cases in the draw string bag and spread the others in vases, jewelry boxes, and inside other junk that had somehow accumulated here over the years. He pocketed a Tic-Tac container, hoping it would last him the week. Fingers crossed.
The number one rule of stashing was never put it all in one place. The advice worked well for street life too, he thought. Love, money, trust—never give it all away, and never let on that there was more to be had.
The kitchen was empty when he got back. Scott was probably snoozing even though the Kid had sweat out a gallon on the sheets. He’d have to wash them or else they’d stink as bad as the locker room. The front door screamed open and Caegan grit his teeth a second before it slammed shut.
“Caegan Isaac Riley, where the hell have you been?”
She never said his full name. Sometimes he wondered what it would take to make her say it. Most of the time, he tried to avoid hearing her voice completely. Hard to do when she could screech like a hyena.
Evidently there was something about having a kid that made Theresa think she could rule his life. Her voice reached around the corners as he quickly rinsed the few dishes they’d used and set them to dry on a towel.
“I don’t work myself into the ground just so you and your lazy-ass ghetto-wannabe friends can eat everything I pay for with my money.”
“Only lazy ghetto ass around here is yours.”
“The hell did you just say to me?”
“We didn’t eat anything.”
He kept his back to her and palmed a few pills before whisking the bottle of aspirin back into the cabinet. She would bring on a migraine and a bad mood before he came down, let along clear of her reach. Sometimes not even the ecstasy could help him keep his cool, when she was determined to get under his skin. He could hear her rummaging through the fridge, trying to make a show out of what little was there.
“Boy, do you want to end up on them streets? Keep talking. See if I won’t kick you out this house for good.”
“No wonder Dad offed himself.” Caegan spat out the words instead of throwing the last glass at her face. “I wouldn’t want to live with a nagging bitch like you either.”
Knuckles pop against his teeth and his face burned hot a second later. Her rings caught on his skin, scratching a thin line on his chin. Caegan ran his tongue along his gums. Tasting blood and telling himself not to spit in her face. She stood with her hands on her hips, eyes beady and bloodshot.
“Try me, boy.” Theresa’s voice was low and dangerous. “Just you try.”
She never made threats when she planned on following through. She didn’t give a shit about Scott, but she didn’t want Gabriel tattling to Mama Lev. Not that it wasn’t anything Mrs. L didn’t already know. Caegan stayed quiet, if only for the fact that it wouldn’t give her a satisfaction of a longer fight.
“Useless.” Her lip curled as she shook her head. “You ain’t shit—I don’t care what they be saying about you out there.”
She herded herself into the living room and lowered onto the couch. It was hard not to miss the resemblance she bore to the fridge next door. She put her feet up as she undid her wrap; her black locs fell down her back like a writhing nest of snakes. His own locs were carrot colored. Sandy at the roots, and only hanging past his shoulders.
“Where my smokes at?”
She tilted her head back and massaged her temples, her long acid-green fingernails looking venomous against her dark brown skin. Scott looked more like her kid than he did, but she couldn’t be a mother to anyone. Caegan would chance being an actual ghost over being stuck in the house with her.
“How should I know?” He spat into the sink. “You make so much, why don’t you go get some more? I never asked for your money, anyway.”
His headache was easier to ignore, knowing she was trying to take the edge off her own migraine. He banged on the bathroom door, drowning out whatever she was shouting. Gabriel peeked his head out, wide eyes looking both ways. Caegan cut him off before he could say anything about his face.
“Hurry the fuck up, unless you want that bitch to babysit you.”
Droplets splashed off Gabriel’s twists when he nodded. He didn’t want to get chewed out by his mom, but he wanted even less to be within ear-shot of Theresa. Caegan went back to his room and stepped over Scott, who had managed to doze off in the middle of the floor instead of on the bed. He dug another pair of jeans and a hoodie from his closet. Today’s sleeves were dark blue; a safe enough color for blending in on the blocks, as much as he could.
After changing his clothes, he grabbed his keys and shoved them into his pocket. They needed to get out of here before things got even more violent. Theresa might not hit him in front of the Kid, but she would snatch anything in reach and fling it at him. If given the opportunity to let his hands do the talking, he wouldn’t regret making the most of it—but he knew better than to use his fists when distance would suffice.
