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It was one of those evenings for a really long shower; a shower that involved actively rinsing dust and grime out of his hair and watched the grey streaks go down the drain while pondering so much dirt got under his mask. A shower that involved a full half a bottle of three in one shampoo and bodywash. A shower that involved standing with his eyes closed and his face under the spray till the world outside felt a million miles away.
The water cut out. As he stepped out into the humid damp space of the bathroom he towelled his face and hair roughly dry. Slinging the towel around his neck he went to the mirror and leaned heavily on the sink. There was his reflection, pale and worn out and freckled. He breathed out a long breath of air, and pulled a face at it.
He wondered if he had any beers left.
Someone knocked on his door.
Wally started, standing up straighter, towel slipping down around his hips. No-one had rung the buzzer, unless it’d gone while he was showering – no, he’d have heard that. He hadn’t been making any noise so it couldn’t be the old lady downstairs coming up to complain.
As he contemplated the logistics, the knock came again. Rolling his eyes, he stepped away from the mirror. A couple of microseconds later, dressed in an old t-shirt and sweats, he went to the door.
Opening it, he stared out into the hall. “Uh,” he said. “Hi?”
Out in the hall, dressed in a hoodie and with a backpack slung over one shoulder, stood Billy. “Hi,” he said. Shifting his stance he wet his lips and said, “Can I come in?”
Breathing out, Wally adjusted his grip on the door, letting it swing briefly back and forth. He said, “How’d you know where I live?”
Billy shrugged. “I looked you up.”
He considered how best to answer the question. “I’m not in the book?”
“Ugh.” Billy rolled his eyes. “Fine. I saw you out doing Flash stuff and I followed you home. Happy?”
Wally breathed in, and out. “Don’t, uh. Don’t do that shit.”
Billy just shrugged again. “Sure, I won’t do it again,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Leaning against the door, Wally figured that he couldn’t exactly leave the kid in the hall. “Give me, uh,” he said, raising a finger. “Give me one second.” He closed the door.
Exactly one second later, he opened the door. “Okay – c’mon.”
Stepping over the threshold, Billy looked around himself, taking in the freshly-tidied studio. The tiny kitchenette. The dishes still piled in the sink. The treadmill in the corner – the pull-out couch, currently in couch mode. Wally had the uneasy sense that he was sizing it all up. He didn’t seem all that impressed, but he said, “Cool place.”
“Thanks,” said Wally, though it wasn’t. “You want a soda or something?”
“Sure,” said Billy.
Opening the fridge, he considered his last beer. Behind him there as a creak of springs as Billy sat down on the couch. Resigning himself, he grabbed a couple of sodas. “Here,” he said, holding one out. Billy let his backpack slide to the floor and took the soda.
Opening his can, Wally perched on the arm of the recliner and considered the situation. “Sooooo,” he said. “Whatcha doing in my apartment?”
Billy said, “Can I stay here?”
He turned the soda around in his hands. “For,” he said. “How long?”
“Can I stay the night?” said Billy, not skipping a beat.
Damn, but the kid had some balls. He breathed in, and out, and said, “Do your foster parents know where you are right now?”
Billy shrugged and sipped his soda. “Sure.”
Wally stared at him. The kid stared, coolly, back. After a second Wally said, “Yeah, okay, that’s a lie – call your folks.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Billy looked away.
“Do you wanna talk about whatever’s going on here?” he said. “Cause –”
“Not really,” Billy interrupted. “Look, I just need somewhere to crash for a while, okay?”
He went on toying with his soda. He said, “Do you want me to call them?”
“C’mon, Flash!” Billy snapped. “Be cool.”
“I wanna – I wanna be cool,” he protested. “I just –” Shit, now Billy was giving him the death glare. “Please stop looking at me like that – I wanna help you out,” he tried. “But I can’t just let you come stay with me.” Billy went on glaring. “I could get in a lot of trouble. You get that, right? I think it might legally be kidnapping.”
“It’s not kidnapping if I wanna be here.”
“Yeah, but – well,” he stammered. “It’s sure legally something , okay?”
A buzzing sounded from the depths of Billy’s hoodie. His phone, ringing. Tugging it out he glanced at the screen and rejected the call. He slammed the phone, screen-down, on the table in front of him.
“Who was that?” said Wally.
“No-one,” said Billy.
After a second, his phone began to buzz again, vibrating loudly against the glass surface of the table.
“Is that your folks?” said Wally. Billy shrugged. “Please answer that.”
Billy sat, hands in pockets, staring at his barely-touched soda and his ringing phone, for a long moment. Then with a decisive sigh of exasperation he grabbed his phone, and his backpack, and made for the door. “I really thought you could be cool about this,” he said. “I’ll just – find somewhere else to crash.”
In a blink Wally intercepted him, his abandoned soda still teetering on the tabletop. “No – no, no, don’t leave,” he said. “We’ll figure this out.”
Billy shrugged as if Wally was the one being obtuse. “Do you want me here, not want me here, what?”
“I don’t want you sleeping on the streets or something –”
“I’m not gonna sleep on the streets,” Billy interrupted. “I can figure something out. I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t –”
“You’re being a real jerk about this, you know that?”
