I don't know how it's possible, but I’ve never actually been inside Ripley’s house.

It only really dawns on me when I’m walking up the front pathway, running my admiring eyes over the Pacific dogwoods growing in the front garden, which are putting out their sweet clusters of greenish-white flowers. All of a sudden I'm realizing I’ve never seen them up close.

We usually only swing by Ripley's place to pick him up. And since he lives with his parents, Raj, Aiden, Noah, Ralph, and I don’t tend to show up without warning at his house to hang out.

Sometimes Ripley’s dad is in the front garden when we come to get Ripley, his chair stopped in the shade of the dogwoods. He always waves at us, smiling warmly. Ripley’s mom does the same if she’s there, which she often is. We see her sitting in the wildflowers near Mr. McKay’s feet, listening while he reads out loud from a book.

She's usually scratching the ears of their two sleepy old dogs, or stretched out on her back looking up at the sky, absently trailing her fingertips along the painted designs that Ripley did all over the wheelchair. Sometimes she has her head resting on Mr. McKay's knees as she listens.

Ripley’s parents are super nice. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they want all of his friends doing a constant, chaotic merry-go-round through the front door of their house, the way we all do at each other’s.

On the other hand. It’s occurred to me lately that their own son is a force of pure chaos, to the point that he’s anonymously made the news several times this year. His parents don’t know about that, but they know him, and he did that.

So maybe they won't care if one of his friends shows up one time without warning.

“You’re the fourth one today,” his mom laughs, as soon as she opens the door.

I blink at her in surprise and confusion. “The fourth what?”

She steps back, gesturing for me to come in. “The fourth one of Ripley’s friends to unexpectedly stop by.”

“What - really?” I wince at her apologetically. “Oh, god. Is now a bad time?”

“No, no!” She pushes her ash-blonde hair over her shoulder as she leads me into the living room. “I mean - it’s not a bad time for me. I don’t know what Ripley’s doing. But if you just follow the music, you’ll find him.”

“Sounds about right,” I laugh, then wince again as I pull off my Converse. “Sorry, Mrs. McKay. I really didn’t know - did you say I’m the fourth one? Today?”

“That’s right. I’m not complaining, though." She gives me a warm smile. "I think it’s sweet. And you can call me Debbie.”

“Oh.” I match her smile, filled with relief. “Okay. Who else came by?”

“Well, there was Ralph this morning. I guess he wanted Ripley’s opinion on which were the best ones out of a bunch of photos he’d taken at the wedding. His dog is so adorable, by the way!”

There’s a lot there that catches me off-guard, so I don’t find an answer before Ripley’s mom keeps going.

“Then Aiden came by to see if Ripley wanted to do an extra gym session today, and then right after Ripley got home from that, Noah stopped over.”

“For what?”

Debbie shrugs her shoulders, unsure. “Just - to say hi, I think?”

I press my fingers over my mouth, realizing that the carousel of chaos has unwittingly been in action all day. “God, you’re dealing with a lot of traffic, aren’t you?”

“There’s been a definite increase lately,” Debbie laughs. “Especially when it comes to Raj.”

Again, I’m caught by surprise. “Raj?”

“Mhm. He’s been here so often, recently. Always swinging by to pick up Ripley.” Debbie sets off for the kitchen. “Do you want some iced tea, sweetheart? I have some sandwich materials leftover from lunch - actually, Noah might have eaten everything. Even all the mustard, even though I told him it was expired-”

“No thanks, I'm fine!” I jump in hastily. “Sounds like you’ve already had to do enough today! I’ll just go say hi to Ripley.”

“Alright, let me know if you change your mind!”

She slips into the kitchen, and I take a moment to look around at the small, sunlit living room.

It’s filled with lots of shelves of books, and, to my immense delight, a number of flourishing potted plants. There's a record player with a big stack of old vinyls in the corner. Sunshine pouring in through the open windows, illuminating the white curtains. A handful of yellow buttercups from the front garden, glowing in a glass jar on the nearest windowsill.

Pieces of art hang all over the walls. I suspect that a lot of these were done by a much younger Ripley, and lovingly framed by his mom.

I stand there soaking in the peaceful warmth of the place, then nearly laugh when I remember that somehow Ripley grew out of this calm environment.

I look around uncertainly. Ripley’s mom told me to follow the music to him. But I’m not hearing any, and this is a single-story house, so I’m not sure which hallway to go down to find the bedrooms. I end up picking one at random.

I'm instantly sure that I’ve gone the right way. Even with the door of Ripley’s bedroom shut, the muffled sound of the My Chemical Romance song he's got blasting reaches my ears as soon as I set foot in the hallway.