The further they walked from the house, the better Caegan felt. Home was hell, but out here he made his own rules and got by alright. He kicked at a rock every now and then, and muttered a curse when his foot came into contact with a chunk of concrete. It had good weight to it, and when he picked it up, it wasn’t too smooth.
Caegan tossed it from one hand to the other as they headed towards the park a few blocks away, sometimes passing it to Scott or the Kid. Another rule out here: keep your friends close; keep your weapons closer. He didn’t need a gun to be a threat.
“You tell your mom we’re headed to the Bucket?”
The park was as close as it got to neutral ground, but you could still get marked out there if you were stupid enough. Trouble was as easy to find in a side-alley as it was on an open street.
“She said she won’t come nowhere near it.” Gabriel scraped his fingernails when Scott tossed the chunk of rock back to him, but at least he managed to catch it. “Closest she’ll get is the bus stop on Jarvis.”
It would have been better if Gabriel had told him that sooner. Like when they had left the house. Caegan stopped walking, turning to face the Kid. Gabriel already had enough coming to him, but he stared him down anyway.
“Should’ve said something earlier, if you didn’t want to walk back five blocks by yourself.”
Gabriel’s mouth hung open, trying for some sort of comeback. Keeping a low profile on the streets was key. The Kid would have to learn on his own, if he wanted to stick around. Caegan didn’t smile and didn’t frown. Scott looked between them, rolling his shoulders as he shifted from foot to foot. Already antsy from staying in one spot too long.
“Cae, come on man. Let’s just walk back together.”
“Fine. Go with him if you want.” Caegan didn’t take his eyes off Gabriel. “See if he likes what attention he gets around here.”
Scott and Gabriel stared at him before Scott tugged on the Gabriel’s sleeve and led him away. Caegan turned and kept walking. Let the Kid try to make it on these streets without him, if he thought he could do it on his own.
Caegan ducked off Harmon Avenue a block later, tossing nods at slouched shapes in doorways. The series of side streets and back alleys he took brought him out on the Jarvis and Leonard intersection, in the opposite direction Scott and Gabriel would come from. He reached into his pocket and frowned when he found it empty. Leaning against the brick of the drug store, he folded his arms and waited.
If you tried to talk to the old ladies, they’d give you a fifteen-minute lecture about throwing your life away, wasting your God-given talent. Young moms caved if you pushed hard enough, but most of them had enough shit to handle and it wasn’t really Caegan’s style. Stray kids were easy for simple favors, but they didn’t show until nearly evening.
Gerald would have given him a pack for a shake even if it wasn’t a weekday, but his shop was a half-block from the Bucket, over on Keppler. He could have been enjoying a smoke and watching the block, but instead he was making sure the Kid got a proper talking to. Caegan hoped Mrs. L read Gabriel the riot act three times over.
A weather-beaten hag with a patchy beard approached, shoulders up to his ears Caegan recognized the janitor and handyman from Freedom Faith Congregation, Father Rocci’s cathedral over on Holland.
“Bum a smoke?”
The muttering paused with a grunt and a cocked head. Cracked lips pursed as yellowed eyes sized him up, but then the janitor passed him a cigarette. Head back, eyes tracing the cloudless sky for a moment, Caegan blew out the smoke and sighed.
“Son of the sun, borrowing light.” Moses squints at him. “Princeling on the loose, almost a king now.”
Old Man Moses was bat-shit to most, but Caegan thought he knew more secrets than anyone else on these streets. He nodded, eyes shifting back to the intersection. Beside him, Old Moses rattled the pack of stubs back and forth. If the lid weren’t folded in, the cigarettes would be all over the sidewalk.
“Father Rocci says Moses should stops, but who would help the Holy Ghost if Moses quits?”
Caegan would have cracked a grin if it wouldn’t have been mistaken for disrespect. It was mostly agreed that war and drink had scrambled his brain, although no one knew exactly which war or what had happened in it. Anything out of a brown paper bag was enough to keep him pacified, as long as it burned on the way down.
“Moses is a good man.”