In spite of himself, he could feel his temper rising. “You cannot just show up at my apartment!” he hissed.
“Why not?” Billy said. “We’re friends, right?”
“You followed me home!” he protested. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Billy shrugged. “You said I could come to you if I needed anything,” he said. “Guess that was a lie, huh?”
Shit. Hands held up, mid-gesticulation, Wally froze. “I – don’t know what to do here, okay?” he admitted. “Help me out.”
He should be better at this. He knew he should be better. He was a problem-solver – at this stage helping people was pretty much his full-time job. But this was the kind of problem he’d usually hand over to someone more specialised as soon as he could. He was a crisis guy. This wasn’t his kind of crisis.
Maybe it was just different when it was a friend’s problem rather than a stranger’s.
“Come and sit down,” he said. “Okay? We can talk about this.” Billy breathed out, slowly, and made no move to sit down. He changed tacks. “You wanna get pizza? I can order pizza.”
Billy looked at his feet. After a second, his shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
The kid settled back on the couch with his soda, Wally paced, toying with the various food delivery apps on his phone. “You good with whatever?” he said. Billy shrugged. “Yeah, I figured.” He ordered his usual and absently hit the go button. Shoving his phone in his pocket he thought screw it and went to the refrigerator for his last beer.
Sitting back down on the recliner, he leaned forward and tried to get a read on the kid. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“That’s okay.” Billy sipped his soda. “You’re pretty mad at me, huh?”
“No!” Wally protested. “Yeah. No. I’m a little mad.” Billy was giving him a look. “I’d say don’t ever do it again, but, uh. I guess the ship’s sailed.”
Billy considered that. He said, “You could move.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Wally, collapsing in on himself into laughter. “ Jesus, kid. Damn.” He sucked in some deep breaths, trying to compose himself. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure,” said Billy.
“Right – right,” said Wally. “I’m just really getting the feeling everything’s not okay.”
Billy shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
“Did something happen at home?” Wally guessed.
Looking away, Billy muttered, “It’s family stuff.”
Work with me here , he wanted to say. Are you throwing a tantrum or are you in real trouble here. He couldn’t ask that. Heaving a sigh, he got up from the recliner and went to join Billy on the couch.
“It’s been,” he said. “A real long day.”
“Yeah,” Billy agreed. “How long’s the pizza gonna be?”
Wally swigged his beer. “Uh, they’re right around the corner and it’s a weekday,” he said. “Twenty minutes, give or take.”
“Cool,” said Billy.
In his pocket, his phone began to buzz again. He tugged it out. His gaze lingered on the screen, thumb hovering over the red and green icons.
“You gonna answer that?” said Wally. Billy once again shrugged. “You want me to answer it?”
It was kind of a gamble – he was kinda surprised, when after a second Billy nodded and held out his phone. It was unexpectedly heavy, in his hand.
He answered the call. “Hi, uh, Mrs Vasquez?” he said. “Yeah, it – it’s me. Uh-huh. Yeah, he’s right here. No, at my apartment,” he went on. “No, he just kinda showed up – hang on.” He took the phone away from his mouth and said to Billy quietly, “She wants to talk to you.”
“Do I gotta?” said Billy wearily.
“I think you go gotta,” said Wally. Billy slumped back against the couch, arms folded. He was starting to think this was closer to the tantrum end of the spectrum. “He’ll talk in a sec – listen, is it cool if he stays for dinner? Uh-uh – okay, I’ll tell him.” He pressed the phone to his chest. “She says you can stay so long as she gets to talk to you.”
Billy rolled his eyes – but held out his hand for the phone. “Hey, Rosa,” he said. “I –” he shot a glance at Wally, who was trying to look like he wasn’t listening in, and got up off the couch. “I’m okay,” he said as he shuffled towards Wally’s tiny kitchen. “I just –” Dropping his voice to a level he was probably hoping Wally wouldn’t hear, he said, “I’m sorry for walking out like that.”
Privacy was a lost cause, in Wally’s apartment. He made a show of looking away and picked up his phone to check on the pizza.
The conversation went on, Billy’s voice still lowered, Wally doing his best to tune it out, for long minutes. When the call ended, Billy lingered in the kitchen.
Sighing, Wally heaved himself up from the couch and went to join him. “You good?” he said, leaning on the counter. Billy nodded. “You staying for pizza?”
“Yeah, she said I gotta be home by nine,” said Billy. “That cool?”
“Sure.” Wally looked the kid up and down. He looked – less burdened. Subdued. Still pretty down. Stretching out an arm, he said, “You wanna bring it in?”
Billy shot him a disdainful look. “Would that make you feel better?”
Wally considered the question. “Yeah,” he said. “It would.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said, accepting the hug. “Whatever.”
“There we go,” said Wally, hugging him tight and delivering the requisite back pats. “Bring it in.”
“How long’s the pizza gonna be?” said Billy as Wally released him.
“Maybe ten minutes,” Wally said. “You wanna play Minecraft or something?”
“Yeah,” said Billy. “Sounds good.”