Chapter Text
Brrrring!
It was late.
Jerry glanced up at his alarm clock, his eyelids heavy. The orange numbers cast a weak glow into the darkness of his room. It was nearly midnight on a Saturday, which meant it was certainly no time for callers… but there the phone was, ringing.
Jerry had been lounging on his bed, manga propped up on his lap. An order of his favorite shonen had just come in at Joe’s on Friday, and he’d been impatiently waiting to get a start on it till the weekend— somehow determined to binge it before the next club meeting. By the time he’d tucked himself into bed a couple hours ago, he’d been buzzing with excitement, pajamas on and one singular lamp flicked on to cast a comforting warm glow around the room.
Another ring echoed up the stairs.
He supposed he ought to go down and get it. His parents weren’t home— really, when were they?— so the caller was at the mercy of his will. He glanced between the door (leading to a dark, empty hallway) and his book.
He chose the book.
The final ring fizzled out until the line dropped. Jerry let out a sigh of relief and adjusted himself on the bed, leaning back into his pillows and smiling a small smile. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Everything was perfect.
Until the phone rang again.
Jerry’s brows drew together. What the hell?
With the inciting power of his newfound annoyance, he set aside his manga to sling himself off the side of the bed and hop to his feet. If the mystery caller was putting in the effort to dial twice in a row— and interrupt his special time— it better be important.
The hardwood floor was cold shock beneath his feet, which had just been lovingly tucked under his comforter. He made a mental note to get some house slippers, or even just some comfortable socks to protect against the cold. He’d seen a couple of nice looking pairs at the store last time he’d gone, but he’d been with Pete, and—despite the fact Pete was probably just jealous that he couldn’t afford a pair for himself—Jerry wasn’t the most interested in being called a sissy for the 50th time, so he decidedly hadn’t made the purchase.
So, now he paid the price. His feet were cold. Unbeknownst to his struggles, the clock at the end of the hallway chimed in its monotonous, dull way. He didn’t spare it a second glance as he made his way down the stairs, avoiding each creaky step in the staircase. Briefly, he smiled at the thought of himself as some sort of spy— like the one in that stupid movie Bill made them watch last meeting. He crouched a little lower, walked a little more carefully, and glanced around like he was in enemy territory. Once he reached the foot of the stairs, he pretended to adjust an imaginary tie, just to amuse himself.
The phone ringing again brought him back to reality. He jogged over, picked up the receiver, and held it up to his ear.
“Hullo, Stokes residence.” He said, like his mom had taught him.
“Jerry!” Hissed a voice. An annoyingly familiar voice.
“Bill?”
Without thinking, he pressed the phone closer to his face and hunched up his shoulders. His hip bone bumped against the wall as he leaned onto it.
“Why are you calling me so goddamn late?” He whispered, sounding irritated, talking quietly for no particular reason.
“Listen, you aren’t doing anything, right? Pete, uh.. Left something at my house.” Bill sounded stressed, “Something important. Come over.”
“Something what? What did he leave?”
“Just come over, man. Jesus. What are you, Sherlock Holmes? I’ll be waiting.”
Jerry heard the click as Bill hung up the phone. He let out a groan. Bill was so frustrating. So, so, unbearably frustrating. Jerry blinked and somehow he was pulling on his sneakers and grabbing a jacket. Before he knew it, he was slipping out the back door and into the night.
—
Jerry could map out the way to Bill’s house in his sleep. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had.
The sidewalk in front of Jerry’s house had been redone recently. Each crack had been smoothed over with a professional layer of concrete. In the dark, only this stopped him from getting his sneaker snagged and ending up sprawled in somebody’s lawn.
After walking for a bit, enough to hum a couple of his favorite songs under his breath, the sidewalk stopped and Jerry would be forced to trudge through the grass as he passed the park. Usually, he’d see one or two kids playing, chasing each other around or swinging from the monkey bars.
It was then that he’d think of him and Bill as kids, doing the same thing. Or maybe of Pete and Josh— how Josh had carved his name into the underbelly of the slide; or how Pete had been showing off, trying to take a drag off his cigarette while upside down, and he’d fallen, nearly cracking his head open.
