Chapter Text
Despite Neil’s best efforts to get away Carson insists that he stay over for the night, which involves climbing in through Carson’s window at nearly three in the morning, a difficult feat further complicated by Carson being drunk and giggly. Neil manages to manhandle Carson into his room and put him to bed and by that the point the promise of a shower and an air-conditioned room is too sweet to pass up.
The Ramirez house is quiet, everyone sleeping except for Juliana (the light under her door gives her away). Neil tiptoes to the bathroom the three siblings share and locks the door behind him. He blinks at his reflection in the mirror: black hair, brown eyes, smudged eyeliner, borrowed clothes, and an unfamiliar expression. Neil leans in and stares into his eyes, trying to figure out what’s different. It eludes him and his mind wanders to the warm hazel of Andrew’s eyes, the quick, subtle expressions that Andrew betrays when he’s surprised or amused, how Andrew’s accent is so different than his teammates’. Neil catches the shift in his face this time: his eyes have gone soft and hazy and… that’s a problem. He scowls with trademark teen petulance and gets into the shower.
After weeks of infrequent bathing or hurried locker room showers this feels like paradise. Neil lets the hot water soak into him, washing away his sweat and the reek from the club. He helps himself to the body wash, which smells like teak; at least that’s what the label says. It’s some masculine brand from Bath & Body Works. Neil doesn’t really understand the way society pushes girls to smell like desserts and flowers and dudes to smell like trees and indecipherable things like Axe. It’s something he hadn’t noticed until recently when he had to spend so much time around American kids his own age. They all smell like everything: sweat, cigarettes, body wash, body spray, perfume, cologne, fast food. Andrew smells like cigarettes…
Neil shakes his head and hurries through the rest of his shower. He grabs one of the soft towels and dries off. When he opens the bathroom door he finds a pile of sweats on the hallway floor; he looks around but none of the family are in sight so he grabs the clothes and dresses. The legs and sleeves are too long, meaning they probably belong to Juliana who takes after Carson in the height department; Ezra, the youngest sibling, is thirteen and already an inch or so taller than Neil. Neil bends down and rolls up the pants legs and pushes the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows. When he returns to Carson’s room he finds more gifts: a sleeping bag, pillow, and blanket. Carson’s passed out on his bed but someone, Juliana, has taken his shoes off and covered him. There are two bottles of water and some Tylenol on Carson’s desk and Neil helps himself a bottle, gulping it down thirstily.
The sleeping bag zipper seems ridiculously loud in the quiet house and Neil winces at every rustle he makes as he settles down, the sleeping bag laid out beneath him and the blanket spread over him. He’s hyper aware of every sound both inside and outside of the house. After years of sleeping with one eye open he can hardly relax even though he knows that Carson is safe, that the Ramirez family has no reason to cause him harm. How do normal people live life so carelessly?
Neil stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Carson’s ceiling, mapping out the imaginary constellations. He centers his breathing, syncing with Carson, and lets the sound of steady inhales and exhales lull him into shutting his eyes. The dark presses in and he tells himself his new narrative, repeats the story of Neil Josten, rookie striker at Richland High: recently moved from Arizona, only child of successful but largely absent parents, diehard PSU fan, likes art, generally competent in academics without standing out too much, amiable if shy, willing to play well with others, plans on becoming a physical therapist. Almost none of the story is true but Neil replays it every night, settling deeper and deeper into the persona. He wonders, though, how Andrew Minyard is going to fit into the story. Andrew, who seems to see through his lies, who talked to him for hours, gave him his number, and held his hand. What should Neil Josten do about this? What does he want from this? It’s these thoughts that keep Neil up and make him toss and turn in his sleep, restless and wondering.
—–
“Neeeeiiiillll, dude, get up.” Someone nudges the side of the sleeping bag and Neil’s eyes snap open and he jerks upright, heart pounding, eyes squinting.
“Holy shit!” Carson yelps, falling backwards. “Do you always wake up like a Jack-in-the-Box?! Gave me a fucking heart attack.”
Carson is sprawled gracelessly on the floor next to the sleeping bag. He’s shirtless and wearing basketball shorts, he holds one hand to his chest in a delayed reaction of surprise. His expression is priceless.