I knock once before realizing how completely futile that’s going to be. I hesitate, then try the doorknob and find it unlocked.

Top-volume MCR spills out into the hallway as I open the door and stare into Ripley’s bedroom.

It’s almost like a den. Small, with a rounded ceiling. Ripley’s bed is on the floor, stuffed into one corner with half the blankets and comforters spilling off of it. The bed is scattered with stuff. Just from here, I can see his stickered water bottle, his laptop, jacket, and phone.

The wall behind the bed is covered with all kinds of designs, like Ripley doodles on it when he gets bored. It's completely covered with paintings. Some of them half-finished, some of the half painted over, some completed to full badass glory. The detailed electric guitar up the side of the wall nearest to the window is amazing, especially with the flaming skeleton fingers stroking the strings.

The other walls are plastered almost from floor to ceiling with all kinds of different stuff. Old-school posters from the Vans Warped Tour, a photo of Rupert Raj in the ’70s, figure studies of animals sketched in pencil. Posters for art exhibitions and rock bands, printouts of photos shot by Soraya Zaman, bumper stickers for different skate shops, human anatomy diagrams. A lovingly-executed pencil drawing of a Dexlix skateboard, with a rooster riding a burning joint on the front.

The shelves in the room are also scattered with stuff. Rocks, old paintbrushes, bottles of glue, stray laundry, old concert tickets. No surface is left empty. Even the mirror over the dresser has a splash of violet paint on one side, although that looks like it was an accident. The glass of it vibrates with each pounding beat of the blasting music.

In the middle of all this, crouched on the floor, his green curls spilling forward into his eyes, is Ripley.

He didn’t hear me open the door. He’s got one paintbrush tucked behind his ear, and he's slowly dragging another one over a piece of wood, carefully painting an intricate turquoise design on its surface. He finishes a line of it, then sits back on his ankles and gazes down at it, his fingers fidgeting thoughtfully with the stud piercing in his ear.

He glances up, then does a double-take when he sees me standing there.

“What-?” He snatches up his phone and pauses the music, then lets out a disbelieving laugh, staring at me. “Seriously, man, you too?”

“I’m sorry, Ripples!” I groan, closing the door behind myself. “I didn’t know-”

“Okay, what’s going on lately?” Ripley laughs, dropping his paintbrush into a glass jar of water. “I’m not mad at it, but why is everyone suddenly showing up at my place all the time? I was actually starting to wonder why you were the only one who hadn’t done it yet.”

“Because I didn't want to accidentally be rude to your parents!"

Ripley suppresses another laugh, nods like he should have known. “Alright, yeah. Checks out.”

He gets up, straightening out his faded white Thrasher Mag hoodie. Tosses his green curls out of his eyes, looking at me curiously. Waiting for an explanation.

“Ah…” I bite my lip sheepishly. “Think it's probably because - that night when you couldn’t come hang, we were all talking about how much that sucked. Missing having you there.”

Half of Ripley’s mouth crooks up in a barely concealed smile. “Okay?”

“Well, that got us talking about, like - how it’s almost my birthday, which means it’s getting late in spring, and soon it’s gonna be summer, and then summer will be over…”

Ripley folds his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Okay…?”

“And then, you know.” I shrug my shoulders helplessly, making a sad face at him. “You’re gonna leave for college, man. We’re all gonna miss you. Think we're all just trying to fit in as much time with you as we can.”

Ripley stares at me in silence, a startled expression rising in his eyes. He bites down on his lip and drops his head, but I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers.

“Oh,” he mumbles, lifting one hand to fidget with the stud in his ear. “That - oh.”

"But I can totally leave you alone!" I start to take a step back. “If you’re busy-”

“Nah, stay!” Ripley quickly bends down and cleans off the paintbrush in the cloudy jar of water. “Let me just clean this stuff up.”

“What are you working on?” I ask, taking a closer look at the piece of wood.

It’s unfinished and rough. It looks like Ripley has been testing out different colors of paint on it.

“Practicing painting on wood,” he explains, screwing the cap back onto a tube of paint, carefully avoiding getting any on his black jeans.

“Painting on wood?” I narrow my eyes at him, drop my voice to a whisper. “Is Transgressive about to strike again?”

He shakes his head no, but flashes a little grin at me. “Transgressive is busy with other stuff, at the moment.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, then let out a groan when he shrugs his shoulders innocently. “You’re so suspicious, McKay.”

“Well, you orchestrated a mini jailbreak for me, so.” He straightens up with a rag covered in colorful stains, starts cleaning the paint off of his fingers with it. “Clearly you guys all love me anyways.”