“Course he is.” Moses hacked up a chunk of phlegm and spat. “Moses saved us all in the burning bush, but the sorry sons of bitches cost him everything.”
The old man shuffled off, muttering about a past that only he remembered. Caegan watched him go, letting out another stream of smoke. Across the street, a flash of light caught his eye. Hard to believe the sun could cause a glare off the rusted-out Honda Civic the kid’s mom drove, but there was just enough left of the silver paint job for it to be possible.
Mrs. Leverson was having her say, and half the block could hear. The Kid had slouched with his sulking. His lips twitched, but mumbling was just as stupid as mouthing off at full volume. The scowl wiped from the Kid’s face when Mrs. Leverson grabbed his chin and tilted his head up.
Caegan bit the end of his stub, inhaling slowly. Mrs. L gave Gabriel a shake and pointed to the back seat. He exhaled, the smoke unwinding the headache that the morning had become. Scott could have made it to the Bucket on his own, but Caegan met up with him five minutes later. Scott gave him a wary glance.
“Dude, I thought your mom gave us hell. Leverson’s mom is ten times worse.”
The sun was bright, warming the bark and balancing out the shade like a shot of whiskey alleviating the cold. Caegan sat on an empty bump of dirt near the fence, pulling the chunk of concrete out of his hoodie. He stubbed out the last of his cigarette against it and drew up his knees, resting his elbows on them. Scott sprawled out beside him, flipping a few times before finding a position that he could keep.
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing him for a while,” Scott said. “That woman must have been a fucking drill sergeant in her past life.”
“I bet that turned you on.”
Scott choked on the thought. Caegan slapped him on the back, laughing. It was a bad joke, but he didn’t care. He had a smoke, he was starting to float, and the rest of a long weekend stretched before them like all the blue sky. Princeling on the loose. Almost a king. The world was his.
“That’s sick.”
“I know how much you like demanding types.” Caegan winked. “Sure you don’t want to chase after Mrs. L instead of Michelle?”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Which one?”
Scott scrunched his nose at him before rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. The pause turned his mood, and he pulled at the already-sparse grass. Caegan scoped out the park, looking out for cruisers of all sorts. Information was the only solid trade around here. It wouldn’t line his pockets, but it would keep him alive.
“Not going to lie, I wasn’t sure we’d make it back up to Jarvis without ducking. I wasn’t scared or nothing, but Gabe kept running his mouth the whole time, asking me what we’d do if we ran into the Brigade.”
“He don’t come from much. They’d make better money putting you on their racks, Sweets.”
Scott threw a chunk of dirt at him. It had technically been a compliment; with his smooth skin and straight-white teeth, Scott would fetch a pretty penny if anyone got a hold of him. The Black Dress Brigade knew Scott came from good money—and plenty of it—but they didn’t waste their time. Abductions only worked if someone gave a damn to fork over the cash. Lucky for Scott, his parents and the pimps thought he was nothing more than wasted potential.
“You ever get worried?” Scott asked.
Caegan glanced over at the question. Scott had moved from pulling up grass to digging holes.
“He’s more trouble than he’s worth, if he can’t handle himself.”
“But you’d cover for him, right?”
“The two of us is cool. He keeps hanging around, the Brigade’s going to think it’s a crew.”
“You wouldn’t serve him up.”
“The Brigade doesn’t know that. The Kid don’t either—and you better not tell him.”
Scott twisted away, turning to scan the park himself. South of Jarvis down to Holland was all Boutique, a dozen blocks run by the Brigade. Bounty territory was on the other side of Kingston, where anything you had was worth more than your life. The Bucket fell in the middle. West Hodgens cut the block in two triangles, and Father Rocci’s church on the other half was usually enough of a reminder to keep the peace.
Caegan stood, leaning against a scrawny tree and eyeing a pair of girls on the swings. They weren’t any older than nine or ten. Kids had a way of showing up out of nowhere over the summer. Cousins visiting or a switching custody for a few months. No shortage of strays who found out they’d traded one hell for something a lot scarier. By the time school came back around, everyone found themselves a bed somewhere.
