Crucify My Love

by Naisumi

It all starts in the summer, it all ends in the summer and, in the summer, you can barely hear yourself breathe. [Evietro] [slash] [pre-Bayville] NOTE:I accidentally uploaded an older version but now it's right. There are only a few small differences.

Title: Crucify My Love

Author: Naisumi

Rating: R

Pairings: Evietro (Pietro/Evan, Evan/Pietro), OC/Pietro (briefly) and OC/Evan (briefly)

Disclaimer: Still not mine, still not rich, still not famous. Damn. However, much like the TATCL crew, all OCs, no matter how minor, do belong to me.

Spoilers: Uh. ... ... Yes :D The fact that Pietro and Evan knew each other before Bayville

Warnings: Slash (m/m), UBERangst, UBERsymbolism :D Profundity (I guess?)--all the usual. Oh, and first person Evan :D

Notes: This is fic is going to probably have a sequel. It's set pre-Bayville, where Evan is 14 and Pietro is 15 or around there. This is all BatE's fault, her and her damn persuasiveness. And so this fic is dedicated to that wonderful Queen of Evietroness--BatE!!! Merry/Happy/Good belated [insertwhateverholidayyoucelebratehere] and happy New Year's, BatE!!

Additional Notes: If it seems like there is Pietro-bashing at any part, please keep in mind that not everything is as it seems as we are experience things from Evan's point of view. This fic does involve 'coming out,' and if anyone doesn't believe in bisexuality (as some people do think that o.O), you can take it up with me personally (;

Even More Additional Notes: Many thanks to Mor, who rocks muchly! I, a mere Ohioan, had no idea about New York O.o And, after she read through it once for me she was like, "Ha, foolish child, Evan would've been raped and left in a dumpster only to wake up three days later, naked, confused, and tied to a tetherball pole." ...Okay, maybe she didn't say it like that o.O She was rather nice about it *hugs* because Mor's a shibby person like that. But anyways, yes. She told me about Metrocards and how city dwellers evidently don't have mailboxes O.o I am now fully convinced that New York is not another state, but a planet unto itself. Anyways, this was just basically a weirdly long thank you to Mor. *hugs Mor again*

Made you look :P *just wasted twenty seconds of your life?* Don't kill me, please >.>; *fires herself*

Enjoy and Review!!!...please?

--

"Jesus," Pietro said, real fast, then slower: "Je-esu-us."

"Shut up, Pietro," I grumbled, feeling sort of annoyed.

"Goddamn, boy, you look hot."

"I said, shut up!"

Pietro straddled a chair, a whimsical act seeing as how he usually sat down properly. That was Pietro--not a daddy's boy, or anyone's whore--that's just how he is. He could turn on the charm at any time, alright--I've seen him do it a million times. Just a minute or two ago--sort of long when you've been with Pietro--he was flirting with these chicks at the T-section. Damn, but I wish he would've stopped flirting with them. It made me feel like a fool, really--him flirting with them and me just standing next to him like some dope with a hoodie and Reebok sneakers with the laces half untied. Him talking so fake to them--that's what got me. It was pretty damn near talking dirty with him acting so fake with a bunch of girls, just to impress them. I blew up at him afterwards--but he didn't really care. Pietro can be an asshole like that sometimes. Sometimes he just doesn't seem to get affected by anything--and I mean anything. A friggin' cop could pull up beside him and tell him that he was gettin' nailed for a double homicide that he didn't do and Pietro wouldn't care. He always seems to know something that the rest of us don't, and it drives me nuts. I don't know why. I guess it's just that he seems like such a smug asshole, but other than that, he's got a cool sense of humor. He's real witty. It's weird--I could get to hating him if he wasn't so funny and if I wasn't such a fool that I liked being around him. He's always making these veiled remarks--like, he'll say something and you'll think he really means it but it'll turn out that he doesn't. God, I hate it when he does that. Pietro's a damned asshole, alright, and what's worse than that is that he's got the stuff to back up all his swaggering.

Pietro's real stylish, too--he's got one of those names--like, the kind of name that could practically be a damned brand. You have to have a special kind of name to be able to do that. He could say that he made sport jackets--that his dad was some hotshot fashion designer and that he made millions. God, people'd believe him. He's got that slick look--but he doesn't look sleazy. His clothes don't look all that hot, either--it's not like they're all Abercrombie & Fitch or anything, like those football jocks wear. They're not all top of the line, but for some reason, he makes 'em look like they could be--like some billionaire's son in a limousine with these Italian sunglasses might wear the same outfits. I could wear the same damn things and I wouldn't look like anything but a dope trying to pass off some old preppy look. Pietro does look sort of old school, I guess. I don't know. I don't keep the labels too clear in my head--which is dangerous. In high school, I mean. Not just in New York--in all the high schools.

Him and I are real different--me and Pietro. For one thing, he's got this whole thing going where he has to keep up his image, or whatever. Some stuff like that. I don't think he even likes the clothes that he wears, but he makes a big deal out of it anyway. Pietro's always making a big deal out of everything, but for the most part, he'd be cool. He's the kind of guy you could ask to buy a switchblade or something for you and he'd do it. If you're real serious and the thing you're asking him or telling him is real important, he won't make a big deal out of it. I don't know how he can tell. He just does.

So him and I are real different like that. I can't help reacting the way I do, sometimes. Sometimes, I'll act real cool; the way I want to act, but most of the time, I have what they call a knee-jerk reaction, I guess. Pietro says I'm a dope because of that. He says that I'm a real loser, 'cause I can't keep that down. But then he'll grin at me like he doesn't care, and I guess he doesn't. Pietro's always saying stuff he doesn't mean. It drives me nuts.

That's why I'm standing here in front of this floor-length mirror with Pietro telling me to turn a little to the left so he can see my damned ass. He doesn't mean it, I can tell--he's getting a real kick out of this. He thinks it kills that I have to go to a friggin' wedding, one that my mom's making me go to. Pietro's funny like that--he gets the biggest kicks out of the strangest things. He doesn't laugh too long, though; usually it's some passing thing. Unless, of course, he knows that it's getting to you. He likes pulling people's legs, I guess--and if he knows something's annoying you, he'll keep on doing it, just for the kick he gets. Pietro's strange like that, like I said. He's real peculiar. My mom says he's 'incorrigible,' which I think means that he's never going to get better, or some stuff like that. I sort of think she's right. I mean, one thing's for sure--Pietro isn't going to change at all. But my mom still likes him, for some reason. It's really out there, that--usually my mom doesn't like kids that kid around too much. I mean, Pietro, when he comes over, he sort of flirts with my mom. It drives me nuts, but my mom gets a kick out of it about as much as Pietro does. I guess it's that charm that Pietro has, but whatever. Pietro's sort of insane. That's okay. He's funny, and he doesn't make a big deal out of the things that really matter.

"You'd better get into hiding, there, Daniels," Pietro said, pulling out a cigarette. He doesn't smoke, but he carries around a pack anyway. It's so he can annoy people who hate smoking, I think. He gets a kick out of it when he takes a cigarette out and people start shooting him dirty looks.

"Yeah, and where'd I do that?" I'm not sure how to answer; I try to say something witty when he does, but he's a hard guy to keep up with. Pietro grins at me. He's putting the cigarette in his mouth now, cupping his hand around the end. The saleslady's giving him the evil eye and he grins even more because of that--he's getting a kick out of it.

"I'unno, flyboy," Pietro said, his voice sounding weird because of the cigarette yet still sort of suave.

"Maybe the Antarctic, with all of those penguins--y'know, you could teach them basketball."

He pronounced it "bass-keet-ball," rolling the l's a little. He makes fun of me all the time; says I'm a dope for being that into a sport. But he joined the team anyway, because he's funny like that. If he's curious, you can pretty much get him to do any damn thing you want.

"So when're you going to this thing again?" Pietro turned around in his seat and kicked his legs up so they rested on the counter next to the cash register. The saleslady's really getting ticked now--you could tell. I'd be, too, if some lousy punk was sitting in my store with his feet propped up on my counter and a cigarette in his mouth.

"Next Saturday. Get your feet down," I answered, trying not to get ticked at Pietro, too. Pietro didn't seem to hear me; just started tapping his fingers on his knee and snapping them every so often.

"So you're missing our school's varsity golf team playing? Your loss, man," Pietro started goofing around with his cigarettes, dragging one along the countertop some and popping it back into the box, then repeating the same thing with a new one. Cigarettes are like crayons to Pietro; you could always get a new pack after you were bored with your old one.

"Haha," I said even though I didn't think it was too funny. I could get sort of sarcastic at times, especially around Pietro. I don't feel too rotten if I'm sarcastic around him, since Pietro's always being sarcastic, too. He's got a real dry sense of humor, so it's not too nice-guyish. I do feel sort of lousy, though, when I'm too sarcastic or Pietro comments on it. That's just the way I am. Pietro says I'm a dope because of it, but he's always smiling when he says so. But then again, Pietro smiles when he says a lot of stuff that he means to be sort of insulting--unless he really wants to hurt you or get you riled up.

"Seriously," Pietro jumped up from his chair. I could tell the lady behind the counter was relieved, but she was still shooting him some looks, mostly at the cigarette that Pietro was now sort of dangling in his left hand. If she kept looking, I knew that Pietro'd probably light it up, just to get a kick out of it. Pietro loves attention.

"When're you getting back, A.J.?" Pietro asked. He calls me that just to drive me nuts; it stands for 'Air Jordan,' and I know for a fact that he could come up with something better than that. It's so cheesy he gets a kick out of it, because it irritates me.

"I'm getting back the Saturday after," I reply, trying to not get too annoyed at him. I do that a lot--try to not get my leg pulled by Pietro.

"Yeah, Ed?" He's looking around now, holding some swanky suits up to himself and peering in fitting mirrors. He's got his cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and his head tilted to the side, one arm out to the right and holding one sleeve and the other just kind of pressing the jacket against himself.

"Damn, don't I look hot?"

"Yeah, yeah, real hot, Pietro," I mumbled back. I felt real bad for the saleslady now. We were probably annoying the crap out of her. I hate it when someone annoys me and they can't understand enough to go away even when I'm practically radiating 'piss off' rays.

"Hey, are you done now, Ed? Can we go?" Pietro was getting kind of impatient, and I guess we were sort of just wasting time, so I just bought the damn suit that I had on in front of the mirror with Pietro all making fun of me. I sort of wanted to apologize to the saleslady, too, but Pietro was already walking out the door, his pack of cigarettes in one hand and just one in the other.

Pietro's parents are real quiet people. I don't think I've ever seen 'em raise their voices--never. They're Pietro's foster parents, actually, and I like them real well, but it's just funny; them never really saying anything to Pietro at all on account of his behavior. Mom says that they're just grateful--too grateful--that they have a kid now that they don't wanna ruin it. Mrs. Maximoff was barren, or somethin', so she couldn't have any children beforehand. I feel real sorry for her, getting a kid like Pietro the first time through adoption. Pietro can be a real asshole.

Once, Pietro took a pack of cigarettes, right in front of his mom--sort of toyed around with it, then just flipped one out and lit it up. If it had been at my house, my mom wouldn't've cared that Pietro wasn't her kid; she would've grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out, scolding the whole way. Pietro's mom, though--'s why I'm sorry for her--she just sort of looked at him funny and smiled in this funny--what's the word--listless way. It made me feel so bad. I even half-expected Pietro to stick the damn thing in his mouth and puff away, just to get a kick out of it, but he just put it out on the friggin' table and threw it away. It drove me nuts. I almost started apologizing for him right then and there--how dopey is that? Apologizing for some kid to his mom! Christ, sometimes I think I really am as dopey as Pietro says I am.

I was reminded of that, for a moment, 'cause we were downtown, me carrying one of those big plastic bags with the hole and hanger in the top and Pietro playing his box of cigarettes between his hands like a harmonica. He looked slicker than me, even though I was the one carryin' a friggin' suit. He got a kick out of that, but I felt real dopey, like a kid who felt like apologizing for some hotshot dumpster king to his mom. But then again, I almost always feel dopey when I'm with Pietro.

It was Thursday and it was real muggy out, real humid, and I didn't feel like walking much, but if I were to slow down, Pietro'd probably just keep going. He's funny like that; you'd think he'd notice or something, but he just keeps right on. I haven't actually figured out if he doesn't notice or if he does it just for kicks. I bet it's for kicks, though. I felt sort of lousy, just then, like I couldn't think too well. You know how if you take a nap on a really hot afternoon in your room and when you wake up you feel over-heated and sort of drugged up? That's what I felt like. In other words, I felt like crap, and I didn't really like it. Looking over at Pietro just gave me even more of a headache, seeing as the kid doesn't seem to ever get hot. I don't think I've ever seen him sweat--not even on the basketball court. Maybe he's cold-blooded or something.

I guess I was thinking too hard, because Pietro dropped back to walk by me. It's another one of those things he just knows--whenever you're thinking real hard, he usually comes and tries to bug you. It drives me nuts, but he gets a kick out of it for some reason.

"Hey, Ed, y'wanna go for a shake?"

"What?" I was sort of muddled; a little confused.

"I'll pay," he started walking backwards, just for the heck of it.

"I guess so," I said after a minute because I almost forgot to answer. I figured it was only around half past noon or something and it was sweltering hot, so it wouldn't hurt to sort of take a break.

"Great, that place's open," Pietro pointed at some swanky new parlor with polished floor tiles and a neon sign outside with the word 'Saywell's' on it, a prissy little curl on the end of the last s. I'd heard about it and it seemed like the kind of place with real leather barstools and antique fans on the ceiling for effect and just 'cause they've got the moolah. One malted shake was probably three bucks, but I don't know why I was worrying. Pietro'd said he'd pay.

"Are you sure you want to go there?"

It still didn't seem to keep me from asking.

