Chapter Text
What Cory hadn’t planned for was the bad signal outside, the rough crackle of static over Topanga’s familiar voice as, just beyond, the sun sank behind dark trees and cast his backyard in strange, alien shadows.
“Crrrr-ryyy?” rippled crookedly over the line, like the gray echo of post-eraser pencil marks.
He hesitated.
“CRRR–rry.” Again, this time louder. More indignant. Trust Topanga to dominate her way through a failing phone line.
“Sorry, it’s just––”
Just that Morgan had her friends over in the living room, giggling and squealing and munching their way through a shared bowl of popcorn as they crowded around the family television. Just that his mom and dad were bent over the kitchen table, having a hushed conversation that, apparently, could not be interrupted under any circumstances. And maybe Cory wouldn’t be so bitter over that, but then he’d gone upstairs — to his own room, keep in mind — where Eric had been a diva in an oversized jersey, slamming his textbook shut and griping that couldn’t Cory give him some space, couldn’t he see that Eric was trying to study? So Cory, who could see that, thank you very much, and was irritated at how proud he was, had huffed his way out to the back patio with his family’s only cordless. What luck.
“––the connection’s a little...off. I guess. But don’t worry! I can hear you well enough.”
“Weeee’re –– nttt –– brkking up?”
“No, no! Everything’s fine!” Which was somewhat true. At least Feeny hadn’t crashed their date. Cory stood up from his chair and paced around, maneuvering from spot to spot in search of a better signal. “L-Let me just...uhhhh...here. Here. Try saying something.”
“Izz ‘ttt be-t-t-tteerr?” asked Topanga in a garbled voice.
“Yes,” Cory lied. He hurried frantically around his cramped little yard and cast a wary eye across the fence; this felt like a prime Feeny Moment.
There was a brief period of silence, and for a moment Cory was scared he’d lost her, but a twitch of noise and she was back.
“Kindvvvvveee bzzy ‘ight nooowww, nnyway...may-be ssshhould––” And Cory felt the next word like a grenade in his chest, ash in his lungs, so he didn’t have to hear it. “––reschedule?”
“No!” He picked up his pacing even more, hissed out a pained swear when an unusually jagged rock pierced his foot. Hopefully Topanga hadn’t heard.
“Crr-rrrrry.” Steady. Measured. She had heard.
Cory stopped and held back a sigh. Rubbed furiously at his eyes. Overhead, a dark cloud began to form, and screw it, if it rained then that was just another thing he hadn’t planned for. If it rained, then not only had he floundered out here in nothing but his socks, but he’d also forgotten a rain jacket. A simple, lightweight rain jacket for a simple, cloudy evening during a simple, relaxed phone call with his girlfriend, Topanga Lawrence, whom he loved more than anything.
Huh. “Whom.” That was pretty solid grammar, and he learned it from her. He learned everything from her, really, except the stuff he learned from Shawn, and now he couldn’t even—
“Crrrrrr-yy.” Admonishing, but tender.
“I’m sorry.” He let himself sigh, just a little. “We just — I should’ve planned this better, but I’ll get it right next time, okay? How about I call you back tomorrow?”
More garbled noise, but Cory made out the words “not tomorrow” and “plans” and “day after?”
“Yes! Wait, no—that’s Nana Booboo’s birthday. You know, she’s like, on her third century now, so it’s a big occasion.” He concocted a laugh, which was as awkward as a tin can in a jewelry display. “Maybe, uh…”
The words “next week” crackled over the line, amid other hazy sentiments. Cory hoped it was kind, whatever she was saying.
“Yeah...yeah, fine. Talk to you then. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
And maybe it was the power of love, or quite possibly a grief-induced psychosis, but that was the first clear sound all night. It made things easier, a second later, when he had to hang up.
Click.