“You surprised me,” Neil mumbles, rubbing at his tired eyes. His body feels heavy from not sleeping enough. He lies back on the makeshift bed and curls up on his side. He could fall back asleep now that he knows it’s only Carson in the room with him.
“Man, you can’t go back to sleep,” Carson prods. “My parents are gonna come in here soon and want me to go to church.”
“So?” Neil says into the pillow. Carson’s parents are pretty cool; he doesn’t see what the big deal is.
“So?! So my mom and dad haven’t exactly approved sleepovers since I came out a couple years ago. Plus it’s Sunday. If you stick around they’ll make you go to mass.”
Neil fakes snoring. “Just tell ‘em I’m not into you. Problem solved.”
Carson scoffs. “Rude. And tragic. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Mmhmm,” Neil hums. He can feel sleep dragging him under.
Carson swears softly but leaves Neil alone. Neil listens while Carson riffles through his clothes and dresses. He can hear sounds of the rest of the household getting around: doors opening and closing, showers running, coffee brewing. He should leave soon and head back to his base camp.
“Carson! Babe, get up! We’re leaving in five minutes!” Carson’s mom bangs on the door and Neil huddles down into the sleeping bag as if by being out of sight he can escape notice.
“Be there in a sec!” Carson yells. He pulls at the sleeping bag again. “C’mon, Neil. You gotta go. Out the window, come on.”
Neil gets to his feet and shoos Carson out so he can change. His own clothes feel old and grubby compared to Juliana’s soft pajamas. He takes time to neatly fold the sleeping bag and clothes.
Carson returns in a few minutes with a bagel and small bottle of orange juice that he insists Neil take with him.
“I can’t believe tomorrow’s the first day of school,” Carson groans. He’s fixing his tie and checking his hair in the mirror. He’s looking pretty sharp for church. He catches Neil watching and winks. “You gotta sit with me at lunch, okay? And tell me everything that happened last night. Man, I cannot believe that Andrew is so into you! Jealous.”
Neil shrugs, feeling uncomfortable under Carson’s intense scrutiny. “You think he’s into me?”
Carson sighs dramatically. “He talked to you all night, Neil. He bought you a drink. Every time one of us tried to cut into the conversation he just glared until we went away. He may have been only curious at first but now…”
“Now?”
“Now he totally wants a piece of that fine Neil Josten action!” Neil flushes and shoves the window open while Carson laughs. “Oh, don’t look like that!” Carson says as Neil climbs out the window, bagel shoved in his mouth, orange juice in one hand. “You can ask me anything, okay? I got experience. I know what’s what. Alright? Don’t freak.”
Neil lands in the azalea bushes and removes the bagel from his mouth. It’s an everything bagel with cream cheese and bacon in the middle; it’s the best breakfast he’s had all summer.
“I’m not freaking out,” Neil replies. “I just… I mean, we just met? I’m not really ready to uh, you know…” He’s not sure what he’s trying to say. It would be untrue to say he’s uninterested but he doesn’t know what that means yet. And he doesn’t want to assume things about Andrew, either. “I’m gonna go,” he finishes. “See you at school. And thanks for letting me stay and everything. Tell Juliana thanks for the clothes. I owe her.”
Carson waves his hand. “Psh, don’t sweat it. She likes dressing people so it probably made her day knowing you were wearing her clothes. And… now that I’m saying it out loud that sounds hella weird but whatever.” Someone yells something and Carson shakes his head once. “That’s my mom. Final warning for church. Okay, leaving for real now. Bye!”
Neil waves once and quickly makes himself scarce. Carson’s family lives in a nice neighborhood with old, stately homes, quiet streets, and large, spreading oak trees. Really, with the money that the Ramirez family pulls in Neil’s surprised that they don’t send their kids to the small, private Catholic school instead of the sprawling public high school.
Neil eats his bagel and sips on the orange juice, making his way to the bus stop. His adopted neighborhood is on the other side of the city, almost on the outskirts. It was some developer’s pipe dream before the real estate market went bust: large homes on big pieces of property, tucked away behind an ornate and largely useless gate. Less than half of the houses have residents and the rest of the neighborhood is a collection of weedy lawns with a general air of abandonment. It’s close enough to the school that walking every day isn’t an issue and his house is positioned so that he can cut through the trees and get to the backdoor without any of the very few neighbors noticing.