"Yeah," he turned to walk forward again and hopped onto the curb, which kind of bumped up so that it was an inch and a half above the sidewalk, "I want to check it out."

"Are you sure?" I actually felt sort of uncomfortable that Pietro was going to pay at someplace that highclass-looking, but I knew that Pietro'd laugh and call me a dope if I told him what I was thinking.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure, Ed," Pietro sounded sort of distracted so I shut up and just kept on walking next to him. I've got a bad habit of just stopping something when someone wants me to stop. Well, it's not a bad habit, per se, but Pietro says I'm a dope 'cause of it. Says that I'm never gonna know what I want. When I mentioned that to my mom, she just sort of laughed and asked if Pietro wasn't so precious. Mom uses that word a lot; 'Oh, isn't Pietro just so precious?' or 'Look at this precious shirt. Don't you like it?' and even 'Evan, won't you be precious and go fetch me a glass of water?'

I think it's pretty ridiculous, but she uses it anyway. I love her to death, I really do, but she can be a little strange sometimes--take how she absolutely adores Pietro, for one thing.

It's so fake-sounding when she says it--precious--but the thing is, she really, really means it. I was sort of afraid that Pietro'd make fun of her or something, but he didn't. He seemed to understand completely. Or something. He's funny like that.

"Come on, slowpoke," Pietro was already at the door so I guess I must've slowed down. I do that sometimes when I'm thinking too hard. It's like a habit or something. I don't know.

Pietro let me go in first, on a whim, I guess, 'cause he made a huge deal out of holding the damn door open and bowing and crap like that. I guess he got a kick out of it. I tried to scowl, but I couldn't stay mad for long--not with him goofing around like some screwball. I guess I really am a dope.

I was right about the inside of this Saywell's place; it was real nice--real...kosher, I guess, would be the word. There were a few elementary-looking kids hanging out around the candy section and the guy behind the counter was hounding on 'em, as if he were afraid that they'd lift something. There was also this chick at the cash register. She looked sort of nice, and pretty, too, I guess. She didn't really do it for me--she looked sort of bored and a little boring, I'm not sure which. If she were both, I guess she could be bored because she was boring or just the other way around. Sometimes I feel a little boring, too, when I'm bored. I can't do much if I get too bored. I guess that's a little strange, but it's how I am.

Pietro'd gotten two barstools, the old-fashioned kind that's right up at the counter and mushroom-capped with leather, the type that squeaks every time you move. He had his leg stretched out over one of them and was perched on the other, his hands drumming out a rhythm on the leather top 'cause he was sitting so friggin' back at the edge it looked like he was about to fall off.

"Hey, scoot," I said. I couldn't move real well 'cause of the bag and I was beginning to feel dopey just standing there, holding a suit. Pietro tilted his head back so that he was looking at me upside down and drawled, "N-o," holding the 'n' for a long time, then snapping the rest of the word like a rubber band. I rolled my eyes.

"C'mon, man, this is getting old." I was beginning to feel sort of impatient, and I bet he got a kick out of it.

I tried all the persuasive techniques I knew, which wasn't a lot, but Pietro wouldn't relent the second seat. It almost felt like one of those cheesy soap opera confrontations where one guy gets pissed and knocks the other guy's cup out of his hand and they start fighting. Yeah, so I was definitely feeling dopey--but I was getting sort of mad for whatever reason just then, too. I guess Pietro figured that out, too, and he didn't want me to get too mad and maybe get us kicked out or whatever, so he just swung his leg off and grinned this quirky half-grin at me,

"No harm done, Ed--chill, willya?"

I tried to stay mad at him, I really did, but he just sort of spun around and smirked cockily at the guy behind the counter,

"Two malt shakes, chocolate mint an-nd--" He pointed at me and began playing with his cigarettes, evidently disassociated from the situation again.

"U-uh," Fumbling with the bag as I sat down, I tried to catch a good look at the menu that was pasted on the wall.

"Vanilla. Please," I added, almost forgetting. Being around Pietro does that to you--makes you scatterbrained.

"Va-nilla," Pietro pronounced. He amused himself, leaning over to this girl next to him who'd been eyeing him and stage-whispering,

"He's that kind of guy!"

The chick giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world even though she probably didn't understand it any more than I did. Pietro always says stuff that you don't understand until later. He's crazy like that.

I guess I was boring him just then, too, 'cause he began flirting with that girl. It sort of ticked me off, 'cause I felt real dopey sitting there by myself, not knowing what to do. The guy came back with our shakes and Pietro tossed me a ten-dollar bill, saying,

"Be a good guy and give that to the cashier, could you, pretty please?"

I wanted to throw it back at him and tell him to do it himself, but I could tell that he was getting a kick out of goofing around--saying 'pretty please' and practically batting his friggin' eyelashes at me. I rolled my eyes and felt like saying something sarcastic back, but I couldn't think of anything to say so I just went to the cash register.

The cash register was sitting on this counter a few feet away with one of those big glass display boxes under it. That bored-looking girl was standing behind it, leaning against the wall with one hip jutting out and looking like she wanted someone to take a sawed-off to her head. When I put the money on the table and slid it toward her, she took a second or two to react, drawling sort of sleepy-like,

"Your friend there thinks he's real slick, don't he?"

She had a heavy accent--I couldn't tell where, since I'm not too good with that kind of stuff. The cash register was really loud when it rang, almost violent, too, so I could barely hear her. I didn't think they made those kind of old-fashioned cash registers anymore.

I was sort of surprised in the first place that she bothered talking to me, but I replied anyway, trying to sound a little more nonchalant than I felt at the time,

"Yeah, I guess so."

I felt a little bad talking about Pietro like that with someone else. You understand.

"What's his name?" she asked, giving me the change and leaning forward on one elbow. The black nail polish on her fingers was chipped but still shiny, and when she moved, it almost looked like another color--maybe mauve or purple. I don't even know what color mauve is. Pietro says it's purple and red, so that's what it probably is, but when I asked my mom, she thought it was a kind of brown. It's weird.

"Um, Pietro," I said, and suddenly he was right there, his elbow on my shoulder like I was some friggin' armrest.

"That's a funny name," the girl remarked giving Pietro a once-over.

"Funny ha-ha or funny funny?" Pietro asked real sweet.

"Funny funny," the girl replied easy enough, as if she really was falling asleep. She seemed to understand whatever it was that Pietro'd asked, though, which is more than I can say for most people.

"Heya," Pietro grinned and stirred his shake with his straw. I hadn't noticed that he had had it with him.

"You seem like a pretty savvy chick."

I cringed and tried to draw Pietro's attention from the girl, jingling the change in my hand and clearing my throat a little. I hate it when he calls girls 'chick.' I mean, sure, I sometimes use that, too, but not to their faces. That's always struck me as disrespectful. Unless it's a girl calling another girl 'chick,' of course. Girls are funny like that--they seem to play by a whole different set of rules.

The cash register girl stared at him for a minute, then, not even cracking a smile or anything, she stuck out her hand at him, saying real quick, almost irritatedly,

"Chelsea."

I guess she wanted him off her case.

"And you already know me," Pietro took her hand and sort of smiled real funny.

"This here's Ed."

"Evan," I muttered, getting annoyed at Pietro for some reason. I grabbed my shake--it was kind of soggy already because of the condensation on the sides of the cup.

"What're two high-class guys like you doing downtown?"

I think she was mocking us--I figure that she's real sarcastic; she seems like it. Her and Pietro oughta get along real well. I sort of didn't like the way she was talking--it made me think that maybe she wasn't really pretty after all.

"We're just picking up some stuff, hanging out 'til Ed has to go to that ball in Washington," Pietro told her lightly and I really started getting annoyed even though it wasn't anything big.

"No, I'm not."

"'s all good," Chelsea wasn't looking at us, "It ain't like you can't afford it."

"Yeah?" Pietro sat down on the barstool next to opposite the cashier and started swiveling from side to side.

"I've seen you boys at the upper east," she said and I stopped listening to the damn conversation. I didn't even know why I was so ticked, but I was. That Chelsea girl was almost bothering me even though she was real pretty and everything. I guess she sort of rubbed me the wrong way, on account of how she seemed to not mean anything she said. In that way, I guess she was real similar to Pietro. Pietro can be a real asshole 'cause he sometimes makes stuff to be a huge joke even if it's not. That gets annoying after a while--especially if you don't mean for something to be a joke. But I really shouldn't complain; after all, I spend all this time annoyed at how Pietro acts but I've never actually told him to knock it off. That sort of annoys me, too--I bet that if I told him to stop, he wouldn't just 'cause he gets a kick out of it.

"Hey, Ed." I guess I was thinking too hard or something. I was sort of bitter at the moment, too.

Pietro grinned at me and suddenly, I didn't feel too mad anymore--at him, in any case. I got sort of ticked at myself for not staying mad, if that makes any sense. The guy's too light-hearted to stay mad at for a long time anyway, and that's sort of annoying, too, in a backwards way.

"You almost done with your shake?"

I looked down at my cup and saw that I had already drank about two-thirds of it. I guess I'd been drinking it while I was thinking or something. Maybe I'm just absentminded on my own--with no help from Pietro. That's almost a scary thought, in a funny way.

"I guess," I said, and Pietro tipped it towards him.

"How can you guess you're done?"

"Well, then, I'm done," I said, annoyed again. I looked around.

"Where's Chelsea?"

I didn't see the blond chick anywhere. When I looked back at Pietro, he shrugged.

"They ran out of malt powder so she went to make a call."

"Oh."

I felt sort of bad about it but I was actually a little glad that she was gone. It made me feel rotten, wishing a girl that I didn't even know would go away. She'd seemed nice enough in any case.

Pietro grinned even wider and it made me smile back at him,

"What?"

He spun around again and told me, waving a little slip of torn paper napkin,

"I got her number."

"Oh."

He wasn't even looking at me so I just turned back and finished my shake, even though I didn't feel like it anymore.

"You want to go see a movie?"

We were almost at my house and Pietro was still going strong even though we'd walked the whole way. It makes me think that maybe we shouldn't have stopped for a shake. I didn't like that place anyway.

"When?" I asked. There wasn't anything I really wanted to see in any case, but it'd be cool to go see something or go somewhere before I had to go to that wedding.

"How about tonight?"

"But we've been out all day," I said, wondering if Mom'd actually let me go out to a movie after I'd been gone the whole afternoon.

"Aw, c'mon," Pietro stooped down for a second and scooped up some pebbles. He began skipping them down the sidewalk, just for kicks.

"It'll be fun. I'll talk to your mom for you."

He flashed a grin and I couldn't help but crack one back. The sneaky little bastard knew that my mom was absolutely taken by him.

"Well, what do you wanna see?" I could barely see him, it was getting so dark out. He was tossing those pebbles with real quick motions of his wrist, though, I could tell that much.

"Mm, just anything," he got bored with skipping stones and just started walking backwards, letting the rest of the pebbles clatter to the ground. I hefted the bag from one arm to the other; I was getting a little tired.

"Do you wanna just rent a movie and come over, then?" I suggested.

"Sure," he grinned at me, which looked weirdly bright 'cause it was practically dusk. He turned back the right way and started walking properly again, one hand in his jeans pocket and the other swinging slightly at the elbow.

There wasn't anything else I figured I wanted to say so I just shut up. Pietro started walking on the curb again, so he was probably getting bored, too. I wondered if he was going to give that Chelsea chick a call--I really hoped that he wouldn't. I just couldn't ever imagine the two of them together, is all. I can't really imagine Pietro with anyone, come to think of it. Maybe it's because he's always goofing off so I can't picture him being true-to-God serious. Or something, I guess. I really don't know why I can't imagine him and Chelsea together. They're real similar, like I said before.

Pietro started sort of singing tunelessly, like he couldn't figure out what he wanted to sing; couldn't make up his mind, or something. He's usually real good about what he wants to do. He usually knows what he wants. After a few seconds, he started singing a little louder, real decisively, too, so I guess he'd made up his mind. I couldn't even make out the words, though, so I didn't know what the hell he was singing. I asked him what song it was and he grinned quirkily, saying,

"Damned if I know."

He's a dope.

Well, maybe he's not--somehow even if he says something that might make anyone else seem like a dope, he's still real cool. 'Real slick,' said that chick. Man, I can't stop thinking about her for some reason. She was actually sort of pretty, but I didn't like her attitude. She seemed real jaded--I think that's the word--about everything, or just about, anyway. But she seemed to like Pietro, too. Maybe I missed some big bonding part of their conversation when I stopped listening, or something. I seem to always miss stuff that's real important when I don't listen, even though I listen all the other times. Murphy's law, I guess.

"Hey, Ed, you working the ol' head muscle?"

"What?" I asked, a little startled. Sometimes I get surprised when someone talks to me and I'm not expecting it. It's sort of dopey.

"Thinking too hard there," Pietro rapped his knuckles on the side of my head and I ducked out of the way like I always do. He laughed.

"Calm down! Don't spazz."

I wasn't even spazzing, but that was okay because he didn't even mean for me to calm down.

"So you got any movies at home at all?"

"Yeah, I think," I said, trying to remember what was on the shelf.

"Mom rented a few two days ago," I recalled after a few minutes and Pietro tilted his head to the side, now walking with a faked limp, just for kicks, dragging his left foot behind him.

"Anything good?"

"Nothing terrible, there shouldn't be."

Mom usually likes a good action movie, but she also likes the mushy stuff, too. For Pietro's sake, I really hoped that there were some action flicks. He hates romance. I thought it'd be funny to hear his response--'cause he gets a kick out of stuff like this--so I asked him,

"Hey, Pietro, why don't you like romantic movies?"

He was walking backwards again.

"They're fake," Pietro said after a second or two. He wasn't looking at me.

"Fake?" I didn't really get what he meant.

"Yep."