A solitary figure now stood limply in his yard, shivering a little as the sun continued to slip away, the sky steadily losing its brightness. Cory found it hard to identify this figure—this lonely, pathetic figure—as himself, until he remembered standing in this very spot a year ago, watching Topanga leave for the first time. Or again a month later, when she’d come back for a visit and they’d spent all weekend in each other’s orbit, non-stop talking and catching up and hugging and kissing and holding hands. Again, four months later, when they’d gone out to see a movie with Shawn; she’d rested her head on Cory’s shoulder, and abruptly, a whiff of something unfamiliar. Something lemony. He’d realized she must’ve changed her perfume, and also that his popcorn was too salty, since tears were starting to sting his eyes. The film glowed distantly through a distorted, watery curtain of vision.
Then finally, a few weeks into summer, when they’d huddled close in bed and held each other like glass sculptures. They had fixed their eyes on a small crack in Cory’s ceiling, neither of them saying a word, because stop time. Nothing happens during stop time. We’re just together.
Cory always forgot this part, but it hurt when Topanga left.
He found himself sinking into the chair on the patio. Another glance across the fence revealed no Mr. Feeny, just an array of puffy yellow flowers and flat-faced, red blooms that Cory didn’t know the names of. A shame, really. He was willing to tank a Feeny lesson right now. Anything would beat sitting here without a hand to hold, only a phone.
...And, speaking of the phone, it was ringing. Again. The phone in his hand trilled in loud harmony with the one just inside, yet the voice in his head rang louder still.
There's your second chance, it said. Get it right.
Not wasting a moment, Cory hurried inside the kitchen, where it was warm and inviting, and where the connection was at its strongest.
* * *
Eric was not studying.
Which, that wasn’t exactly new. It was actually kind of his thing. Goof off the night before a test, spend his time making fun of Cory or going out with the girls who didn’t care about school instead of the ones who did. Or, hey, sometimes he’d swing a study date with one of those straight-A types, but then of course he’d get distracted. No one ever actually watched the movies on a movie date, so why people expected to study on study dates was a mystery to him.
Well, it had been a mystery. Not anymore. And that was the new part.
Eric was trying to study.
No really, he was, with books and everything. And a whole week before his first Intro to Meteorology test. He was doing what the A kids did. The smart kids. So yeah, sure, meteorology may not be the most interesting subject, and yeah, sure, he hadn’t truly considered the weather part of weatherman, but none of that mattered. As long as he did what the A kids did, what the smart kids did, then he would get the same results as them. He would be a success.
This all to say that it was Cory’s fault he couldn’t focus, because Cory had come barging in after Eric had read the same line for the fifth time and might actually have been starting to retain it. It was Morgan’s fault too, for having her friends over and not bothering to whisper or turn down the volume on the tv. The thermometer could also take some of the blame; three adjustments and it still refused to be anything other than too hot or too cold or, quite frankly, disturbingly room temperature. Nothing could be that temperate. It made him antsy.
But whatever. This was nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was trying to be a good student now, so he would be a good student. Those were the rules. Success was so easy—why didn’t more people do it?
Creeeaaaak. “Eric?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Once more, Eric reluctantly flopped his textbook shut. No point in dog-earing the page or anything; it wasn’t like he’d made any progress.
He turned to see his mother stepping softly into the bedroom, followed by his dad. His mom’s lips were pursed and her face was lined, but her eyes had a determined glint to them. From what Eric could gather, he was about to get a talk from her.
His dad’s countenance, meanwhile, was carefully neutral. Conclusion: this was a bad talk. One of those Time for You to Make a Life Change talks. Life thus far for him had been nothing but a series of course-corrections, so he knew the drill. Kind of exhausting, now that he’d already done all that, but so be it.
“Eric,” Amy began, and okay, this was definitely the beginning of something, “we know you’re busy studying right now, and we’re so proud of you for that, but your father and I have something we need to discuss with you.”
“I don’t suppose it can wait...?” He looked at his dad expectantly.