Everyone on the blocks knew Bet charged mad money for shelter until a kid’s parents could bring them home safe. The longer they took to come up with the money, the more he made. Bet cashed in on most everything around here, but you wouldn’t find it on the books. Nobody talked, and even if a kid got reported missing, the cops didn’t press it. Not until it was too late, after someone’s brat disappeared in the back of a shiny car and then the trail went cold.
“You wonder if they’ll get rough?”
Caegan shook his head.
“Don’t need to.”
“Not with you and me.” Scott dug a brush out of his pocket and ran it over the crown of his head, shining up the tiny waves of his cut. “But sometimes I think about—”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
Mrs. L had almost escaped being a single mother, but the Kid’s dad had gotten shivved in prison a few years back. Caegan supposed she was better than most. She’d had pathetic choice in men, but she wasn’t taking any more chances.
If he had to guess, he’d give her two more years. A decade and a half was a long way to claw your way back to what you used to have. It was better than not getting out at all. Gabriel would shape up by the time he was fifteen, maybe sixteen. He’d be alright once he got out—but until then, Caegan had to make sure he got out.
“What if—”
“You trust me, Sweets?”
Scott flinched. Caegan kept staring until Scott gave a nod.
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
Over by the swings, the girls were squealing as their mom pushed them higher and higher. Caegan tugged down the zipper on his hoodie, letting the breeze rush closer to his skin. On E, time was his niche. At the peak of a high, everything detail was bright and clear as day. Caegan settled in for the long afternoon, at ease and on watch.
They haven’t always lived south of Jarvis. It’s not a bad place they have, but it’s not a good place to live. Things had been bad when they lived in a good place. Now things were worse, but he knew it wasn’t because of where they lived. He’s seven, but he knows more about the world than people think.
Caegan doesn’t mind the streets. He’s walked every block, memorizing faces and names and figuring out what to watch out for. He wondered if Father Rocci thought telling stories about kidnapping armies would make kids come to church. His own father had told him different stories, about the sun and the ocean. About the sky and the stars and secrets in the dark. Theresa hated those stories. Theresa hates everyone and everything, and Caegan knows she’s glad his father disappeared.
He walks past the cathedral now, the tall towers looking old and dirty. Like the man who sits huddled by one of the windows or on the steps. Worn down like it was tired of being here, but didn’t have anywhere else to go. A lot of people on the blocks looked like that.
“Come to me, if you’re a spirit.”
The man’s eyes are bright. He’s by the windows today. He looks like he’s got no bones in him—like cardboard that loses its shape with too much rain and sun. Caegan walks over to him because strangers don’t scare him, no matter what Father Rocci says.
Even when the man’s hands land on his shoulders and pull him closer, Caegan is calm. Most grown-ups are too afraid to touch him, but the old man is different. The old man’s beard scratches against his face when he kisses his forehead.
“Blessed be. Sign of peace.”
“There are soldiers on the streets.” Caegan shakes his head. “Evil armies.”
There is a smell. Sweaty. Sticky and sweet. Maybe it’s the man’s breath, maybe it’s his body. The man presses his dirty fingers into Caegan’s shoulders, stares into his face.
“But you’re the king.”
The words have a taste. Like a fire that’s recently gone out. The man says it the same way Father Rocci says he shouldn’t wander through the Boutique. He knew that’s what you called a fancy dress shop, but there weren’t any expensive stores around here. Just Gerald’s General on twenty-third and Keppler, where he sometimes bought sandwiches and soda. Gerald gave him smokes too, because he couldn’t go back to the house without them.
Caegan slips his hands into his pockets and looks up and down Holland Avenue. The sirens are on the other side of Kingston, he’s pretty sure. He’ll be able to get to the park without any problems. Bounty Bandits didn’t bother people on this side of Kington anyway, but Father Rocci still tried to scare people into listening to his sermons. It would take more than jungles and armies to make Caegan worry, but the stories could be interesting.
“Who are you?”
Usually he doesn’t have to ask, because adults always like to tell you who they are. The hunched back in front of him looks like he built the church himself. Maybe he used to run the place, before Father Rocci.
“The Sun King leaves his Princeling.” The man points to the sky, then to Caegan, then to his own chest. “Old Man Moses gives thanks.”