He was being awful quiet tonight.

"How do you mean?"

"Well..." He looked up at the sky for some reason, like there was something real interesting there.

"It's all fake. The set, the actors, everything."

"But, Pietro," I almost laughed, "Of course it's fake. I mean, it's a movie!"

He frowned and waved his hand, sounding real impatient, "No, no, not fake. Fake!"

"What are you talking about?" I didn't get it at all. He sounded like he was upset, almost, but I figured that he was just getting a little ticked at me for not understanding what the hell he meant.

Pietro got real quiet for a second, as if he didn't want to bother explaining it to me, then he said,

"When two people are together, it's something that's meant to be real, you know? I hate it when they make it seem so fake onscreen."

His voice was sounding a little off for some reason; I didn't say anything 'cause I was afraid he'd shut up again. I don't know why exactly, but it sort of scared me--shocked me, really--when he just didn't say anything at all. It just didn't seem like him.

"In the action flicks, it doesn't matter that it's fake," Pietro continued. His voice sounded flat to me, though, and it was sort of disconcerting, like he was far away or something.

"But in that romance stuff, it sucks. It's stupid. You know it's two actors up there pretending to be in love, you know that no one really gives a damn."

He turned to me, a funny gleam in his eyes, and I still didn't understand. Maybe I was just stupid or something, or maybe I just didn't get why Pietro was working himself up over something that just didn't matter. Or, at least, it didn't really matter to me. Maybe it mattered to Pietro for some reason, though I can't see why that would be the case. So I decided to ask;

"Why does it matter to you?"

He shut up real fast, gave me this real funny look, and just kept walking.

I didn't feel much like watching a movie after that, but there wasn't anything else to do, really. It was way dark now, and I looked down at my watch--a real swanky sports piece that Mom got me--pressing the indiglo internal light and watching the digital face light up, reading 8:51.

Man, it was late. I was getting hungry, too, but not terribly. I don't really eat as much at dinner as I do at lunch, usually. I asked Pietro if he was hungry, too, and he just looked at me funny again and said that no, he wasn't. He sure was acting real weird tonight. Not about the whole not-hungry thing--Pietro almost never gets hungry--just him being so goddamn quiet.

I wanted to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, but I had a feeling that it'd make everything even worse. I should've gone ahead and asked, though, since, after all, my instincts are almost always wrong. But I was feeling sort of lousy, and byt he time I figured I wanted to ask him, we'd already gotten to my house. Man, I'd been so caught up with that Chelsea chick and figuring Pietro out, I'd forgotten how late it was. I hoped my mom wouldn't be too ticked off.

The dining room light was on, so I figured that Mom was still up--she's usually in bed by ten, though--and the front door was unlocked.

"Mom? I'm home!"

"Hey, hey, Mrs. Daniels," Pietro seemed to be real peppy again.

I heard the sound of a door closing, then Mom came in, fixing one earring on. I toed off my tennis shoes and smiled in what I hoped was a placating way. Mom did not look happy.

"Evan, where were you?"

"Uh," I sort of didn't know what to say. After we'd gone to Saywell's, Pietro had mentioned something about the library, so we had dropped by there, but then we had headed straight home. I didn't think it had taken so long. Maybe we'd gone to the ice cream place a little later than I'd thought.

"Hi, Vivian," Pietro was grinning. He always called my mom by her first name unless he felt like goofing around. It ticked me off, but Mom thought it was 'precious.'

"Oh, hello, Pietro."

Mom didn't seem to friggin' pissed at Pietro at all, though. It drives me nuts that she's never real bothered by him, no matter what he does. Then again, I guess Pietro does act okay around her--he never takes out his cigarettes or acts like a total asshole.

"Sorry I got Evan home so late," Pietro continued and I looked at him, sort of surprised.

"If it's any consolation, though, we had a really swell date."

He was getting a kick out of pulling my leg--he never says 'swell' otherwise 'cause he thinks it's dopey. Mom thought it was pretty hilarious; she thinks Pietro's candid like that, but I wanted to punch him. Pietro grinned when I shoved him, though, so I guess I didn't really get my point across. He just sort of held up his hands and said,

"Hey, I was just kidding."

"Well, boys," I hadn't noticed, but Mom was real dolled up, like she was going somewhere special.

"I was just about to head out."

"Isn't it a bit late?" Pietro asked cockily, like he was someone real hot.

"Not terribly," Mom said back with a smile. Then she turned to me and I handed back her Metrocard. I had borrowed it in the morning, on account of how I knew I had to go out somewhere and everything. She grinned at me a little and sort of ruffled my hair,

"Dinner's in the microwave, bed by eleven, alright?"

"Yes, Mrs. Daniels," Pietro was being goofy again.

"Bye, Mom," I said, hoping that she'd leave a little quicker. For some reason, it bugged me that she and Pietro got along so well. She doesn't like any of my other friends, but she seems to take into consideration Pietro's half-assed disposition pretty cheerfully. It's almost creepy.

She ducked outside, then poked her head back in, eyeing me sternly,

"You're showing me that suit tomorrow, young man. Alright?"

I groaned, and Pietro snickered and rested an elbow on my shoulder, waving rather brightly to my mom. She smiled and disappeared out the back door.

"So, what d'you wanna do?" I asked awkwardly after a moment. Pietro smiled weirdly at me and sqaggered over to the microwave, opening it and peering in curiously,

"How 'bout dinner?"

"Sounds good," I replied. I was feeling really nervous for some reason--I really couldn't figure it out. I tried to play the good host--offering Pietro something to drink and everything, but he'd already gotten himself something. I guess he's just too familiar--we're too familiar with each other. I'm like that when I'm at his house sometimes, too; I always have to remind myself to ask for things first when Pietro's parents are around.

I was being real introspective tonight, which was sort of dopey, on account of nothing out of the norm happening. Yeah, that sounded real slick--thinking deep thoughts over mac 'n cheese. I bet Pietro'd laugh at me. Pietro wasn't being himself either, though--usually he's real chatty but tonight, he wasn't saying anything at all. So, 'cause of the conversation, or lack thereof, we finished real fast.

"Um," I began, "You wanna go watch that movie now?"

Pietro didn't answer at first, grabbing my bowl and his and walking over to the kitchen sink, letting them clatter loudly in. Then, shortly,

"No."

"What, don't feel like it?" I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Usually it was so easy to talk to him, but tonight he was being totally out of it.

"No," Pietro repeated and leaned against the kitchen counter, looking bored. I hesitated, then asked him,

"You tired?"

"Ti--well, I guess," he seemed a little puzzled.

"Wanna spend the night?"

"Sure," he replied easy enough.

"You should probably call your mom, huh?" I guessed, but he just headed toward the stairs, saying flippantly,

"Nah."

Pietro could be a real asshole sometimes.

I followed him up the stairs, not too surprised when I saw that Pietro'd already gotten a few spare blankets and a pillow and was camping out next to my bed. He quirked an eyebrow at me when I came in and stood up,

"Do you still have that toothbrush I used from last time?"

"Yeah, it's just in the bathroom," I said, jabbing a thumb down the hall.

"Thanks," he mumbled and headed down that way. He was really beginning to freak me out. I've never seen him act so weird before--I mean, sure, he's real erratic, but usually he's erratic in a way that defies the fundamental physics of emotions; he'll go up and never come down. The guy was either being a jackass and enjoying it or he was goofing and enjoying that. Pietro's the sort of guy that has fun just being himself no matter what he's doing.

He finished pretty quick and came back in, silent as a ghost, and I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and washed my face. After thinking so hard all day, my mind was ironically blank now that there wasn't anything I had to actually pay attention to. It's sort of like when you get to bed and you're beat tired but you can't go to sleep to save your life. I hate when that happens.

"Hey, Evan," Pietro was lying flat on his back with his arms behind his head,

"Where's your dad?"

"Oh, he's off in Europe somewhere," I said, changing into another t-shirt.

"On a business trip?"

"Yeah, in France or Germany somewhere."

I skirted around him and climbed into bed, rolling over onto my stomach. I didn't feel too tired or anything, so I just sort of spaced out.

"Evan," I heard Pietro say and I asked, "What?"

"You hear about Colin?"

"Who, Mandy's bro?" Mandy was some chick in our English class who had three brothers in high school, a sister in college, and another one in diapers. Whenever she told a story, she started with 'My brother said,' and two-thirds of the time and halfway through, you had to stop her and ask exactly which one of her brothers she was talking about.

"Yeah, him."

"No, what about him?"

Pietro turned and propped himself up on one elbow, looking at me funnily,

"You didn't hear?"

"No," I felt sort of stupid, but for some reason, he didn't make fun of me.

"He came out."

I didn't understand.

"What?"

"Gee, Ed," Pietro drawled real sarcastically,

"dense much? He's gay, Sherlock."

"Oh." I could feel myself burn up, with my flushing and all. No, I hadn't known that. I had met him once, too--he'd been a nice guy. He hadn't acted at all in the way that everyone says that gay people act like, either.

I didn't know what to think, really, and strangely enough, the only thing in my mind that really make sense was, At least Pietro seems normal again. Only he wasn't, because he was still looking at me funny.

I didn't want to ask, but it was really starting to worry me, so I cleared my throat and ventured,

"Pietro?"

"Hmm?"

"You...you okay?"

He was real quiet, then he sat up, the weird look in his eyes suddenly ten times worse.

"Have you ever wanted someone to say something--anything--just a little something to make things better?"

I tried to figure out what he was trying to say--he talked awful fast, like he was nervous or embarrassed or something--but before I could, he continued;

"Like, no matter how much you need it, they still don't seem to notice or care or whatever? At all?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, 'tro." The kid was practically hyperventilating. Pietro paused and stared at me. God, I thought he was going to pass out or something, from the look in his eyes. He didn't say anything for a long time, then he whispered,

"You ever want everything to be okay?"

I leaned forward a little, because I could barely hear him, and hesitated, still not sure what to say. I wasn't even sure what he was saying, let alone how to reply.

"You ever want," he was so close; just right there, "to make everything better for just a little while?"

And then he kissed me.

It felt nice. Warm. I couldn't think--couldn't even kiss back; couldn't even close my eyes. I wasn't even sure if it was real. So all I did was friggin' sit there and let my best friend kiss me, listening to my own heart beating faster and faster until I was almost afraid it'd take out a lung.

And then he stopped.

His eyes were watching me, nocturnal blue, and I almost expected them to blink out into the darkness. I couldn't feel anything but the space between us and the absence of his breath near me; his lips on mine. For some reason, though, all I could think about were mushroom caps and soda bottles--ice cream, rootbeer floats.

"Are you gonna call her?" I blurted out.

"You know. That Chelsea chick."

There was silence, then I heard him turn over, the sound of him vanishing from my ears as I imagined him answering me. He didn't reply.

When I woke up--though I didn't remember falling asleep in the first place--Pietro was gone. For a few minutes, I must've still been half-asleep; all I could do was stare at the rumpled blankets where he'd been sleeping. Then I sat up, feeling sort of disoriented, and tried to figure out where he'd gone. I'm not too awake in the morning most of the time. It's like my brain doesn't totally kick in until there's been a minimum warm-up period of at least fifteen minutes. In my opinion, people should wake up at 11 a.m., get a caffeine drip, then immediately take a nap afterwards to replenish their energy from having to wake up so friggin' early. Pietro, of course, as the unnatural creature he is, thrives on the eerie sunniness of the morning. He gets even more energetic while I just sort of lie in bed, being weirdly philosophical and lazy at the same time. Philosophical in the way that I begin to think neurotically deep thoughts that somehow make sense to me at the time but confuses the hell out of anyone else I try to explain them to.

My vocabulary also gets significantly and weirdly larger in the morning, but I guess my intelligence checks out when my consciousness checks in. It's like my brain is drunk or something; the minute I really wake up, I wonder what the hell I did all morning, why I have a headache, and the extent of any complex thoughts is about the origin of the word 'twinkie.' Oh, the irony.

I could hear my mom talking to someone downstairs, so I dragged myself out of bed and tried not to trip on my way downstairs and fall to my untimely death. The kitchen was just in general way too bright, and Peitro and Mom were way too chipper.

"Hey-hey, it's Ed!" Pietro raised a mug in salute to me, my mom giggling like a schoolgirl behind him.

"Um," I mumbled back at him, coherent beyond even the mental capabilities of the CEO of NASA. Only not.

I peered at Pietro as he sloshed his mug around and drank the remnants of his beverage like a Jell-o shot.

"What is that?" I asked, making a face.

"Mmm," Pietro grinned, "coffee."

"Ugh," I muttered and buried my head in my arms as I sat down at the dining table.

"Good morning, Evan," Mom said cheerfully, setting down a plate of what I assumed was breakfast--I didn't really pay much attention.

"Hi, Mom," I tried to smile but didn't quite make it because I yawned in the middle.

"So, when'd you two get to sleep last night?" she seemed to be in a really good mood this morning.

"Around nine or ten," Pietro chirped back fortunately enough since I hadn't looked at a clock or checked the time or anything. I don't do that a lot--which is probably a bad thing because then I'm late for stuff sometimes. Yeah, lateness was definitely a bad thing.

I was beginning to wake up now, so any understanding I had about the inner workings of the universe had conveniently fled. The only thing I could think about was...waking up, I guess. My mind was truthfully blank and it made me feel like a total dope.

"Hey, Ed, you there?" Pietro snapped his fingers right in front of me and I started,

"Uh, yeah...I, um."

He grinned and I flushed a little, feeling dumb.

"Are you thinking about me?" he asked, mock-flirting.

"I--no!" I exclaimed, feeling nervous for some reason. He looked at me for a moment, then glanced away, quiet. I couldn't figure out why, for some reason, then suddenly I remembered: the kiss. I had almost forgotten. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I had friggin' forgotten, but I had. Maybe because it'd been so late, or maybe it was because I hadn't even been sure he'd kissed me--he'd been so indiscrete about it; his lips only on mine for maybe a second or two--him being there, then suddenly gone.