Alan opened his mouth, but Amy beat him with, “No. It can’t.”
“Right, then.” Eric turned from his desk, resigning himself to the reality that absolutely no work was getting done tonight, and casually tossed his hands behind his head. He met his parents with a disarming smile. “Mommy. Daddy. What can I do ya for?”
“Eric, sweetie, you know we love you, but we think it’s time for you to move out. Get some independence.”
Eric blinked. Stared at his mom. Looked over at his dad. Then laughed.
“But I can’t,” he said, a bemused smile screwed on his face. “I missed the deadline, remember? Tried fixing it, no can do. So I’ve gotta stay here for the semester. I already told you that.”
“You did,” said Amy, “and we’re not saying you need to stay on campus. There are plenty of apartments for rent near Pennbrook.”
Apartments. Eric’s mind buzzed. Suddenly the temperature in here felt fine.
“Tomorrow you can start looking,” his mom was saying. “You can stay here until you’ve found a place, but don’t take advantage of that. We’re trusting that we won’t have to give you a deadline, but we will if we have to. And don’t room with just anyone; make sure they’re safe to be around. Try to meet with them beforehand and get to know them. There may even be some kids in one of your classes looking for a roommate, so ask around.”
Words. Lots of words. Words that wouldn’t go in, that he wasn’t retaining, just like the ones in his textbook.
“But…” His eyes darted around the room, looking for anywhere to land. “I’m in college now. I—I did it. And now you’re kicking me out?”
“Yes.”
Eric’s eyes shot to his father, who had spoken for the first time. His face had gone from neutral to stern, and he met Eric’s gaze unflinchingly.
“You’re in college now, son,” he said. “You did it. And now you have to do it again.” Alan rubbed at his temple, and Eric wondered why he was looking so drained, so worn down, when he wasn’t the one who suddenly had to move out. “Eric, life never lets you stop doing it.”
“But—”
“Find an apartment. Move out.”
“I can’t just—”
“You can,” said Amy. “We know you can.”
And then they left.
* * *
It was second nature for Shawn, wandering through the woods surrounding his old trailer park, navigating the wild brush, the thorns and the rocks, the jagged branches and scattered litter. Thing was, no one actually cared about litter at the Pink Flamingo Trailer Park, because it seemed like the place trash was supposed to go. Dirtying up a nice park or pristine library was one thing, but you couldn’t exactly dirty up dirt. It was like complaining that there were too many flies at a dumpster. Here, the trash itself was the nature, and Shawn was one with it, so...wait, crap, did that make him a fly?
“Shawnie…”
Deftly avoiding a knife that someone had just...left out here, for some reason, Shawn turned to find that Cory had fallen behind, and was now standing rigidly in a patch of darkness beneath the tall trees. He was staring nervously at the hazardous forest floor, as if one wrong step would reserve his spot in the ER.
Of course. Cory had never been one with the nature of trash. His inner peace came from picket fences and indoor plumbing. A comfortable twenty bucks stashed in his pocket.
“Cor, why did you even come if you were gonna freak out?”
“Because you asked!” Cory squeaked in a high, strained voice. A wasp buzzed by, and he whimpered.
And, again, of course. Shawn shouldn’t have bothered asking. Shaking his head with a fond smile, he made his way over to Cory, who wordlessly extended his hand. Shawn took it, and guided him through the shadows.
“I do have a girlfriend, you know,” Cory joked as they remained hand in hand.
“Yes, you do,” said Shawn. “Naughty, naughty little Cory. You dog.”
“I thought I was a pig.”
“Well, I’m a homewrecker. I don’t have a right to call you that.”
Cory laughed, and good. It was good that he could laugh.
Shawn knew perfectly well that Cory should be a wreck tonight, because Cory was here with him. He wasn’t at home for his coveted phone date with Topanga, the first they’d been able to schedule since her family had returned from that horrible rainforest, the one with no service. He should be on the phone with her right now—scratch that, he should be with her right now—but, no. He was here with Shawn.
