The ceiling fan was the only light in the house. The dull whirring of its blades and the soft rattle from the blinds cut through the thick atmosphere.
Evan sat on the couch facing the door. He leaned over the coffee table with his jar of weed and a small scale. He had a hard time reading the number on the little digital screen with his shadow in the way.
Jack stayed by the door, feeling like he had interrupted a tense conversation. He didn’t recognize the person standing in the kitchen archway. She looked to be about their age, maybe a year or two older. She was taller than Evan, probably even as tall as Kyle. Her hair had streaks of chunky blonde highlights. The bleach-stained sweatpants and puffy red eyes made it clear she had no interest in making small talk.
Once Evan was satisfied with the amount on the scale he tipped it into a plastic bag. He rolled it into a tube shape before stuffing it into an empty pill bottle. The girl seemed relieved as he stood to hand it to her. She tried to give him a fist-full of bills. Evan waved it away.
“Don’t worry about it.”
She nodded and held the bottle to her chest. She let herself out. The front door clicked shut behind her. As the mood lifted Evan let out the breath he’d been holding. Jack stepped further into the room from where he’d been waiting.
“Who was that?” He asked.
“Taylor.” Evan saw the lack of recognition and remembered the name carried no meaning to Jack. “Amanda’s sister.”
“Oh.” Jack’s chest tightened. “How is she?” he asked as a formality.
“A mess, as expected.” Evan rolled his shoulder to stretch out the stubborn tension building up in his back. It wasn’t very effective. “What’s up?”
“It got cold. Um-” Chris’ threat bounced around in the back of his head. He couldn’t be sure if Chris was serious or not.
“I think I have an old hoodie that’ll fit you.” Evan turned to lead Jack through the house back to his room. He didn’t turn on any lights along the way, preferring to leave the house in the violet afterglow of the setting sun.
He tapped the lamp on his nightstand. It was pointed up at the wall, splashing the room in blinding yellow. Both of them were still for a moment as their eyes adjusted.
“What are you, like, a small?” Evan asked, scratching the back of his neck. His nails left raised red lines in his skin. He stepped across the room and knelt to open the bottom drawer of his dresser. His hands were shaking as he sorted through various band t-shirts. He didn’t look at them so much as he looked through them.
“You ok?” Jack asked, hoping the answer was yes. He didn’t know how to comfort kids very well, let alone someone his own age. He stood behind Evan, debating whether or not he should pat his shoulder.
“Yea.” Evan squeezed the shirt in his hand. His breath came out ragged. “I don’t know.” He bit the inside of his lip. “It’s not like we were close anymore.”
“You and Taylor?” Jack asked. Evan shook his head. He sat back on his feet, still holding onto the cotton t-shirt.
“Amanda. This is gonna sound dumb but she was my first kiss. At the seventh grade dance, she stuck her tongue in my mouth. I gagged. I wasn't nice about it either. I bullied her for being bad at kissing. I guess I was still trying to fit in.” He picked at the lint clinging to the shirt. The amount of grief he was suddenly aware of surprised him. It was an emotion he had experience with, but that didn't make it any easier. He’d slouched down, feeling small and empty on the carpeted floor of his room.
“I’m sure she’d understand,” Jack said, struggling to find the right thing to say.
“She started buying from me over summer break after she started dating-” Evan grit his teeth. “He’s over twice her age, I told her it was weird, I tried-” His fingers clenched onto the thin cotton. “I came out to her first, figured I owed her that much. She didn’t,” he paused before his voice hitched. “She didn’t take it very well.” He set the shirt back in the dresser.
Jack’s tongue felt like a sponge, bloated and heavy as it held in all of the moisture from his mouth. A crack in the paint on the far wall was easier to look at.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to keep it to yourself?” he asked. He hadn’t said it for Evans’s sake. He wanted reassurance of his own, to prove to himself that it wasn’t worth it. Evan’s stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?” He knew what he meant, but he didn't have a response ready. This wasn't a conversation he’d predicted, planned for, or theorized when contemplating how to verbally defend himself.
Jack swallowed to try and loosen the tightness in his throat, but he didn't get the chance to clarify.
“I didn’t have a choice-You think I should have kept it a secret until the shame finally let me kill myself? For what? So I could get through high school without being called a faggot?”
“No I-“
“-Coming out was one of the worst days of my fucking life, my dad still doesn’t talk to me! I got it over with, why should I think about taking it back?” The steady climb in volume made it clear he had thought about it. He’d agonized over it. His freckles had disappeared into the red of his face.
Jack crossed his arms. “That’s not what I-“
Evan stood. “Whatever. I’m not fucking talking about this anymore.” His shoulder shoved past Jack’s as he left the room.
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