I felt cold. Did this mean that he was gay? Pietro Maximoff--popular with the girls, ridiculously flirtatious with said girls--was gay? He liked--kissed--boys?

No, really, Holmes, a remnant of my subconscious drawled sarcastically, sounding bizarrely like Pietro, being gay means you like guys? I didn't know that.

But Pietro can't be gay, I reasoned. It'd have to be a pretty backwards world if Pietro was gay. I mean, the guy's practically got a harem--the chicks really dig him and all that. Hell, if you ask me why, I wouldn't know. I mean I'm not gay. But then again, I remembered that fleeting kiss--the weird look in his eyes. Had he done it as a joke? How screwed up would that be? Did he just want to 'show' me what being gay means--mocking my not knowing what he meant by 'coming out'? Or did he actually...?

"Hey, Ed, you're thinking pretty hard there--what's the occasion?"

"Oh, shut up," I mumbled back automatically and Pietro chuckled, as if I'd said something real funny. Then again, he was probably just getting a kick out of me not having a comeback.

"Hey, Evan," I heard my mom call, "I'm going to head to work now, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," I replied as she bustled back in, gave me a peck on the cheek, and grabbed her pocketbook from the cabinet along the wall next to the dining table.

"Bye-bye, Vivian," Pietro beamed and waved congenially.

"Good-bye, Pietro," Mom was grinning.

"Aw, I'm going to miss ya, Mrs. Danny," Pietro grinned and gave her an over-enthusiastic and soppy hug. I looked away, feeling sort of uncomfortable for some reason at seeing Pietro hug my mom, pretending to swoon and be all sappy.

"Bye, guys," Mom laughed and disappeared outside.

"Ah, your mom's a great lady," Pietro grinned at me and I rolled my eyes.

"Aw, c'mon," he grinned even wider, "she is! She really is."

Pietro had this funny look on his face, like he wasn't all there. I was going to ask him something, but then the phone rang.

"Hello?" I said into the receiver, and Pietro's mom's voice came through, barely audible,

"Hello, Evan? Is P-Pietro there?"

She sounded real nervous.

"Yeah, he's right here, Mrs. Maximoff."

Pietro stiffened a little at that. He shook his head, motioning with his hand that he didn't want to take the call, then sighed almost angrily when I continued,

"You want to talk to him?"

"If it's no trouble," Mrs. Maximoff murmured almost meekly.

"Sure thing," I turned to Pietro, who had sat back down and swung one leg over the armrest of his chair, and held out the phone. He scowled at me, then grabbed it from me.

"Yeah, Mom?" he paused, "I spent the night. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Yeah," he glanced up at me. "I've got plans, Mom."

"'Plans?'" I grumbled, mostly to myself since Pietro wasn't looking at me anymore.

"No, Y-eah. Um," Pietro tapped his finger against the receiver.

"Mm-mm. No." He paused again. "Yeah, love you, too. Bye--" he frowned,

"Okay. Bye, Mom."

He sounded so friggin' impatient, it drove me nuts. The way he was talking to his mom--he was being such an asshole.

"Want to go to the park or something?" Pietro asked me then.

I was sort of pissed at him for being such a jackass to his mom, but I shrugged anyway and conceded,

"Sure, why not?"

Pietro smiled at me.

I was still a little nervous around him--not because he was acting off or trippy or anything like that, but because of what I had sort of figured out earlier. Of course, there was that possibility that Pietro wasn't what I'd pegged him to be, but God--what are the chances of that?

It drove me nuts. How had I missed it? I mean, he's my best friend! A guy doesn't wake up one day and decide, 'Well, hey, I think I'll be gay.' There has to be precedent, doesn't there? So exactly when did Pietro turn gay? How did Pietro turn gay? I wasn't familiar with this at all. Maybe it was just me, though--the way Pietro had mentioned Colin--he'd been so flippant about it. Was everyone gay but me?

As much as that seemed true--I think I heard something about our bud Davis being gay, too--I really didn't think that everyone was gay. At least, I hoped so. Since when was being gay the 'in' thing? And why couldn't they keep me in the dark? As far as I was concerned, them being gay had nothing to do with me.

Except for the fact, of course, that Pietro had kissed me.

I still didn't understand it. Did this mean that Pietro wanted me? As in the same way he wanted the girls he'd been out with?! God, wouldn't Katherine get a kick outta that. She'd only been out with Pietro twice before they decided to break it off. Pietro'd said it was because she liked me better than she liked him. Katherine'd said that it was on the account of him being too 'pretty.' 'I just can't go out with a guy prettier than me, you dig?' I remember her saying to me. I'd never heard a girl use the word 'pretty' about a guy before.

Katherine was real cool, though--she had real pretty blond hair and these big blue eyes that seemed real pale. She didn't wear too much make up like most girls--only some eye shadow, I think. I don't know too much about make up. She said 'you dig?' a lot at the end of her sentences, which was real cool--'s not like she talks like a valley girl or anything. Now that I thought about it, Katherine was a real looker--and not too boring, either. She got real sarcastic now and then, but who doesn't? Everyone I know gets a little attitude, except this one mousy chick named Sarah, who's real sweet and quiet. Her boyfriend's not too hot to her; he tells her to shut up a lot and it drives me nuts. But Pietro gets in his face about it and it's cool--it makes him stop.

Pietro really doesn't act gay at all. I mean, the way you'd expect someone who's gay to act. He's just...normal. In his own way, at any rate. I mean, if you'd asked me if Pietro were gay, I'd've laughed. He's such a player and he acts so normal--who would've thought? But then, last night...

God, I couldn't forget about it. It was like someone'd stuck a tape recorder in my head and was playing last night over and over.

"Hey, Pietro," I blurted out finally. I couldn't handle it anymore.

Pietro was quiet.

"About Chelsea--"

"I'm not going to call her."

I could barely hear his voice.

"Oh," I mumbled dumbly. I hadn't known what I'd been planning to say anyway. I hesitated.

"Why not?"

Pietro shrugged, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"I don't feel like it."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I just don't."

"But--"

"Goddammit, Evan!" He whirled around, this unfamiliar anger in his voice and eyes. He was pale.

"Drop it, would you?"

I took a step back, startled.

"Okay, man, whatever you say."

He made an annoyed sound, turned around, and kept walking. I was actually really surprised. I'd thought he really liked Chelsea. They'd been getting along real well yesterday, anyway, so it confused me that he'd be so edgy about it.

Then I noticed we weren't going in the direction of the park.

"Wait, where are we going?"

Pietro gave me a funny look.

"To my house."

I waited for him to call me a dope. He didn't.

"Why?"

"Jeez, you're just full of stellar questions, today, Holmes, aren't you?" Pietro snapped back, "That's just so fuckin' swell."

"What is wrong with you?" I asked, exasperated. He was beginning to piss me off.

"Oh, no, Evan," he said real friggin' sweetly, "Nothing's fuckin' wrong, A.J."

"Shut up," I exclaimed, suddenly inexplicably annoyed at his sarcasm--his perpetual, godawful sarcasm.

He stared at me for a moment, then suddenly I was on the ground. AT first, I thought he was gonna kick my ass or something, but then I opened my eyes and saw that he was just sitting on my stomach, looking at me funny. And then he kissed me again. When he stopped, I was sort of confused again. I still couldn't understand it.

"Pietro," I tried to be quiet and calm, but my voice was shaking.

"Are you...are y-you gay?"

That was it. I'd asked him. And he was silent.

"Pietro?"

He got off of me, straightened his shirt and started walking again, but I sat up and grabbed his elbow on impulse, yelling,

"Wait!"

I hadn't meant to yell. He yanked his arm away and said softly,

"Leave me alone, Evan."

"What?" God, he was being an asshole. "You're the one who kissed me!"

"Yeah, so?" He was getting angry again; "You want to get married now or something?"

"Oh, c'mon, man," I stood up with some difficulty and brushed myself off, "Even if you are, I'm not gonna say anything."

"Yeah? Well, don't look now, but you already did," Pietro retorted. He's always making everything so friggin' hard.

"Pietro, knock it off. I--"

"No, you knock it off, Evan," he took a step closer to me, that same unidentifiable anger in his expression.

"Stop asking about things you really don't want the answers to."

God, he was being an asshole today.

"Would you answer me straight for once, Pietro? Just once?!"

He gaped at me, as if he wasn't sure what I was asking, and then he laughed.

"Straight?" Pietro grinned, that same screwing-off, screwing-around there.

"Didn't you just ask me if I were...?"

I stared at him. The way he said it--he acted as if it were one big joke. Then he continued, still chuckling a little,

"What if I am, Ed? Would that make you stop asking all these goddamned questions?"

"I--what?" I was stunned.

"You are?"

He scoffed at me, "Oh, please. Of course I'm not."

Pietro smirked cheekily,

"I swing both ways."

At that point, I could almost swear that I heard the sound of oinking coming from directly above me. I was half-tempted to glance up, just to double-check, but I couldn't look away from Pietro to begin with. I must've looked like an idiot.

"What?" He asked me after a moment, quirking an eyebrow, "Surprised?"

"I--Well...yeah." I felt like a real dope. Pietro chuckled again.

"Alright, then, Sherlock, let's go."

I wanted to ask him why, how, when all this happened--if everything was different now; if he was different now, but for some reason, the only thing I could think to say was, "What, is that my permanent name now?"

I expected Pietro to snap at me or make some witty comment or maybe both, but he just laughed.

"Sure, why not, Ed?" He smiled myself and I felt myself flush for some reason.

We were pretty close to his house already, even though I'd pretty much spaced out the whole way over, so I guess we'd been walking for fifteen some minutes. It made me feel weird--not just because I hadn't noticed how fast time passed, but just being with him. He wasn't acting any different; he was still being Pietro. I don't know what I was expecting--for him to start wearing a rainbow button and hitting on everyone, or what. But he was just...there. The same. It sort of shattered the whole stereotypical misconception I had. So, I couldn't help but be mystified--I mean, Pietro's so friggin' normal--well, as normal as Pietro gets at any rate--I would've never guessed that he was gay, or bi, or whatever.

You never expect a kid that's so untroubled and not screwed over to turn up so different. But then again, I shouldn't be surprised. It's just like Pietro to adopt a social taboo and look and stay cool while doing it; it's just like Pietro to piss in the wind and not give a damn.

"Hey, Ed," I looked up, a little startled that we'd already gotten to his house. Pietro arched an eyebrow--he does that a lot--and asked, "You want to wait outside or do you want to come in?"

"Uh?" I started to say that I'd come in, but then I changed my mind: "I'll just wait out here."

He gave me this long, sort of unreadable look, then disappeared inside the front door. I was a little...discombobulated, I think, is the word. Mrs. Fehnry, our English teacher, loves to say that.

'I'm really discombobulated about your test scores,' she'd informed us once and Davis had asked, confused, 'Does that mean we all failed?'

'On the contrary,' she'd seemed amused, 'You all passed most magnificently.'

Mrs. Fehnry always used pretty big words. I don't know if it comes with the job description or whatever, but Pietro says that she does it to piss us off and to 'render us momentarily stupefied.' I think he was mimicking her there, but in my opinion, she just genuinely loves those words. There aren't many real cool teachers at our school; they're mostly wannabe dopes that're just hanging out before they head off to be some college prof's TA. I almost feel sorry for them--they're, as Pietro says, 'not happy people.' Mrs. Fehnry's different, though.

She's 66-years-old (she'd said she was 34 on the first day of class, but she was just joking--at least I hope) and she has issues with peanut butter, research papers about abortion and pens tapping on desks. Her goal in life was to cram King Arthur in our brains and hope to God that we learned something in her class--such as 'no sitting near the windows,' she'd said to Davis after his textbook had 'accidentally' been chucked out said windows; 'You might hurt innocent pedestrians.'

Jeez, but she was awesome. I think Pietro likes her, too. He was sort of a class clown in English, but she lets him get away with it for some reason, and it drives me nuts. I can get like that sometimes--real annoyed about Pietro's sarcasm. It seems like everyone but me has adjusted and accepted the fact that 'witty, quippy Pietro' was just like that. Hell, the chicks at school think he's a riot.

I'm not jealous, 'least I don't think I am. I mean, I'd get tired of being in the spotlight, but Pietro gets a kick out of it. That's Pietro--he's always lookin' for the limelight; the high kicks; the challenge. At first, I thought he was only horsing around half the time he said his usual, 'Sounds like a challenge,' but it turned out that he was dead serious. In a smirking, smugly joking way, that is. Pietro's real egotistical. I don't think he means to be, but he is. For some reason, chicks dig that, or something, because whenever he makes a witty comment about himself, they giggle. Most girls, that is. Katherine was different about that, too. I think that's why Pietro liked her--or maybe he liked her because she was a 'challenge.'

'You want to catch a movie sometime?' he'd asked her and she'd grinned, 'You sure that's all you wanna catch?'

Yeah, Pietro always got a kick out of Katherine; 'Pretty sharp and pretty to boot,' he'd told me after their first date. I think he had a lot of admiration for her. Or something. Maybe a kind of respect. I don't even know, really. If you ask me, I find it hard to believe that Pietro'd have respect for anyone. But that's just me.

"Hey, Ed," I looked up and mentally smacked myself for doing so. Sure enough, Pietro laughed and teased,

"Forget 'Sherlock,' you're answering to 'Ed' already, Evan."

"Who has the full name 'Ed' anyway?" I retorted. Pietro jogged past me and turned around, walking backwards,

"How about 'Eduardo,' then?"

I rolled my eyes, "Aw, shut up."

"Hey, what do you want to do?" Pietro was bouncing erratically from subject to subject, but I was used to it.