This meant, somehow, that Cory’s first conversation with Topanga in months had fallen through. When he had dialed Cory’s number on a dumb, flailing whim, Shawn had never expected to get what he was hoping for. He had never wanted to, either, if it meant Cory lost out on his own wishes. Shawn could deal with disappointment, but Cory shouldn’t have to. He didn’t deserve it. Neither did Topanga.
The universe seemed to have forgotten who Cory and Topanga were. What it owed them for believing in it.
Eventually, Cory and Shawn broke out of the trees. Ahead of them sat uneven rows of trailers across a stretch of dirt and dust. Home sweet home.
“Shawn. Shawnie. Look up!”
Confused, Shawn followed Cory’s gaze, traced it all the way up to a clear night sky that was dipped in navy and studded with stars. Earlier, dark clouds had smudged the air, hinting at rain, but now the sky was spotless and bright. He squinted and saw the thin curve of the moon, a solitary bird gliding past.
There was a warm pressure as Cory squeezed his hand. “Quite the view, ain’t it?”
“I thought you hated this place,” said Shawn, still looking up.
Cory shook his head. “Nope. I hate the dark, and that’s not specific to here.”
Shawn shrugged and kept staring. Around them, the cicadas started to sing.
“Don’t you ever wish,” said Cory thoughtfully, after a moment had passed, “that you could get a little closer? Like, you could actually reach the sky? And nothing bad would happen ever again, because you’d be away from all the bad things. It would just be you, your friends, and the stars….”
That was...too poetic, coming from Cory. A concerned Shawn tried to meet his eyes, but for once, Cory wouldn’t let him. Shawn’s mind tangled up in knots, wondering what to do. How he could make it better. All he knew was that, if Cory wanted to reach the sky, then he should be able to reach the sky.
Ah. There was an idea. A pretty good one, too, considering the scrambled, twisted brain that had produced it.
“Well, then let’s make it happen,” said Shawn decisively, and Cory gave a startled yelp as Shawn dragged him toward the trailers.
* * *
As it turned out, climbing to the top of Shawn’s trailer wasn’t difficult at all. It had been simple, really. There he and Cory were, and Shawn took a moment to congratulate himself on the whole arrangement. Yeah, stargazing wasn’t normally his thing, but he could do it for his best buddy. Nice things were for nice people, like Cory, and it was Shawn’s job to get him there.
They sat on the rooftop for a long time, their feet dangling over its side, their faces lit by the stars high above. Occasionally, their shoulders would brush, and Shawn would feel the smallest tickle of warmth. A weird little instinct told him to lean into it, but he ignored it. Instead, he enjoyed the moment with his friend.
Periodically, said friend would send him a careful, surreptitious glance. Shawn knew what that meant, what Cory was asking without asking. Do you want to talk about it?
And every time, Shawn would ignore this glance. No.
Cory would nod to himself and look away, until he decided to try again. Shawn appreciated that, for all his friend’s pushiness, Cory never once forced him to talk about the family stuff.
Stuff like his mom’s strange behavior all day that day, as she whispered phrases to herself that Shawn didn’t understand. Sometimes she would amble over to kiss his forehead or hug him, hug him tight, but then she would withdraw back into herself all over again. There was a constant tremor in her hands, a harried nature to her movements as she busied around the house. Trailing behind awkwardly, Shawn tried reasoning with her gently, which didn’t work. She only burst into tears, and of course that irritated Chet.
“Now Virna, we’ve got a boy to take care of, and how are we supposed to do that if you keep flyin’ off into your fits of hysteria?”
That didn’t work either. So she took off. His dad, red-faced and clutching at his chest, stumbled off into the night, out of Shawn’s line of sight and without a word as to where he was going. Most likely, in search of a beer to cure his heart attack.
