He didn't know where he was going to go, if not school, but he sure as hell wasn't going there. Pete vaguely wondered if he could count on Olson to say he was sick during track. Given Olson's reaction the last time he'd tried that, probably not. Did he really have anybody he could count on for anything? He didn't have friends like Ponyboy or Dally or Johnny, no matter how many times he watched The Outsiders. That was a depressing thought.

He'd get an unexcused absence, but who gave a shit? Pete wondered to himself why he was so upset anyways. It wasn't like he and Baker had been anything to begin with. It'd been drunk making out. Who the fuck got this sad about a drunk makeout not turning out well?

He remembered when Pris had cut his face open. He'd said he wanted to marry her. She'd screamed at him. He remembered thinking that he didn't have to kill himself, she'd do it for him.

Pete let out a sigh and tried to think of a plan for the day. He'd go to Barnes & Noble or something. Or maybe he'd just drive. Buy a few books and just drive out of shitty old Maine and into Canada or something. Wasn't gay marriage legal in Canada? Not that it would really affect him anyways, because he was pretty sure nobody would ever like him enough to marry him, gay or not.

"Pete, are you gonna take the car or not?" His dad tapped him not the shoulder, breaking him out of his train of thought.

"No, I think I'm gonna walk today." He still saw himself and Baker inside that car, and Baker moaning out Hank Olson's name and every time he looked at the back seat he felt like he'd vomit.

"That's good for track, isn't it?" He ruffled his hair, and Pete felt like shit. "I'll use the car to get to work, then. Call me if you want me to pick you up at the end of the day."

"Thanks, dad," he said almost robotically, and started off down the sidewalk. He hadn't stuck very much in his backpack, since he wasn't planning to go to school anyways, so it hung limply on his back. He'd always hated that light backpack feeling. It made you feel like you'd left something at home even if you hadn't.

He kept his head down mostly as he walked towards the outskirts of town. He made sure to avoid the school building, taking a shortcut down the road through the little family-owned business road. Soon he found himself in the area that he'd always mentally referred to as the Dead Zone. It was the grey, empty roadside dotted with restaurants that made up the outskirts of town. He broke into a jog, trying and failing to keep pace with a few of the cars whizzing by. He knew that was impossible, but it was a little infuriating having just watching those things go by.

Barnes & Noble wasn't swarmed with people, but it wasn't empty, either. Most people had flocked around the café, probably trying to get in morning coffee. Pete wandered around the SAT prep section aimlessly, not really looking for anything but not really finding anything either.

That was when he saw his worst nightmare.

Well, not really. But it was Ray Garraty. Ray fucking Garraty. Leaning against a display of Stephen King novels in the next aisle and sipping a cup of Starbucks. Pete wanted to pretend he hadn't seen him, but Ray looked at him before he had a chance to.

"Hey," Ray said. It sounded forced.

Heart thumping in his ears, Pete made his way over to where Ray was standing. "Hey, fellow school-skipping delinquent."

"I'm sick, actually." Bullshit, Pete thought, but didn't say it. "My mom had something to buy here and I didn't want to be home alone."

"Your dad at work too?"

"My dad's dead." Ray said it nonchalantly. "My little brother died of a fever when I was younger, too. Just me and my mom, now." Pete sort of wished he hadn't said anything.

"God. I'm sorry. That must be lonely." His attempt at being empathetic sounded lame to his ears, but he didn't know what Ray thought. "What're you sick with?"

"Stomach bug."

"Hope you feel better." They stood silently together, and Pete felt this terrible urge to just tell Ray he was sorry, he hadn't been thinking of him like a person with a life and problems because he was just too in love with him. The conversation between them was so stock and boring, Pete swore he was watching a play of himself and Ray or something.

"Do you have any siblings?" Ray broke the silence. Pete had no idea what he was thinking. Had he upset him?

"A sister. She's four. Her name's Katrina."

"She picked up the phone when I called your home after the dance," Ray said. He laughed a little. Pete laughed too, trying to make it seemed natural. "Do you like Stephen King?"

"I've only read IT, I finished it a few months back. Eddie reminds me of you." The last part was out before he could stop it. He silently cursed himself.

"IT's good. I like Eddie. I hope I don't get killed by a giant spider anytime soon, though. My favorite's The Stand." What the hell was up with Ray today? He was talking to Pete like they were old pals or something. Pete wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but it made him nervous. "Do you come out here often?"

"Sometimes. I mean, this is about as exciting as Maine life gets. I was just at Blockbuster yesterday. I bought The Outsiders, even though I already own it, which was probably a waste of money." Ray was smiling at him. There was another silence. "You know, Ray, I like this. I like just talking about normal stuff with you."

"Why do you always have to address the elephant in the room?"

"I get nervous."

"That's fair, I guess." Ray looked away. "How'd you get that scar, Pete?"

"You don't know? I thought I was the talk of the town after that incident." Ray looked at him, wide-eyed. "You really want to know? Alright. It was a girl. Priscilla Mathers. She and I broke up because she wasn't happy. That's all I'll say. Ask somebody else if you want the full story." He suddenly was angry with Ray and he didn't know why.

"I'm sorry," Ray said. He reached out like a fascinated child and ran his hands across the scar. Pete didn't jerk away. He hated himself for it. "Does it make you feel weird to look at photos of yourself before it?"

"A little." Ray's fingers brushed a little hair away from his eyes and rested on the scar once more before drawing away. A thin, frail-looking woman appeared behind them, ushering Ray towards her. Pete figured that was Ray's mother. She didn't look like him at all. Ray didn't say goodbye, but he looked back at Pete with wide, curious eyes until his mother led him away.

Pete sunk down till he was sitting against the bookshelf. Stephen King's The Stand was practically staring him in the face as he turned his head. He took it off the shelf.

This chapter is a little boring, but hey. I actually do have a plan for how this will end, it's getting there that's the tedious part.