“Princes are rich.” Caegan shrugs. “I don’t have anything,”
He doesn’t mind, because it’s safer that way. No reason for anyone to snatch him up or stab him to death. Father Rocci says people didn’t need reasons to do those things, but when something bad happened he said everything happened for a reason. Caegan wasn’t sure if Father Rocci knew what he was talking about.
“That is that. What you think. What they think.” Old Man Moses hushes him, wagging a finger in his face. “Think, think, think.”
The old man’s face twists up like he’s trying to get at a piece of candy stuck in his teeth. He watches the sky for a moment and motions for Caegan to come closer. The hand on the back of his neck is spongey and damp.
Caegan blinks and takes another step forward. Father Rocci always leans like he’s afraid to stand too close to him. Old Man Moses is the opposite. Caegan likes him better than the priest.
Old Man Moses is the only adult who makes sense. Once upon a time, Caegan had shouted in a doctor’s office. They didn’t pay attention when he used his mouth so he’d screamed with his mind. That was the only time Theresa had ever cared what happened to him. Caegan thinks that Moses could speak with his mind too, if he wanted.
“Memory.” Moses says it like a secret. “Return to me. Remember me.”
The shadows along the ceiling shift from blue to grey in a blink. Dropping off in the middle of the day was a risk he could take, since it was a long weekend. He remembered getting samosas from the food truck parade by the Bucket. The rest would come back with a snack and a smoke. Caegan tried to push himself up and couldn’t.
Scott groaned into his shoulder when he elbowed him. Caegan shifted as much as he could manage with Scott tangled against him, his arm at an awkward angle as he reached for the floor. His fingertips tingled, as if his skin could feel the worn cardboard that was just out of reach. He gave Scott a knee, aiming for his stomach and getting a shriek in response. Scott immediately rolled away, curling in on himself. Caegan tumbled off the mattress, catching himself on his elbow.
The black carton stared him in the face, bright green lighter three inches away. He grabbed both and pulled himself onto the bed, slouching against the wall. Scott gingerly readjusted his jeans, not quite glaring at him as he hobbled to the bathroom.
Caegan reached for his hoodie, pushing his arms through the sleeves. He kicked the thin blankets down to his ankles. Scott didn’t believe him when he said he could sleep without them. Or maybe he did, and Scott thought heaping a pile of blankets on top of him in the middle of August was just a nice thing to do.
The air prickled against his calves, and Caegan drew up his knees. The house was quiet. Voices on the sidewalk carried, but none of them were Theresa’s. Caegan closed his eyes a moment, his grip on the lighter loosening ever so slightly. The Sun King… No. Better not go down that road. He knew the map of his thoughts as well as he knew the blocks, and there were some places that were better left alone.
Scott came back to the room looking half-guilty. Caegan cracked a smile as he rolled his thumb over the lighter’s head. Scott sat opposite him, folding one leg gingerly beneath him. An elbow in the balls was hell, but it was worse if you had a boner.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Nobody to tell.” He cupped his right hand out of habit even though there was no wind to knock out the flame. “Not their business to know.”
“I’m sorry—I—”
Caegan’s hand dropped to Scott’s thigh, squeezing. Scott fell silent but his mouth didn’t close all the way. Caegan exhaled slowly through his nose, leaning forward. By the time he drew in another breath, their noses were nearly touching.
Scott’s mouth widened, inhaling the smoke. Licking his lips. Caegan raised an eyebrow. Cocked his head as the seconds passed. Wondering if Scott planned on holding his breath for the rest of the night.
“Quit it.”
Scott shoved him back and Caegan lay flat on his back, laughing behind his lips as he draws on the cigarette. Scott got up and rearranged the blankets before stretching out again, a few inches between them. Caegan elbowed him—this time in the side and not the crotch. Scott brushed him off but settled slightly closer.
“You still getting with Skylar?”
Depends on what you mean.
He doesn’t say it, but he raises an eyebrow at Scott and passes him the cigarette. Overhead, the shadows had shifted back to blue. Deeper this time, closer to indigo than navy. Only a spark of sunset left in the sky. A spare butterscotch at the bottom of an old purse.