So. Shawn had the trailer to himself tonight. Great, he’d thought. Sleepover. And so, momentarily forgetting about the Topanga phone date thing, he’d called Cory up to spend the night. Nothing more to it than that.
His shoulder brushed Cory’s again, and there again was that touch of warmth. Looking down, Shawn saw that their shadows were touching. He caught himself before he leaned any closer.
Cory eventually broke the silence. “So, Shawnie, senior year starts next week. We’re officially on the road to graduation. The final stretch.”
“And we get to walk down the senior hall,” added Shawn, which they both took a moment to giggle excitedly over. Give him a break; it was pretty cool.
“Don’t forget,” said Cory through the giggling, “that it’s also the last year we have to be up at eight in the morning.”
Shawn nodded. “And the last time we have to eat crappy cafeteria food.”
“No more getting shoved in the hall.”
“No more loud, ringing bell reminding us we’re late.”
“No more lugging our books around!”
“No more asking permission to go to the bathroom!”
Cory paused. “Actually,” he said, “I appreciate the structure there.”
“Makes sense,” said Shawn immediately.
“But—” Cory grabbed his shoulder and shook it eagerly. “—it’s also our last round with Feeny, Shawn!”
They smirked mischievously at this. “And neither of us will miss him,” said Shawn.
“Nope!” Cory agreed, and they both knew they were lying. The duo enjoyed another moment of childish giggling.
But after that moment, Cory’s grin wavered, and his hand fell away. A mosquito flew near his exposed skin, and Shawn batted it off. Cory didn’t even notice.
“Hey.” He poked Cory in the arm. “What’s up?”
Fireflies were beginning to emerge around them, attracted to the warm, humid night. They danced around Shawn’s dirty old trailer park, lighting up the place like a festival, and Cory reached out as if to catch one. His twinkling eyes mirrored their shine, and Shawn felt an inexplicable pang in his chest.
“...It’s all gonna be over soon,” said Cory, his skin pale in the starlight.
“What, high school?”
“Yeah, and—everything else. Life as we know it, Shawnie. And after this all we have is...what comes next. And I don’t know what that is.” He clutched his head, running his hand through black curls that wouldn’t move.
Shawn frowned suspiciously. “...Is this about Topanga?”
Cory shrugged. Fidgeted. His feet swung rapidly back and forth over the side of the roof. “Yes. No. Sort of?” A groan, and then he plopped his head into the crook of Shawn’s neck; it was as if the fireflies all around them were now shining brilliantly underneath Shawn's skin, but he didn't pay it much attention. That was just how it felt when Cory touched him lately.
“I don’t understand anything, Shawn.”
This was nothing new. Cory had always been afraid of change, but Shawn had never seen it so severe, and he didn’t really know what to say. His own life was always changing, the only constants being his best friend and about five bucks to his name, so uncertainty was just sort of a thing that happened to him. He was one of those people.
But Cory wasn’t.
“Look, Cor—” He wrapped Cory up in a one-armed hug, giving him a gentle little shake. “—I don’t know what happens next, okay? But I do know you get a good life. It’s who you are.”
Cory looked up at Shawn with watery, puppy-dog eyes. Weirdly adorable. “You think?”
“I know.” Shawn flicked another bug away from Cory, and it bit him instead. “Now come on; a whole five inch-wide trailer to ourselves, and we’re out here? Wasted potential, man, I’m tellin’ ya.”
Cory laughed weakly, but he nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”
Pleased that they’d made some progress, Shawn leapt off the roof before helping Cory down, and together, the two went inside. Once it got late enough, they gathered all the blankets they could find around the trailer and bundled up on Shawn's beat-up mattress, the distant sounds of highway cars and forest crickets lulling them to sleep.
For a split second, just as sleep was beginning to put him under, Cory’s question wormed its way into Shawn’s mind. What happens next?
But then he rolled over and shut his eyes, because really, he didn’t care what happened next. Next only mattered for people like Cory, and that was something Shawn could count on.