"I dunno," I replied. There really wasn't anything to do.

"Want to go find Davis and the guys?"

"Umm," I tried not to feel uncomfortable. It was, after all, still Pietro and Davis, even if they were...

"Sure," I said without meaning to and Pietro grinned at me;

"Great! Let's go."

"Hey-hey--check it, guys, Max 'n Daniels decided to pay us a visit!"

Davis grinned and slapped Pietro on the back before reaching over and putting me into a headlock.

"Quit it," I muttered and managed to get away after a second or two. He didn't seem to mind and, instead, asked good-naturedly, "What've you two dopes been doin' this summer?"

"Ah, us dopes haven't been doing dope like you dopes, if that's what you're getting at," Pietro replied easy enough. He was smiling.

"Cool, cool," Davis laughed and threw himself into an armchair, swinging one leg over the side.

"Kick back an' hang a while, bitches," he suggested with a snicker at the last word, lighting up a cancer stick and blowing a halo toward the ceiling.

"Stop fuckin' around, Davis," A guy called Matt said, batting his hand in the air as some of the cigarette smoke wafted over to him. I didn't know him personally all that well, but I'd seen him around and I think Pietro knew him. He's one of those fanatical health nuts--real panicky when it comes to drugs. The kid won't even drink anything with caffeine in it, 'cause he's afraid he'll get hooked. I think he's on the football team, or something, so it's sort of funny to see him eating a steak dinner with greasy fries on the side and a bottle of vegetable juice in his hand. He's also got issues with smoking, evidently.

"What, Matt, trying out for track next year?" Pietro was sitting on the window ledge.

Davis' sister turned twenty-two just a month or two before school let out, so she was already legally capable of taking a minor into her care, or something. That's why they've been living in a dingy little two-bedroom apartment with only a living-slash-family room, kitchen, and the most cramped bathroom I'd ever been in.

Their mom was in rehab for something or other and their father'd passed away three and a half year ago. Davis'd said that it was nothing, though, and the kid's always wisecrackin' so much that you can't help but believe him.

"Actually, yeah," Matt looked disgruntled and tugged the brim of his baseball cap lower when Davis laughed and blew more smoke at him.

"The guys on the team are messed--steroids and shit like that. I'd be better off jumpin' hurdles."

"You're so conscientious," Denver, a guy in from my math class, muttered, his arms crossed over his chest. He was slouched down against the wall next to a speaker.

"I toldja it was busted," Davis said to him loudly, still chuckling a little.

"Maria already triedta fix it."

"Yeah, yeah," Denver rolled his eyes and stuck his headphones on. I could hear the music playing from all the way over here; practically twenty-five-some feet away.

Denver's got hearing problems. According to his girlfriend Neff--I think her real name's something like Christina, but everyone calls her 'Neff' anyways--says he's practically deaf in one ear. He lives with his aunt, though, who can barely afford rent, let alone a hearing aid.

It made me feel lousy to think about it, on account of how I seemed real well off in comparison with everyone else here at the moment. Except for Pietro, at least. Pietro might've been adopted, but his parents always provide everything he needs. It confuses me about Davis and the others, though--why couldn't Denver's aunt just take out a loan? Why didn't Maria, Davis' sister, just take him and herself to go live with some relative? Next to Davis and Denver, Matt seems real normal, but I think he's got family issues, too. No one knows what, though, and he sure isn't volunteering any info. What could be so hard about getting help, though?

"Hey, Denver," I heard Pietro say, practically shouting,

"Denver!"

Matt grabbed a sofa cushion and beaned Denver with it on the head, knocking off his headphones and making him duck in irritation;

"Hey, what the hell?!"

"Yo, Denver-baby, Maxxy-Max wantsta talk t'ya," Davis'd finished his cigarette and was lighting up another one. I swear the kid's high half the time. He grinned as Denver scowled and tossed the sofa pillow at him.

Denver's always a little off, too--he's like that in math. The math teacher doesn't even bother to call on him anymore, 'cause he's either spaced out or he's pissed and looks like he's gonna snap and kill everyone including himself. Denver's always in a lousy mood or no mood at all. I have no clue why, but he seemed even worse today.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Pietro voiced my thoughts out loud with curiosity. I snorted and muttered, "Well, that's nice."

Pietro heard me even though I hadn't meant for anyone to and shot me a lopsided grin before turning back to Denver, who just flipped him off and slumped down further.

"Neff broke up with him," Matt answered for him even though he was now staring at the tube, which Davis had probably turned on.

"No kidding?" I blinked, surprised. Neff and Denver'd gone out for...well, no one could remember when they hadn't gone out. They went a lot of places together, and Neff was a real sweet girl that even Denver seemed to like an awful lot. More than he liked anyone else, at least. He tended to stay in his 'no mood' phase when he was around her and he seemed to really like holding her hand. Neff's that kind of girl whose hand fits perfectly into yours. She doesn't fidget around, either, like those chicks who swing your hand around or whatever. I know. I dance with her once at the Christmas dance--she's a real relaxed sort of girl, which is nice. Other girls our age have no idea whether or not they should just rock from side to side or if they have to spin, and they usually end up either too far from you or too close. They're all awful stiff a lot of the time, too. Neff's just perfect, though--she's got real pretty black hair that's all curly and these big, china blue eyes.

She seemed to really love Denver, too; she was always hanging around him--not in an overly clingy way, either--just like they were buddies or something. Once, Neff'd come over to Davis' place, where we hang out a lot, and Davis'd been sort of a jackass to her. She didn't mind real much--she was pretty cool with it--but Denver'd gone ballistic at Davis after she'd left. Put a dent in the wall from a punch, I remember. Maria'd gotten a little pissed, but she cooled down a bit and just tried to hide it with a chipped vase of flowers or whatever.

Denver really did like Neff a lot, so I figured that he was gonna be pretty ticked off for a long time. I didn't plan on saying anything to him any time soon.

"Yeah, no kiddin', man," Davis was screwing around with the remote controller, channel-surfing.

"Neffy thinks he's ga-ay," he sing-songed with a grin and laughed when Denver hissed angrily,

"Shut up, Davis!"

"Aw, Denny," Pietro was grinning, "Don't worry--it's not contagious."

"Fuck you," Denver muttered, but he seemed a little more subdued.

"What're you talking about?" Davis asked, still laughing. He tackled Pietro and sat on his stomach,

"It's very con-tay-gee-us, Maxxy-baby!"

I blanched and looked away, suddenly remembering why I'd felt so uncomfortable about coming here. I could hear Pietro laughing, then Davis exclaiming in a falsetto voice,

"Spank me, sugahdaddy, fuck me good!"

"Aw, shut up, Carrucio," I looked over and saw Pietro trying to kick Davis off,

"I'm not going to compromise my virtue just so you get laid!"

"What virtue, Maximoff?" Matt craned his neck and stared at the two of them before grumbling, "Oy, get a room."

"Noooo," Pietro was shoving at Davis now, who had a deathgrip around Pietro's stomach,

"Get 'im off! Ed!"

I didn't know what to think. Were they playing around or what?

Before I could say or do anything, though, Denver shot forward and hauled Davis off of Pietro. I seriously thought he was gonna kick Davis' ass or something, but he just sort of glared at him and said in this weird voice, "Stop fucking around, alright?"

Davis gaped at him open-mouthed, then shrugged and slinked back to his armchair. Denver just sort of stood there, then I heard Pietro yell from on the floor,

"Yeah, Carrucio, stop fucking around!"

Matt cracked up and Davis just started laughing, but I didn't understand what had just happened. I looked over at Denver and he looked back at me for a minute, then he turned away and walked back to the stereo and slouched down on the floor, shoving on his headphones, oblivious again.

Pietro hopped up onto the curb, one arm out and bent at the elbow briefly for balance before he crammed both hands in his pockets, his face tilted back so he could look up at the darkening sky.

"The guys are always cool, huh?" he asked me cheerfully and I thought about it briefly. After the whole incident with Davis and Pietro, the visit had been uneventful.

"I guess so," I said, and he looked at me weird before nodding and continuing to walk.

"How 'bout that, huh?" I began after a moment.

"Neff and Denver--wonder why they broke up." I hoped that I'd accurately gotten that Davis'd been joking, and was relieved when Pietro shrugged.

"Eh, who knows?" Pietro peered up at the sky, then looked at me, a weird expression on his face.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Um, yeah," I blinked, startled. I wasn't sure why he'd asked that question in the first place, but he just smiled at me.

"Good. I was worried there for a sec."

He had this real friggin' condescending way of saying that, so I rolled my eyes and mumbled,

"Whatever."

Pietro gave me a funny look before he turned around and continued walking, up on the curb. He was quiet for a bit, then he said shortly,

"I think I'm going to head home."

"It's only six-something," I noted, glancing at my watch.

"Yeah, well, I feel like it," Pietro sort of snapped at me, sliding off the curb by the soles of his shoes. He walked away, flipping a brief wave over his shoulder.

"See you later."

I stared after him, confused. He didn't seem to be too happy with me, but it's not like I'd done anything to him or whatever. Jeez, he was being moody lately. It was driving me nuts--him being so goddamned erratic. Then again, I wasn't being too normal, either, what with my weird fixations--like on Chelsea, for example.

Just then, I thought about going to Saywell's, just to see Chelsea or something. I don't even know why I'd want to do that. She'd probably think I was a psycho or something--seeing as how she didn't even seem to like me much. She liked Pietro a lot better.

I was feeling bored--restless, or something. I really needed to talk to someone, just so I'd be talking. For a minute, I considered going back to Davis' place, but then I remembered Denver leaning on the wall with his headphones blasting; Davis sitting on Pietro's stomach and him blowing smoke at Matt. As I was thinking about Denver, I could've sworn that I saw him walking towards me. Then, I squinted hard, and practically did a double-take when I saw that he really was.

He gave me this sort of blank stare when we met midway on the sidewalk, and flicked some of his longish bangs out of his eyes. His hands were in his pockets and he had his headphones on. Suddenly, I didn't feel much like talking.

"Uh, hey, Denver," I managed, feeling sort of weird around him for some reason. It occurred to me that maybe he didn't know my name, so I started,

"Name's Evan, in case you d--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know who you are."

Denver sounded real impatient and he was looking around, like he was distracted or looking for someone or something. Then he turned to face me, blinking slowly,

"Where's Pietro?"

The best way to describe how I felt just then is 'curious.' Not that I was being particularly inquisitive or anything--I just had a very strange feeling--a curious feeling that I couldn't quite put a finger on.

"He just left," I replied, puzzled. "Why?"

Denver ignored my question and asked,

"Where'd he go?"

"Home, I think." I should've been angry a little with him just asking me all these questions, but I was more confused than anything.

Denver frowned, like he was thinking real hard about something.

"When do you see him next?"

"I--uh," I blinked, as I had been doing a lot lately.

"I don't know, actually. He seems a little pissed at me," I offered as an explanation after a moment's thought.

Denver stared at me for a second, then yanked off his headphones and fell in step with me as we began walking,

"Yeah? Why?"

His entire demeanor had changed, oddly enough.

"Uh," I shrugged, "I dunno--he's just been pissy lately."

"What?" He leaned closer and I repeated myself a little louder;

"He's been real pissy lately."

"Oh," Denver chewed on his bottom lip.

"Any idea why?"

"Nah, but Pietro's like that," I grinned a little,

"He can really screw with your head."

Denver nodded, but he didn't seem too amused. The kid looks so serious, sometimes. It's unnerving.

"Just recently, huh?"

I thought about that, trying to remember if Pietro'd been acting any different before now.

"Yeah, only recently. Ever since he came ou--"

I stammered to a halt, a chill of panic swarming into my mind. I couldn't help but remember hearing kids in the hall using words like 'faggot' or 'fairy' or saying things like 'God, that's gay' or 'stop being such a fuckin' homo.' Before I could take back the beginning of that damning phrase--'came out'--Denver jerked his head a little, nodding for me to continue,

"Yeah, yeah, he came out, then what?"

I gaped at him.

"Wait--you knew?"

Denver blinked at me.

"Well, yes."

"What do you mean 'well, yes?!'"

He was standing there looking real friggin' calm. God, couldn't he tell that this was freaking me out?

"How long has he been gay, then?! A month? Two?"

Now Denver looked pissed--I swear the guy's only got two expressions--and started walking again.

"Don't be an idiot, Daniels," he snarled, "You don't become gay, you just are. If you mean how long he's had it figured out, then yeah, it's been a while."

Jeez, the guy was practically bipolar.

I started to ask how long 'a while' was, but then I noticed something.

"Wait--how do you know so much about this?"

Denver got real quiet, then he reached up and shoved on his headphones.

"'later, Daniels," he said, looking all blank again. And then he walked away.

I stared after him, puzzled. Once again, I wondered if I had somehow mysteriously landed in an alternate dimension where everyone was gay. Or maybe it was just Denver, since I think that the rumors are probably wrong about Davis. He was being real sweet on Linda just earlier. I was beginning to think that Denver was the most neurotic person I'd ever met. Who the hell only packs two facial expressions, anyway? (1) And why was he looking for Pietro?

The disturbing possibility of Pietro being as popular with the guys as he is with the girls dawned on me and I began seriously thinking that maybe I really did have a problem with this. In hindsight, I had had a pretty screwed-up day. I woke up to my best friend have some personal bonding time with my mom in the kitchen--this, of course, after said best friend friggin' kissed me--and then my best friend came out to me, and then we had gone to apartment number 69 where I saw my best friend get jumped by another guy before we left and my best friend then also went nuts, got pissed about nothing, and went home, leaving me free to be stalked by another guy who put me under NYPD interrogation about where I was on May 17th of 1991 at 7:37 p.m. and if I liked my toast with butter or jam. Where's Toto, 'cause we're going home. And, oh, yeah, I forgot--does everyone that Pietro's gay except for me?!