Those memories were precious, but they didn’t have the same warm, rosy glow that his younger childhood memories did. Or at least, that was the truth for Jerry then in his teenagerhood, when Pete and Josh were still a dial away.
—
Bill pressed his fist to his palm nearly ritualistically, cracking his fingers as he glared at the table.
The door to Bill’s basement had been unlocked, thank goodness. Jerry didn’t even want to imagine the shame of knocking on the Dickey family door, dressed in his Star Wars pajamas and some ratty sneakers at the dead of night. He’d found Bill alone, standing ominously in front of the rickety table at which they held their club meetings. Moving to stand beside him had been second nature.
The light in Bill’s basement was dull, fading, and in desperate need of replacement. Jerry wouldn’t be surprised if it went kaput in the upcoming year, or even the upcoming months. Presently, it was shining down on the item in question. A singular, small, plastic bag.
Jerry let out a sigh.
“It’s… just weed, Bill.”
“Yeah, but it’s in my basement! With my stuff! And it’s not mine!”
“Yeah, obviously it’s not yours, Bill.”
Jerry conjured the image of Bill sitting, one ankle lazily over his knee, leaned back and relaxed on his couch. Surrounded by smoke, huffing and puffing on a joint like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jerry blinked and saw the boy in front of him, standing tersely with his hands curled into fists at his sides, a vein popping out of his neck. Yeah, definitely not his.
“Stop using my name in your sentences like you’re patronizing me! It’s a completely normal concern to have, that someone’s drugs are in my house! You do know this sort of stuff is,” he drew the word between his teeth, “illegal, right…?”
“Yes,” Jerry stopped himself from saying the other boy’s name again, “Uh, yes. I know.”
‘Quite literally every assembly I’ve ever been to has reminded me.’ He wanted to add.
Bill was pacing now. Great. Jerry glanced over his shoulder to watch him. At this rate, he was going to wear grooves in his floor like those poor animals locked up in zoos. Bill was both the animal and the keeper.
“Well!?” Bill huffed, exasperated. He threw his arms out helplessly.
“Well what?” Jerry asked. He’d walked all the way here in his pajamas, his good pajamas, and skipped out on some quality reading time just to come over to Bill’s at the drop of a dime, and for this? He toyed with a piece of lint in his pocket and fought the urge to sigh again, which would absolutely set Bill off. “Just give it back to Pete next club meeting.”
Apparently Bill was already set off.
“Give it back?! Give it to him, you’re saying. Aid in his addiction, you’re saying. In his illegal addiction.” He walked back to the table—stomped, more like—and pointed at the bag, as if Jerry couldn’t clearly see it.
“Jesus. Bill, it’s…” Jerry pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “It’s not like anybody will find out that you were involved. Hell, you barely even are involved. Just… leave it out next club meeting and Pete will swipe it back like nothing happened.”
Bill deadpanned at him, clapping his hands together and holding them in front of his face. He even had the nerve to squint at Jerry through those stocky, black frames, like Jerry wasn’t making a lick of sense.
“Leave it out.” Bill drew in a breath, “Jerry, you’re far too unbothered about this, I’m frankly starting to get worried.”
“How do you even know it’s Pete’s?”
Bill dropped his hands, shrugging, “‘Dunno, I mean…” He gave Jerry a look, eyebrows raised as he crossed his arms, “Haven’t you seen him?”
Jerry nodded, although he didn’t feel too happy about it. “Yeah. Smelled him too.”
The metal chair scraped against the ground as Jerry pulled it out to sit down. He drew his knees up to his chest and regarded the baggy absently.
“Do you want me to give it back to him?” Jerry asked, tilting his head to look up at Bill.
“I knew it!” Bill held up an accusing finger, his eyes widening comically, “You’re the one trying to take it.”
“What?!”
“You’re trying to… to take this illegal substance and… and have your way with it! Smoke it! I’m friends with addicts! I’m really friends with addicts!”
Jerry just sighed, crossing his arms over his folded legs. After a long second with no reaction, Bill was forced to lower his hands that had been gesturing fervently in the air. He looked away, annoyed, before committing himself to one more round of pacing, his hands firm on his hips.
“Why is this bothering you so much?” Jerry finally asked.