Instead of going straight home Neil takes a detour to Wal-Mart where he buys a cheap pay-as-you-go phone and a few supplies that he needs. He wanders around for a bit, enjoying the coolness before heading back into the summertime heat. Neil’s lived a lot of places but right now the relentless heat and humidity are making Columbia feel like hell; about the only time it’s pleasant is in the mornings when he takes his run through the neighborhood and out to the nearby park.
While waiting for the bus Neil adds Andrew’s number to his contacts and then stares at his phone, playing around with settings. He got the most basic phone, the only non-smartphone they had. As much as he would love to have ready access to the Internet he doesn’t want to pay extra and he’s more than a little paranoid about being tracked. For now the phone’s main purpose is to serve as a connection to Andrew. And that’s alarming and unprecedented. He’s already made massive changes to his lifestyle since his mom died but this – making connections – it flies in the face of everything she taught him about survival.
The bus pulls up and Neil gets on, walking towards the back and until he finds empty seats. He fiddles with the phone some more, aimlessly putting off the inevitable. What should he say? He should have asked Carson for suggestions. Neil briefly considers what Carson might have suggested and laughs to himself. What would Neil Josten say?
Neil takes a breath and thumbs out a short message hey. it’s Neil and hits the send button before he can over think it. But he’s already over thinking it. Should he have added “I liked hanging out with you” “what are you doing?” “how’s your Sunday?” But none of those feel right. Maybe he’s doing this wrong. Whatever this is.
The bus lumbers on, making stops, letting people on and off. Columbia’s a different place, small compared to some of the cities Neil has lived in and visited. It’s hard not to feel exposed every time he goes out; it’s difficult not to walk around like he has a target on his back, to act like he belongs here. So far his teammates have been accepting and haven’t questioned his story. Truth be told he’s nervous about tomorrow, being back in school, finding his way without his mother to act as a support system. Neil pushes away thoughts of his mother; it hurts too much.
Just then his new phone buzzes, the small screen lighting up with a text notification. Neil almost jumps in surprise. He opens the message and reads the few words: hey. did you get home ok?
Neil feels a small glow of warmth below his breastbone, which is strange and new. He hurriedly texts back: not yet! stayed with Carson. taking the bus home
Waiting for a reply is agonizing. Should he have sent a question, too? His mother always told him conversation was like Exy: keep the conversation moving, think strategically, gain information, protect your secrets, get what you need and move on. Somehow Neil doesn’t think those rules apply to his current situation.
The phone vibrates in his palm and Neil reads the new message:you excited about class? what teachers do you have?
Neil sinks down into the seat, clutching the phone to his chest and types out his class schedule from memory. He’s vaguely aware that he’s grinning, that he’s feeling nervous and pleased by Andrew’s interest. Andrew sends him a very long message about the various teachers and advice about good places to hide on campus and what sort of people to avoid. Neil’s blown away. Did Andrew realize last night how stressed he was feeling about going back to school? How should he respond?
Neil bites at his lip and slowly types out the message: you saved my life. thank you
Andrew doesn’t reply immediately and Neil worries at first and then decides that maybe Andrew is busy. His stop comes up and he gets off. He never gets off right by his neighborhood; it’s just another little survival strategy that him mom taught him: always be unpredictable. He takes a different route home, ends up cutting through the park and then through the woods. By the time he arrives at his house he’s hot and sweaty, his shirt sticking to his back. Neil climbs in through one of the windows and makes a slow circuit of the house, checking to see if anyone has been inside. Once he’s cleared the house and goes to the attic and retrieves his duffle bag from the hiding space up in the rafters. He doesn’t like leaving it there but he’s glad he did; what would he have done last night? Taken it into the club? Not likely.
Neil sorts through his cans of food, finds some Spaghetti-Os and eats them cold out of the can. One of the plus sides to going back to school is the free breakfasts and lunches. He’s just about to doodle in his notebook when his phone buzzes. Neil scoops it up eagerly and reads the message. It’s painfully short but Neil still feels a twinge in his chest like relief. Neil reads the words again, smiling to himself: of course