"Hey, Evan!" I turned around, slightly startled at the sound of my name as I had been too busy accumulating a healthy hatred for the world in general. Across the street, I saw Katherine and some of her friends. I recognized a few of them from around school, but some of them were unfamiliar. She waved at me and headed over.

"Hi, Katherine," I tried to shake off the dazed stupor I was in and grinned at her. She quirked an eyebrow at me, her straight, pale blond hair swept over on one shoulder.

"You look like shit," Katherine said with about zero tact.

"Yeah, well, I feel like shit," I muttered, self-consciously running my hand through my hair. She let it go at that and turned to look about,

"Where's 'tro?"

"That's what everyone wants to know," I grumbled under my breath, reflexively shuddering as I thought of Denver. That guy was seriously creepy. Katherine shot me a questioning look and I shook my head,

"I dunno where he is. Said he'd head home, though."

"Heh," She grinned real funny and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder,

"Gimme a sec, I'll walk with you."

"Okay." I looked at her hand and noticed that she had chipped black-mauve nail polish on her fingers. Purple-red.

"Hey, Kathy," I began when she turned to wave at her friends.

"Don't call me that unless we're dating," Katherine replied easily without turning around. I thought about that for a second, then I repeated,

"Hey, Kathy."

She smiled at me.

"Hey, Ed." Pietro was sort of sitting on the front mat and leaning back against the front door when I got home. I blinked.

"Hey. I thought you were going home?"

He shrugged.

"Think I can crash at your place again?"

"What's up, dude?" I asked, frowning. Pietro stood up and just sort stuck his left foot out and swung it like he didn't have much else to do. He looked at me, then shrugged again.

"I figure it's summer," he said with a grin, "and I figure you're leaving soon, so..."

"Sure, sure," I tried to grin and was surprised when I succeeded.

"So, where've you been?" Pietro glanced at me curiously.

"I had a date," I said, suddenly feeling inexplicably uncomfortable.

"Wow, for two whole hours," Pietro smirked and I squinted at my watch. It was only 8:15.

"So, it was a mini-date," I said, laughing a little. For some reason, everything seemed normal just now.

"Who with?" Pietro asked, toeing off his shoes after I opened the front door.

"Um, Kathy." I was weirdly afraid he'd be mad.

"Katherine?" Pietro grinned at me, his eyes lighting up. He thumped me on the back and hooked an arm around my shoulders,

"Awesome! I haven't seen her for so long!"

"Yeah, she asked after you when she saw me," I couldn't help but grin at Pietro's enthusiasm.

"Ha--what'd you tell her?" he play-shoved me into the kitchen and I tugged open the fridge.

"That you had a hissy fit and left to sulk in your playpen," I joked and he laughed, flipping a chair around and straddling it, resting his arms on the back, his cigarette pack in one hand. He was playing with the box, shuffling it in his palm like a maraca or something.

"Man, how is she? Where'd you two go?"

I handed him a can of 7up and flicked open mine, listening to it hiss and bubble as I thought about it.

"She's cool--says she's been sorta busy since school let out. We didn't really get to do anything; she had to get home to eat dinner."

"Shoot, kid," Pietro was grinning at me like crazy, "So you just asked her out right there? Jesus, my sexiness is rubbing off on you, Ed!"

I choked on a mouthful of soda and started laughing,

"Sexiness? What the hell are you talkin' about, 'tro?"

He grinned at me and took an exaggerated swig from his can.

"You mean you haven't noticed my popularity, Ed? I'm offended," Pietro dropped one hand across his forehead, pretending to swoon. I opened my mouth to retort, then I hesitated--unsure if it'd be appropriate.

"And would this be with girls or guys?" I tried, and he smirked,

"Both. Totally under my thrall, you know?"

"Aw, shut up," I couldn't help the wide smile on my face. Everything seemed so cool now--back to normal, like Pietro'd never told me he was gay, or that he'd never been pissy toward me or that last night had never happened. Just thinking about last night should've made me feel something--uneasy, disturbed, weirded out--awkward; something. But I didn't. Not at all. It was like it was one big mistake; everything felt normal just now. Simply normal.

"Oh, hey, Denver was askin' after you," I recalled, sitting down across the table from him. Pietro quirked an eyebrow,

"Yeah? What for?"

I shrugged.

"Beats me. He wouldn't tell me why."

"Maybe I should give him a call," Pietro mused out loud.

"You think maybe Davis has his number?"

"I guess," I blinked, "You mean you don't have it?"

"Nah," Pietro set down his soda can and stood up,

"We've hung out a few times but nothing serious."

He flashed a lopsided grin at me.

"I'm thinking a dinner and a movie first."

I rolled my eyes at him, "Just go make your call, 'tro."

He snickered before disappearing into the other room. I could hear the faint sound of the phone dialing, then Pietro drawling real slick-like,

"Yo. What up, Carrucio?"

I could practically hear Davis laughing, 'Shut up, Maximoff!' They joked around so much.

"Yeah, you got Denver's number?"

Pietro walked back in with the cordless, his eyes to the ceiling and one hand cradling the phone to his ear. He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes again.

"Yeah, I gotta talk to him."

He paused.

"No, I can't put out a down payment."

He paused again, then scowled, chuckling,

"Oh, shut the hell up, Davis."

Pietro cocked his head, sort of squinting slightly,

"...36. Alright, thanks. 'later, Davey," Pietro mock-simpered into the receiver and held it away from his ear as Davis laughed and yelled loudly, "Fuck off, Pietro!"

Pietro grinned at me after he switched off the phone, then turned it back on.

"Time to check out what ol' Denver wanted with my sexy self."

I made a face at him and he chuckled, ambling into the living room, the quiet tones of his dialing fading into the silence. After he left to make his phone call, I just sort of sat there for a little bit. Mom wouldn't be home until almost ten--she worked the later shift in the summer--so she usually left some stuff to heat up in the fridge or microwave.

Getting up, I clicked open the microwave door and peered in. There were two Tubberware plates of spaghetti and a slip of paper tucked between them;

'If Pietro wants to eat over, I made extra for him.'

Mom knows that Pietro loves Italian food. The way she fussed after him, you'd think 'tro was my brother or something.

I heard the beep of the phone shutting off and called over my shoulder without turning around,

"Hey, 'tro, you hungry?"

He didn't answer.

"Pietro?"

I straightened from where I had kind of stooped to look into the microwave, and turned, startled when I saw Pietro standing there, the cordless phone in his hand. He looked at me, this funny expression on his face--an expression that he had earlier when he'd kissed me, and last night, too. I took a step back and looked at the phone for a moment, my mind empty for a second before I remembered:

"Oh, yeah--what'd Denver want?"

Pietro glanced down at the phone, too, as if he didn't recognize it or something, then he looked at me again. He seemed like he was about to say something, but then he set the phone down on the table and just mumbled,

"I've got to go."

"What?" I gawked at him, "but I thought you were gonna hang out here tonight."

He shrugged, looking weirdly nonchalant.

"Something came up."

"With Denver?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

God, I sounded like an idiot--almost like I was jealous or something, even though I wasn't. I don't think I get jealous that easily, anyway, and besides, it's not cool to get friggin' jealous just because your best bud's not with you 24/7.

Pietro actually looked a little uncomfortable for a split second, then he rubbed a hand over his eyes and said sort of shortly,

"Look, Denver just wants me to go check something out, okay? He thought I'd be interested."

"Check what out?" I asked before I could stop myself and he threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

"What the hell is it to you, Ed?" he snapped.

"Well, I..." I blinked, not sure why exactly I was being so antsy about him hanging out with Denver. I decided to be honest about it.

"Don't you think he's a little..."

"A little what?" Pietro sounded real impatient.

"Well, I don't know. Weird."

He gave me a withering look.

"You think he's weird? Why?"

"God, I don't know, 'tro," I was starting to get frustrated.

"I just don't think he's--he's all there."

Pietro was quiet. Then, he began slowly,

"Evan, you're not being fair--"

"It's just my opinion," I grumbled. I was feeling a little peeved with that goddamned condescending patronizing way of his. He made me feel like such a little kid sometimes even though he's only a year--not even--older than me. It pisses me off.

"Yeah, well, it's a pretty fucked up opinion," Pietro snorted and I mumbled,

"Whatever--"

"Get bent, Daniels!" he snapped and I stared at him, wondering why he was getting so mad.

I opened my mouth to say something but he just shook his head and left. The front door slammed shut. I stared after him. What the hell just happened? Had we just been fighting? Again? Over Denver? I didn't even know the guy! This was ridiculous.

I sighed and sat down, more confused than anything. Just as I did, the phone rang, a shrill digital trilling noise that should've startled me but didn't.

"Hello?"

There was a beat of silence, then I heard Katherine say slyly, "Hi there, Evan."

"Kathy," Again, I should've been surprised, but I guess I was just preoccupied or something.

"How are you?"

She laughed, "That's real cute. No one asks that anymore."

"What?"

"Your 'how are you,'" she explained and I said, "Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right," even though I didn't think she was right at all.

"Not unless they have to," Katherine continued, sounding pretty smart.

"People always say it when it's required but they never do by themselves."

I was beginning to feel sick.

"I've never noticed that before."

"Mm," she sighed a little and it sounded real dainty. It was always sort of strange to hear her swear when she did because her voice is real sweet and soft even though it can be sort of cool and condescending when she's being sarcastic.

"You wanna go do somethin' sometime?" she asked and I hesitated.

"Well, my mom's making me go to some wedding later this week..."

"Aw, yeah? That bites," Kathy made a small tsking sound, then suggested brightly,

"How's about tonight? Ma's letting me go since dinner's over."

I blinked and peered at the front door. It didn't look like Pietro was going to be back anytime soon, but I still felt pretty lousy about leaving. Pietro wouldn't mind, though, I didn't think, so I agreed.

"Yeah, sure, that'd be great. Where do you wanna go?"

"A dinner an a movie, you dig?" she teased and I smiled,

"Without the dinner?"

"Yeah, helluva first date, huh?"

"Definitely." I heard the sound of an engine turning over.

"Gimme a second, Kathy; my mom's home."

"Sure, sugah," Kathy replied. (2)

I set down the receiver and stood up just as the back door opened.

"Hi there, sweetie," Mom was taking off her earrings. She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek as I said,

"Hi, Mom."

"Did Pietro come over? You boys eat yet?"

"Uh," I felt cold; I wasn't sure what to tell my mom.

"'tro had to go somewhere."

"Oh, that's too bad," she turned on the microwave, the turntable inside rotating as it hummed a little, lighting up. She flipped on the fluorescent kitchen light and began bustling about. I hesitated, then asked,

"Hey, can I go to the movies?"

Mom paused, turning to look at me, and sort of frowned a little,

"Right now? With who? You haven't eaten yet, Evan."

"Um, with Kathy." I hazarded. She arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? And who's Kathy?"

"No one," I mumbled. I was feeling a little off tonight. She tapped her foot on the ground.

"Please?" I tried.

"You have to eat first," Mom said sternly, tapping me on the nose and heading upstairs.

"Tell me when you leave."

"Yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes a little and picked up the phone again,

"I'll be there in a few."

"Bye, Evan," Kathy laughed.

I glanced at the front door again.

"Bye."

"Hey, there," Kathy drawled. She looked real pretty, with this white-hooded jacket and a denim skirt on. She had her hair back in a ponytail, too. I really dug that--I think it's just great when chick's look real sharp, especially when it's not too obvious.

"Hi," I had changed about three times, but I still felt a little self-conscious for some reason.

"You're so cute," she giggled. Well, not really giggled--she sort of chuckled, but it was nicer, really.

"What d'you wanna see?" I asked. I wasn't sure how to reply when she told me I was 'cute.' I don't think I've been called 'cute' as many times in the space of one week as much as tonight.

She shrugged and linked her arm with mine, pulling me away from the entrance,

"Actually," She leaned close, this little smile on her face like she was telling me a secret.

"I didn't really want to see a movie."

"Oh," I felt dumb. "Um, you wanna go to the park inst--" I started to ask, but she got on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around me neck and kissed me.

I had no idea what to think. I couldn't think. She tasted like candy--warm, solid, soft. I'd never kissed a girl before. I'd never kissed anyone before. She leaned against me, and I brought my hands up to her back, afraid that she'd fall or something.

Kathy smiled at me, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the streetlamp, and I was reminded of someone else's eyes in the darkness.

"Ma said she was goin' to a bar with some friends," she whispered in my ear. Her breath was wet--hot. I couldn't breathe.

"You wanna come over?"

She kissed me again, and I tried kissing back even though I felt so lightheaded I couldn't even imagine moving.

"W-where d'you live?" I managed. My own voice sounded a little slurred to me and I flushed, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Only a block from here."

Her lips shone pink when she smiled and for a moment, she looked like she was completely neon. I looked at her hair, and it looked pale and--what's the word--ethereal. It was too blond.

She kissed me, her hands sliding down my chest, and suddenly, I started feeling sick. It wasn't right. She was too soft; she tasted too sweet; she wasn't--

"Evan?" her voice was impatient now,

"What the hell are you doin'?"

I looked at her and her eyes didn't seem really blue to me; more like black or brown or even gray; anything but blue.

"I--don't you think it's too--too, you know, soon?"

"What, for making out?" Kathy snorted indelicately and kissed me firmly, "Grow up."

The way she said that made me feel better for some reason, but then I opened my eyes and looked at her again. I felt dizzy and, for a split second, I wondered why Pietro had his arms around me and why he was looking at me like that. I felt cold.

Pietro? Why would I think about Pietro?

"Oh, forget it," Kathy huffed and sat down on the sidewalk bench nearest to us, pulling me down with her. She moved into my lap.