Bill was quick to spin around, “Because it’s illegal and it’s in my house, obviously. You guys are just… making more work for me, like you always do. Making me worry about more stuff.” Bill huffed. The words would’ve stung, but he didn’t sound very convinced of them himself. Jerry was quiet, waiting it out. Usually, if he waited, Bill would end up spelling it all out for him.
“So…” Bill mumbled, “So what, what’s so appealing about it? You just…” He did some more gesturing. “It’s like a cigarette? An illegal cigarette?”
Jerry peered at him curiously, “Yeah.”
“So, uh. You just light the end?”
Jerry nodded.
Bill’s hands were in his back pockets, and he leaned backwards slightly, rocking on his heel. He pursed his lips minutely, hardly noticeable, especially in the dim lighting. Jerry noticed.
“You’ve never done anything, uh, related to that stuff, right?” Bill asked, attempting an anxious smile that came out more like a grimace.
Jerry thought for a moment, looking away from Bill.
“Well, not me personally. I’ve seen other kids do it. Some dudes were out by the bleachers one time, at the game. Do you remember the game we went to?”
Bill nodded at that, relaxing a bit. He snorted, “Yeah, the only one. Yeesh. Freshman year.”
“Yeah, well, I caught them all standing in some sorta circle thing. They offered me a,” The words felt funny in his mouth, “A hit.”
Bill’s eyes went big again, “You didn’t say yes, did you?”
“Of course not!” Jerry’s eyebrows furrowed. Bill let out a little huff of air.
“Good.” Bill said, lips pursed. “Good.”
“I don’t…” Jerry leaned an elbow on the table, propping up his cheek, “I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, though. A lot of kids do it. It might be fun.”
Surprisingly, Bill just shrugged non-commitally. Jerry watched him.
“Yeah, fun, maybe. I was told Jenny Thompson got inebriated at the dance in junior year and puked all over her dress. So I mean, if that’s your definition of fun.”
A spike of annoyance flashed through Jerry’s chest. He sighed and sat up, letting his hand drop down onto the table with a thunk.
“I don’t know what you want me to do here, Bill. Why’d you call me over? Just throw it away if you care so much.”
Bill’s eyebrows flew up, “Well, I… I can’t throw it away. What if somebody finds it?”
“In your trashcan?”
Bill sputtered, “Yeah, in my trashcan. Jeez, Jerry, give me a break, I’m just looking out here.”
“Don’t strain your eyes.” Jerry leaned back in his chair, frowning.
“I don’t know why you’re getting an attitude with me.”
Jerry pressed his lips together, used to this sort of antagonization. He always refused to bite. Always, which was most likely why they’d managed to stay friends for so long.
The moment fizzled out. They both looked at the bag again. Jerry heard a clink, like nails on plastic, and glanced to his side. Bill’s hand was in his pocket again, fingers moving like he was fidgeting with something.
“What’s in your pocket?”
Bill stiffened. “What?”
Jerry gestured at him.
“Uh, just… Nothing.”
Weird.
“Nothing?”
“Yeah, nothing. Just a… thing.”
Jerry narrowed his eyes.
“Bill…” He sighed, “Can you just talk normally? You know I don’t like when you talk in circles.”
Bill went red, “Fine! Whatever, it’s… It’s just…”
He withdrew his hand from his pocket and tossed it on the table. A red, plastic lighter.
Well, that changed things.
“It’s from Jane’s room. She likes to light incense and… whatever bullshit she does, you know, that satanist crap.”
Jerry just stared.
“I had to snag it when she wasn’t in there, uh, I don’t usually go in there, but I knew she wouldn’t give it to me… Or, she would, maybe, but she’d ask why I needed it, and I didn’t want to say it was because of, well… you know.”
No, Jerry didn’t know.
“Because you want to smoke weed?”
“No!” He blurted, “Well, I just figured…” He floundered a bit, “I’d ask you what to do and… You’d…” He bit his lip, “Fuck, I don’t know!”
His face had gone an honest to god shade of rosy red, eyes darting anywhere away from Jerry.
“You thought I’d say we should,” A sly smile found Jerry, “Spark up?”
Bill took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, “I didn’t know what you’d say. I was just being prepared. Is that a crime?”
Jerry didn't dignify that with a response. He looked back to the bag, this time in a different way, with a newfound interest.
He reached for it and Bill sucked in breath.