Skylar probably had her arm deep in her boot, dipping for a last weekend boost before getting her shit together for the books. Sometimes he got with Skylar. Sometimes he got from Skylar. Most times it was both. Scott coughs and hands him the stub back.
“Sometimes.” Caegan pushes Scott up, lightly smacking his back. “You ask Michell out yet?”
“I don’t have a chance, no thanks to you.”
“You want me to talk to her for you?”
“Hell no.”
“Want me to tell Spy to talk her up for you?”
“Are you fucking kidding?” Scott tried shoving him off the bed again, but Caegan dug his heels into the mattress. “You might as well cut off my dick.”
“Michelle will think you’re a dick if you swap slobber and then forget about her.”
“I should’ve asked for her number.”
Scott wiped his hands over his face, blowing out a sigh. Caegan had thought Scott had changed the subject, asking about Skylar, but maybe he hadn’t. He sat up and tapped ash out in the coaster, letting the silence stretch.
Caegan slipped an arm around Scott to keep him from overthinking it. Scott groaned as he rested his head on Caegan’s shoulder. It took a few moments, but he started to relax. Caegan took another pull on the cigarette and then passed it back to him.
“Let’s say you did.”
“But I didn’t.”
“What if you were both drunk off your asses? You asked. She gave. You just don’t remember.”
“I wasn’t totally wasted at that party.” Scott passed the cigarette back. “Gabriel’s the one who got shit-faced, remember?”
Scott‘s stomach rumbled and he groaned, making his way back to the bathroom. Every time they got anything remotely spicy to eat, Scott got the shits a few hours later. Caegan made a mental note to clean the bathroom before the weekend was out. Bleach made for a decent boost in the middle of the night, or whenever he needed to stretch his wings and didn’t want to waste his own supply.
Caegan stubbed out the smoke and scrounged the floor again. When Scott appeared in the doorway, yawning the drowsiness away, Caegan tossed him his phone. Scott fumbled but caught it against his chest before it could clatter onto the floor. Scott had shattered at least five phone screens in the past three years, but right now his thumbs are swiping through his messages and notifications. Caegan headed for the kitchen, swiping a bowl and the bag of cereal.
“The fuck?” Scott thudded down the hall, wide awake. “How’d Michelle’s number get in here?”
“How you ain’t said nothing yet?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell her you like that thing she does with her tongue.”
Scott nearly gagged. Caegan smirked around the spoon in his mouth. Scott reached for the bag and then thought better of it, much to Caegan’s relief. Sugar would not help his stomach, and they were both better off without Scott spewing from both ends. Slouching in the chair, staring at a conversation that hadn’t happened yet, Scott scratched the back of his head.
“I just want to get to know her. Like, maybe hang out sometime.”
“Then tell her.”
“I just want to be friends.”
“Friends who stick their tongues down each other’s throats?”
“Fuck you.” Scott dropped the phone on the table and went to the fridge. “How’d you do it with Skylar?”
Caegan tilted his spoon back and launched a pink pellet at the back of Scott’s head.
“Didn’t.”
“But you and her are like—you know. Down. Cool with each other.”
A green cereal puff ricocheted off Scott’s shoulder and into the sink. Scott brushed his arm without looking, settling for a ginger ale and a sleeve of crackers from the cabinet. Cool came in all sorts of flavors. He and Skylar were cool. Him and Scott were cool.
Most people wanted to be cool with him. Funny how people would do almost anything to avoid being in his sights, or him being in theirs. You and me, White. Skylar wasn’t wrong about running things. That was why people came to him for certain favors—because they knew he’d be cool about it. Caegan flicked a yellow piece of cereal past Scott’s ear instead of asking just how cool with Michelle Scott wanted to be.
“She ain’t gonna talk first.” Caegan tapped the phone’s screen with his spoon. “It’s up to you.”
“What if she’s busy?”
“You got the rest of the weekend.”
Caegan started in on his cereal again. Scott dumped a dozen crackers onto the table, eating through half of them before realizing Caegan had made a threat. Friendly or not, Caegan always followed through when he was serious. Scott swallowed and stared at the now-dark screen, wondering how he was going to make the first move.
V. H. King's Ink 
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