"Kathy, I--" Her mouth was on mine again and I thought about last night; how quiet Pietro was being; how different he was. Kathy was pressed up against me, and she was too soft in all the wrong places. She didn't seem to care that other people might see us, either. Kathy pulled away a little and I tried to catch my breath. She was all flushed and her eyeshadow made her eyes seem real dark. There was something not right about her, though--something not right about all of this. She smiled at me and I just looked back dumbly.

"Evan?" she asked. I stared at her. Pietro never called me Evan unless he was being pissed or being serious.

"Are you alright?" she slurred her words together and her voice was sort of high--almost wheedling. Pietro never slurred his words--never, never, never.

"What's wrong?" she was watching me with this funny look on her face.

What's wrong?

Her mouth was open, too pink and red and too sweet. I could barely see her eyes--that dark black-brown-not-blue. What was wrong? She was. Something wasn't right about all this; she wasn't right.

Why wasn't she right? Why wasn't she making any sense, making me feel as happy as she should've been just by being near her?

What's wrong

I stared at her.

She wasn't Pietro.

"Evan?" Kathy was frowning now, but I couldn't look away or speak. I felt cold. She put her hands on my face and I felt her nails on my skin, their long tips cool, hard.

"I-I have to go," I stuttered, jerking away and scooting out from under her as she began standing up. I stumbled to my feet, stammered a shaky apology, and began to run, unsure of where exactly I planned to go. I think Katherine yelled after me--asked where I was going, too--but I could barely hear her I was hyperventilating so much. Why was I trippin', anyway? So I just figured out that I compared pretty much everyone to my best friend--so I thought about Pietro friggin' Maximoff while I was making out with some chick--so what? It didn't mean I was gay, did it?

No. It only meant that I was friggin' obsessed with another guy.

I skidded to a halt, doubling over to catch my breath, my hands on my knees. What the fuck do I do now?

"Daniels? 'the hell are you doin' here?"

I straightened and blinked.

"Davis," I blurted out on impulse, "D'you know where I can find Denver?"

Davis looked at me funny and punched me in the shoulder, asking teasingly,

"Why're you askin'?"

"I--" I reeled a little from the playful blow.

"That is...P-Pietro," I faltered, and Davis shook his head,

"Yeah, that's real coherent, Daniels."

"I need to find him." Davis was looking at me real strange now.

"Are you a'ight, Danny-boy?" He shoved my head back so he could look at my neck.

"Damn, kid," He was grinning now, "It's like hickeyville down here. Who the fuck were you doin'?"

"Shut up," I tried to snap, but it came out weak. Davis shook his head again.

"Look, Denver asked me not to give his address out t'anyone. You wouldn't want your ol' buddy Davis to get int'any trouble, wouldja?"

"No," I muttered after a moment's muddled thought. He looked at me weird again.

"I'll treatcha to a malt, okay? You look real shitty, Daniels."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically and he just sort of snickered.

As we began walking, I looked around, wondering how the hell I managed to get downtown. It was as bright as day, on account of all the lit-up shop windows and headlights rushing by, and as noisy, too. Davis was being real quiet, and I noticed it now that my head was clearing.

"Maria kicked me out 'cause she's got a date t'night," Davis said after a minute or so and I blinked, only a little confused. Maria went through guys real fast 'cause she doesn't know what she wants, is what Pietro says. She's a real nice girl, in any case. Well, as nice as a chica like her can be--chica being what Pietro calls her.

"I was on my way out when Maxxy-Max dropped a line," Davis added, as if he'd read my thoughts about Pietro.

"Asked for Denver's number, too."

I think he snuck a look at me from the corner of his eye.

"He seems to be a pretty popular guy tonight, huh?"

I hesitated, then asked slowly,

"Could you...give me his number?"

Davis was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was different--real serious.

"You really like Pietro, don't you?"

I swallowed hard--I felt dizzy again.

"What?"

"Pietro," he stopped, looked at me, blinked slowly,

"You like him, right?"

I didn't know what to say.

"I'm not gay."

"You don't have to be," Davis stopped walking and turned to face me. I took a step back.

"I didn't ask if you liked guys, Danny," he said.

"I asked if you liked Pietro."

"What's the difference?" I started fidgeting, glancing around.

"Pietro's just a person," Davis replied.

"I want to know if you like him."

I looked away from him.

"He's my best friend."

"So?"

"Shut up, Davis!" I couldn't handle it anymore. "Look, I'll go find a friggin' phonebook if you don't want to help me, alright?"

He was quiet again.

Finally, I got fed up and started walking again, not caring at that moment whether or not Davis followed or if anyone friggin' heard our goddamned conversation. God, I was steamed. I'd just figured it out, yet Davis already knew? Why the hell did everyone know this stuff before me? It pissed me off.

"Evan, wait!"

I turned around before I could stop myself. Davis was running after me. He slowed to a jog, then stopped right beside me, running a hand through his hair and grinning ruefully.

"I'll give ya his address. But," he paused there--blinked at me--"what exactly were you planning to do there, anyway?"

I stared at him. Suddenly, I felt real dopey--like an awful jackass, too.

"I...I don't know."

"Real smooth, Danny-boy," Davis drawled, then frowned, that same weirdly serious look on his face.

"It's apartment 242B--you know, in the Douglas-Ferguson building. Hey, listen--" He was quiet for a second, looking real pensive, like he wanted to tell me something all-important, but when he started talking again, all he did was cuff me on the side of my head and say,

"Don't fuck things up, y'hear?"

I couldn't think of what to say in response to that--not even a, 'Sure thing' or a 'Yeah, I know,' so I was just quiet.

"Daniels?" Davis was looking at me like I was going crazy, and maybe I really was. I couldn't help but figure that everything would be fine once I got to see Pietro again, though.

"I should get going," I mumbled and he nodded slowly.

He turned to leave, but paused for a second, looked at me, and said quietly, "Good luck."

Then he was gone. If I had been acting more like myself then, I think I would've probably asked him why he said something like that, but as I was there all friggin' messed up and everything, I just turned and left.

I barely remembered the trip to the apartment building that Davis told me Denver lived in. Denver's apartment building was alright. It didn't seem to be run-down any--at least, not too much and there weren't any sleazoids trying to sell pot or speed or ecstasy outside that I could see. I think Davis' apartment was probably the worst--it's practically the center of drug trafficking, what with his crackhead neighbors and all.

When I went in, I wanted to double-check the apartment number, but then I remembered that I didn't know Denver's last name. Real smooth. I'm friggin' good at stuff like that. So I just crossed my fingers that Davis wasn't wrong and climbed up two flights of stairs. The hallway was a little less skuzzy than the main reception area--I mean, it wasn't posh or anything, but it was nicer, at least. I went ot knock on the door with the plate number reading '242B'--hoping, again, that Davis hadn't screwed me over--but no one answered. I heard some garage rock music playing and I wondered where it was coming from. I couldn't tell--you never can in these old apartment buildings.

Then, I heard talking, and I turned toward the stairwell, guessing that that was probably where all the noise was coming from. I recognized one of the voices to be Pietro's. It made me feel sort of weird--like the Pietro I'd been thinking about couldn't be the Pietro that was now coming up the stairs on this apartment building's stained, old carpet. On the other hand, I didn't think anything about the other voice--Denver's. After all, I'd never liked him in the first place and I'd always thought he was a little off.

"Are you going to be okay?" That was Pietro. I frowned. He sounded real worried--way more serious than I'd ever heard him before.

"Yeah...yeah, I think." Denver. What were they talking about?

I felt kind of rotten for eavesdropping in on their conversation but I couldn't seem to move. It was like part of me wanted to stay and listen and refused to listen to the better part of me. I felt lousy.

"Yeah, listen," the footsteps stopped and I heard Pietro or someone drumming his fingers on the wall or railing or something, "don't mind that shit, okay? Just forget about it."

"I don't know," someone shuffled their feet, like they weren't too sure what to do with them. "How can I just ignore it?"

"Nothing's changed," Pietro had that authoritative tone he gets sometimes when he thinks he knows better than you. "Just act like you never found out."

Found out? Now I was really beginning to feel godawful. What if it was some sort of huge secret that Denver didn't want anyone to know? I grimaced and looked around. There was another way down at the end of the hallway, but that was down the fire escape. It'd probably be real noisy which wouldn't ordinarily be a problem, but Pietro had a damnable sense of curiosity. He'd probably go and look to see what all the racket was. Then again, he was a little preoccupied.

I was torn. I could probably go and hideout in the fire escape and then climb down after they went into Denver's apartment, but...

The footsteps got closer as I heard them come up the stairs. On an impulse, I tore down the hallway. I was halfway over the window ledge and into wire-grating landing of the fire escape when I glanced back over my shoulder. Pietro and Denver were at the top of the stairs.

Kissing.

When I got home, Mom looked at me funny and asked me where I'd been. I told her that we went to see some movie--I don't even know what movie I told her we saw. She asked if it were any good. I shrugged. After I dragged myself upstairs and got ready for bed, I looked at the clock.

11:04.

Pietro hadn't come by yet, so I was guessing that he wasn't going to any time tonight. I felt real lousy--I couldn't think, either. It was even worse than last night because all I could think about was how Pietro and Denver were probably both gay and how I might have a problem with them being gay. Then, I realized that I had an even bigger problem with them being gay together. And I couldn't figure out why.

I wondered if either Pietro or Denver had seen me--I wondered if it mattered at all. Probably not. Pietro would probably get a kick out of it, but it's not like he called after me or anything, so he must've not seen me. Well, maybe he had. I guess I'd see once I saw him again.

I must've laid there in bed for about an hour. Mom came in to say goodnight, but I didn't feel like talking to anyone so I just pretended to be asleep. I was wide-awake, though, and restless, too. I didn't want to friggin' sleep; I wanted to--I don't know--go play basketball, talk to someone, anyone; do anything and everything. I wanted to see a movie, maybe take a walk in the park. I wanted to talk to Pietro.

It was 1:25 in the morning already. I tried to sleep, but it didn't work, so I got out of bed and went down the hall. The bathroom light was on, but it always is--Mom has an awful sense of direction in the dark, so after she tripped a few times over her own feet and nearly ran into the wall once, she began leaving it on. I tried to stick close to the wall when I went downstairs, but the steps creaked once or twice. I'm not too good at sneaking out at night; I've never had to by myself. The two times I did was because of Pietro. He'd been over and, once, he'd gotten the brilliant idea to go swimming at around three in the morning. The second time had been a game of midnight soccer, then a fountain run. It'd been fun. It'd been so like Pietro.

Once I got outside, I couldn't figure out where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. I was feeling like...like, you know, when you're so friggin' bored but you're too bored to figure out something to do. I was trying so hard to not think about Pietro and Denver that I couldn't think about anything else either. It was driving me nuts.

So, what I did was I went for a walk in the park. I shouldn't've, since I get sort of freaked out if I walk anywhere alone sometimes, but I did. I'm a little paranoid, I guess, because I'm afraid that I'm going to get my throat slit or whatever if I go out alone, but I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I'm not into walks much anyway; they're sort of boring, really, when there's no one with you. People say that walks help them sort out everything or get to know themselves better but I think it's a bunch of bull. Sure, it's great to have some quiet time, but how are you going to learn anything about yourself if you aren't finding out stuff about other people at the same time? I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I'm a little whacked, I guess. I'm a little bit of a dope, just like Pietro says I am.

The moon was out real bright tonight and it made everything sort of pretty. The grass was this weird sort of silver and the air was all heavy from the humidity, but a little cool now, what with it being so late and everything. I could hear insects and crickets and stuff like that. It was sort of noisy at first, but then I got used to it and I didn't hear it anymore. When you go out at night in the summer, it's not as noisy as when you do it in the winter. I mean, it still is sort of noisy, but the noise isn't from you. In the winter, you can hear yourself breathe, and you can hear your shoes on the sidewalk when you walk, but in the summer, all you hear are insects and the wind and stuff. Not even the wind. I like it--it's like the heat makes everything all lazy.

I expected that the park would have some people in it, like, sleeping and everything, seeing as how it was almost two, but after I walked for a little while, I only saw one person sitting on one of the benches. I wondered if it was someone homeless, but they didn't have anything with them and they were just sitting there. I could see the lights from downtown, so I thought maybe it was someone from one of the 7-11s out by the gas stations. What I love about New York is that you can walk to anywhere as long as you've got a Metrocard or whatever to take the subway when you can't walk. You don't need a car or whatever, or even a bike, if you're in no hurry. And I'm never in much of a hurry.

When I got closer to whoever it was, I realized it was a girl. In fact--when I was just a few feet away, I realized that it was Chelsea. Chelsea, who Pietro never called--Chelsea from that swanky ol' place downtown called Saywell's. Suddenly, I didn't feel like walking, but I did anyway, and I had almost passed her when she spoke up.

"What the hell is someone like you doing here?"

She still didn't sound too friendly. The moonlight sort of made her look pretty, though; it made her brownish blond hair glow a little, like gold.

"I--" I started to reply with my name and everything before I realized that she'd recognized me. She rolled her eyes.

"Evan whateveritwas, huh? I 'member you."

"Daniels," I said, just in case she wondered. Not that she really cared, anyway.

Her arms were crossed across her chest, like she was cold or something, but I think it was just so that she'd look mean. Or maybe she sort of felt like being mean or something, so she figured it wouldn't matter. Chelsea seems like the sort of person who doesn't really give a damn what other people think, anyway. It's sort of why I thought Pietro and her would hit it off great. I guess not, though.

"You seem like a good kid, not like that slick guy you were with. Maximoff, right? Funny funny." She sort of smiled, but it wasn't too happy. It seemed almost secretive, like she didn't want people to know she was glad about something or, if they did, she didn't want them to know what it was. She was real unconventional, I guess. Her nails were still painted black.