I shrug my shoulders, running my eyes over the posters on his walls. “Not gonna try to deny that.”

Ripley smiles at me, drops his gaze to his fingers as he cleans them off. “Thanks again for the save, man.”

“You better avoid getting busted again in college, when we’re not there to come break you out!" I turn around to face him, leaning back against the dresser. “I mean, we’d definitely drive to wherever you are and do it anyways. But it would take us ages to get there, probably.”

Ripley bites the inside of his cheek, doesn’t answer. He always gets quiet when college comes up, for some reason. He hasn’t said much of anything about any of it. I don’t even know which art schools he’s applying to, or if it's even art school he's doing, or if he's done with his applications -

“Are you guys gonna come to my high school graduation?” he asks suddenly.

I blink at him, taken aback. “Oh - are we all invited?”

“Yes,” he says instantly.

I arch an eyebrow at him. “You want Noah in the crowd when you walk across the stage? Even knowing the kind of chaos that might ensue?”

Ripley cracks a very big grin. “I hope it’s unhinged.”

“It will be!” I laugh, and Ripley laughs, too. “Well, then - of course, man! We’ll come.”

“Cool.” Ripley’s eyes brighten happily. “I’m so damn excited for that day.”

I’m excited for him, but at the same time… it makes me sad, to think about it. Or not sad, but - I don’t know. It prickles in my chest in some painful, aching way.

Ripley’s high school graduation will be the beginning of his journey out of town, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I told him we’d miss him badly. I was underselling it, if anything. I remember the look in everyone’s eyes as it slowly dawned on us during that conversation that Ripley will be gone by the end of summer.

“It’ll be great,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t hear the strain in my voice.

“Mhm.” A spark of bright excitement glows in Ripley’s eyes. “And Noah promised he’d give me a stick ‘n poke once I graduate.”

“Obviously, man! He wouldn’t let you leave without one.”

I think Ripley heard something waver in my voice, because he pauses, looks at me with searching eyes.

“Sorry,” I say hastily, trying to steady out my voice.

And then, realizing I won’t be able to stop myself, I let it all out in a rush.

“I’m sorry, please don’t think that I - we’re - we're all so excited for you, honestly! Nobody's panicking, just in case you were wondering. We’ll still get to see you after you leave! Actually, we were all talking about it, and, um - maybe we should go with you at first, to help you move? We could help you get settled in, and - Ralph said your parents are probably gonna do that, but then Noah pointed out that more pairs of hands to help is always good, so - and it’s not like, that weird for you to show up to campus with five extra men who aren’t related to you - we assume that’s a pretty normal thing to do? None of us have gone to college, so we don’t know, um, what the procedure is there…”

I trail off into anxious silence, getting my breath back. Ripley is staring at me with very, very wide eyes.

“And we could visit you, right?” I forge on desperately. “I know you’ll have new friends, but we could still - and you’ll come home sometimes, won’t you? I’ve gotta think so, for winter break and stuff. Me and the guys were already starting to plan out when we could all do a road trip before then, if you wanted us to-”

“Oh, my god.” Ripley presses his paint-stained fingers over his mouth, then urgently swats a hand at me. “Stop, Jamie, holy shit, you’re gonna make me cry-”

“Fuck, I'm so sorry!” I press my palms over my eyes, my cheeks burning. “I didn't mean to - it’s not just me, alright? Raj is the only one holding it together about this, so-”

“Okay, I - I didn’t realize-” Ripley breaks off, looking somewhat dazed. “Shit, man, I never would have kept it a secret if I knew that you guys… alright, listen, Jamie - there’s - something I’ve got to tell you about.”

I draw my head back, then tilt it to the side, caught off-guard. “What are you talking ab-?”

I cut myself off in surprise as Raj appears in the bedroom doorway, his dark curls wind-tousled, a bright smile on his face.

“Yo, Ripples! You got time to go work on-?” Raj stops short when he catches sight of me. His dark brown eyes swiftly dart to Ripley’s, then back to mine. “Oh - hey, Jamie! What’s good, bruh?”

“We’ve gotta tell him, Raj." Ripley swipes his denim jacket from the bed and tugs it on over his hoodie. “We’ve gotta tell all the boys, actually.”

“Really?” Raj lets out a heavy breath, pressing a relieved hand to his heart. “Oh, thank god, brother. I’ve been dying trying to keep this to myself.”

I turn to Raj, beyond bewildered. “Keep what to yourself?"

“Come on.” Ripley settles a snapback over his messy green curls, then heads for the door. “Easier if we just show you.”