"So, what're you doin' prowling these woods so late?"

"Woods?" I sort of laughed. I'm not even sure if I did. I get sort of weird like that.

"Yeah, Robin Hood. What the fuck are you doin'?"

She didn't talk too pretty, but I didn't really mind. I just shrugged and wondered if I should sit down. She sort of arched her eyebrow at me, but she didn't scoot over. I figured she wouldn't care either way, so I just sort of sat down real slow a foot or two away from her at the other end of the bench.

Chelsea had her legs crossed with these boots that shone really bright that stopped right under her knees. I only noticed because she was swinging her foot. I guess she's just always bored or something. That was the one thing I really remembered from Saywell's. That and her nails and how she and Pietro hit it off. She reminded me of Kathy. Katherine, that is. I figured Katherine was probably pissed as all hell at me.

"I dunno. I couldn't sleep."

"Lousy excuse," she said and reached into her jacket and pulled out this box of cigarettes. She didn't offer me one, but asked me,

"You got a light?"

"Sorry," I said. Funny. I wasn't too surprised that she smoked.

"Dweeb," Chelsea muttered, and rummaged through her pockets until she found a book of matches. She fumbled with it, then lit up the only match left, then flicked the empty book with her index finger. It landed near a trashcan. I was half-tempted to say something about littering, partly to be as snide as she was, partly because my mom always told me to pick shit up that you drop, and partly just for something to say, but I didn't. I had a feeling that Chelsea wasn't going to take crap from anyone and she'd probably leave if I said anything criticizing her. And I didn't feel like being alone.

She didn't say anything, and she didn't blow any smoke into my face or anything, like Davis had done with Matt. I didn't say anything either, but I was okay. I just kept thinking about Pietro. Chelsea sort of reminded me of Pietro, only not as screw-around as he was. He was always trying to get a kick out of stuff while she was just sort of sitting there, scowling at nothing. It was actually sort of funny.

I guess I laughed, because she shot me a dirty look and sort of flipped her head,

"What're you laughing at?" she asked. She sounded real ugly right then.

I shrugged, though, and for a moment, I could forget that I ever saw Pietro and Denver kissing.

"You."

She stared at me, like she hadn't expected me to say something like that. Finally, she just sort of spat, "Fuck you," at me and stood up. I felt sort of bad, but I didn't say sorry, even though I kind of wanted to. All she did, though, was just throw down her cigarette stub and sort of grind it under the heel of her boot. Then she sat back down and repeated,

"Fuck you."

I almost laughed again. Maybe I was just in a really weird mood. She was looking at me now, though, and there was no way that either of us were going to be quiet now. When I looked at her, I almost saw white-blond hair and blue eyes. I blinked, though, and then she was just Chelsea again.

"I thought you were the nice one," she said after a second.

"I guess I am," I said.

"Then what the fuck was that?" she didn't sound too offended. I guess she really didn't care what I said.

I shrugged again. It feels like I'd been doing that a lot.

"I don't know. I was just thinking about how you were sorta like my friend."

"Funny-funny guy, huh?" It was like she refused to call him by his name.

"Yeah. Pietro."

"How the hell did ya meet a fucker like that, anyway?"

She really did use the word 'fuck' too much. I was kind of confused, besides;

"I thought you liked him?"

Chelsea waved her hand, and her rings sort of glittered in the moonlight. She had a lot on--bands of silver on every finger.

"Naw. Guys like him--they're trouble. Y'know that once you see how they're sweet-talkin' you and everythin'."

She turned to look at me, then sort of grinned,

"Guys like you...they're just boring."

"I'm not boring," I protested. She laughed, and it was a little raspy at the beginning--probably from too many cancer sticks.

"You're a fuddy-duddy," she pointed a finger at me, then jabbed it into my shoulder, kind of leaned forward, and continued,

"And you always will be with a guy like Funny-Funny around."

"You don't know what you're talking about." I had a feeling that I was supposed to be disturbed by some startling revelation that Chelsea had just gotten, but all I could think about was Pietro and Denver at the top of the stairs...

She paused, looked at me, then started laughing. I got annoyed.

"What?"

"That's it--you ain't jealous of that Funny-Funny guy, huh? You got a thing for him--followin' him 'round." Her arms were crossed again. I could feel my shoulder sort of tingle from where she had prodded me with her finger with the chipped black nailpolish.

"Like some demented puppy, in fact," she added, getting sort of poetic. Chelsea grinned; she was getting a kick out of this.

"I do not," I grumbled, brushing off my shoulder.

She shook her head, her hair sort of swinging with the motion.

"It's so obvious."

"Yeah? How's that?" I was getting kind of pissed off.

"You got that look, Ed," she said.

"Evan," I mumbled. Somehow, it sounded wrong when someone else called me 'Ed.'

"Shut up," Chelsea practically ordered, and I shook my head, standing up.

"This is bullcrap," I told her, and she just kind of sat there with her friggin' legs crossed and this sort of secretive grin on her face.

"I'm not in love with Pietro and I'm not obsessed with him."

"Hey-hey," she said, and for a second, she reminded me of Davis, "who said anything about love and obsession?"

She laughed again; "Not me."

I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath, "You're just like Carrucio."

She stopped laughing.

"You know Davis?" Chelsea got this sort of weird look on her face. I blinked.

"Uh," I said intelligently, but she had gotten up and was glaring at me with that scowl again.

"How the fuck does a loser like you know Davis?"

"We're friends," I retorted, getting friggin' sick of being called a loser.

"Right," she huffed, looking upwards at the sky like she didn't believe me or something, "You're his friend."

"And how do you know Davis?" I asked, not feeling too friendly anymore.

She tossed her head again, and jutted one hip out.

"I'm his girlfriend."

Oh.

I thought about her scribbling down her number for Pietro.

"I thought Davis was..."

"What?" She kind of looked confused, then she gawked at me, and let out a shriek.

"What, you thought he was gay or something?! Listen, you freak," she hissed, stepping closer, "Davis isn't a fag like you and that--that funny-funny guy, okay?"

I stared at her.

"You jus-just--g--fuck off!" Chelsea managed finally before she stormed off.

I couldn't think.

'Davis isn't a fag like you...'

I should've felt angry--upset, hurt, something at hearing that word, but all I felt was cold, and all I could see in my head was Pietro and Denver.

Kissing.

I snuck back in at around five or something. I didn't really check the clock--I have a bad habit of not doing that. I wasn't even really thinking about Pietro and Denver anymore. It was like I'd gotten used to that picture of them stuck in my mind or something. Instead, what I was thinking about was Chelsea and how she was dating Davis. She seemed real pissed when I mentioned that rumor.

I didn't really like her. She wasn't pretty at all. She wasn't even a looker--she wore too much make up and she always looked bored. I think she really is boring, too, and that sucks. She called me boring, too, which sort of makes me want to laugh. I didn't feel too angry or anything. I guess I should've, just like when she said that word--'fag.' That made me feel sort of uneasy, like I was falling backward or that I was gonna trip sometime even though I wasn't. It makes me wonder, it really does. I think I was real tired or something, 'cause usually I have a knee-jerk reaction about stuff like that. If something makes me mad--especially words like that; those drive me nuts--I usually can't hide it. I was feeling sort of mellow tonight, though. A little because I was tired, I think. Or maybe because I'm a dope--just like Pietro says.

I didn't feel tired, either. I felt sort of blank--like I was running half empty, or something. I didn't feel like doing anything, not even sleeping. I thought for a second that maybe I ought to go take a shower or something--I felt lousy from the humidity--but I knew it'd wake up my mom.

It was getting sort of light now outside. Everything was this weird grayish color--nothing seemed real at all, or familiar. It didn't feel like I'd stayed up all night. In fact, it almost felt like I'd just woken up. I felt sort of woozy; like I couldn't think too clear or anything. I'd just gone to sit down when the phone rang. It was coming from outside in the hall. I didn't think anything of it; I just sort of stood up and went over and picked it up. I was about to say 'hello' when I heard Pietro's voice--it was low, like he wasn't too sure if it was me;

"Hey, Ed?"

"Pietro?" I was sort of confused, and suddenly I felt sort of cold, too, like when I found out he was gay and when I heard Chelsea say the word 'fag.'

"Yeah, yeah, it's me. You busy, hey?" Pietro had a lousy sense of time. He could call at around two or four in the morning and not realize that normal people were usually asleep at that time. It's why I usually have a cordless in my room--I knew he'd probably call me at some ungodly time and ask me to go do something weird with him, like writing weird words on the sidewalk with chalk just to piss people off or a game of basketball. I didn't have the cordless this time, though, on account of how Pietro was using it before to call Davis and Denver and everything and how I was talking to Katherine before.

"No, not really." I said. He didn't really even think it was strange that I was up.

"You want to go play some ball or something?" he asked, and I went to reply when I heard something in the background.

"Pietro, where are you?"

"Huh?" he sounded sort of distracted, "Oh, just somewhere."

"Denver's place?" I asked. I felt cold again.

Pietro was quiet, then he said, "Hey, buddy, listen--if you didn't want to play ball or anything, you could've just said so."

He didn't sound too pissed or anything, but he was saying it sort of funny, like he'd forgotten what he'd asked me and had only just remembered.

"Did you stay over for the night?" I didn't even know why I was pushing the issue.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe, Ed. Why?"

"No reason." I wanted him to get out of there, for some reason. I felt sort of scared, almost, for him, like something weird or bad was gonna happen just because he was over there with Denver. Like maybe they were gonna kiss again or something.

"Hey, listen, you want to do something or not?"

"It's five in the morning," I said, not that it really mattered. On the other side of the line, Pietro sort of paused, then said,

"Yeah, it is. Why're you up?"

"I didn't sleep." I felt sort of gratified that he asked. I'm not too sure why. I'm a dope.

"What're you, some kind of dope?" he asked, like he had read my thoughts or something.

"I guess."

"Hey, come on, okay? Let's go do something, Ed, hey?"

He sounded sort of off, but I said, "Okay," anyway and hung up before he could tell me the address or anything. I guess I wasn't thinking straight. Or something. I didn't even feel like going out anymore--not after Chelsea and that whole thing. But I went downstairs anyway and put on my shoes. I figured I should leave a note or something, too, so I scribbled on this Post-it note thing and stuck it on the fridge. Mom wouldn't mind, I didn't think. It was summer, anyway.

I got to Denver's apartment building after a few minutes and it was sort of weird being there again. I half-expected it to be all dark and gloomy inside, but it seemed way more decent, what with the sunlight and all. I remembered the number from last night--242B--and when I got up there, Pietro was standing outside the door, sort of leaning against it. He looked like hell.

"Evan?" He had this sort of suspicious look on his face, I guess. "How the hell did you get here?"

I couldn't think of what to say.

"Did Davis tell you that Denver lived here?" he demanded and I just sort of shrugged. He looked pissed, even though I wasn't too sure why.

"Pietro, what's wrong?" There really did seem to be something wrong now, but he shook his head and ran a hand over his face, like he couldn't stand it or something.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," he said and he just kept repeating it, like that was all he could say.

"I'm fine. It's nothing. Come on, Ed, AJ, Ev--let's go. It's nothing."

"Pietro?" He was scaring me.

"It's nothing." Pietro took a few steps toward me, almost threateningly and everything, but then his voice just sort of started shaking and he just stopped and stared at me. I felt cold.

"It's nothing, Evan. It's nothing."

"Pietro, what's wrong?" I think I sounded real worried. I hope I sounded real worried. Why was Pietro being like this? Pietro, who always had his act together--who was always cool, and screwing around, and getting a kick out of everything. Why was Pietro being so messed up? What happened?

"It's nothing," Pietro repeated, and when I looked at him, I was scared--horrified, almost--when I saw that it almost looked like he was gonna cry or something. He didn't really look like he was fifteen or anything anymore. He sort of looked like he did when he was twelve or eleven or something. He sort of looked young, like he was just a kid, and not cool, swanky, designer-brand-name Pietro.

"Let's go. Let's go, hey, Ed? Let's just get out of here. It's nothing."

He was walking toward me again, and he grabbed me by the elbow and sort of dragged me away from the door he had been leaning against. I almost tripped on the way down, and we were sort of noisy, but he just kept going, even when I told him to slow down a little--to for-god's-sake slow down.

When we got outside, there was already some traffic--real lazy and such, since it was summer. I looked over at Pietro and he was sort of bent over double, like he couldn't catch his breath or something. He was running his hand over his face and stuff and he kept shaking his head, like he couldn't believe something. And he just kept saying, "It's nothing." He wasn't crying or anything--Pietro doesn't cry, but he was near hysterics. Suddenly, I couldn't help but wonder if his mom knew he was here, or his dad was scared out of his friggin' mind wondering where he was. I wanted to ask, but I couldn't. It didn't seem right. He was just standing there, all freaked out over something, and so I didn't want to ask. I tried to make a mental note to ask later, when Pietro was all calmed down and stuff, but every time I started to think about something else, I nearly forgot about asking. So, finally, I just sort of said,

"Hey, your parents know you were here?"

Pietro started laughing. It wasn't even a normal laugh--not like when he's getting a kick out of something, or when he just pulled off something he knew he could do, or when he's just screwing around and something strikes him as just so friggin' funny. This laugh was godawful scary--scared the friggin' daylights out of me. It sounded sort of dry, like he was about to start crying any time now. But Pietro didn't cry.

"No, no, my parents don't know." He said, and, even though usually I would've been driven nuts by that, I couldn't help but feel sort of sorry for him, the way he said that.

"Why didn't you call them or something?"

"Oh, I don't know." Pietro sounded like he was sort of calming down, but he still had this weird look on his face.

"I don't know. They don't really care, anyway."

"What?" I was confused. I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me. I felt like a dope, really--but he didn't call me that or anything. He just sort of started walking. I followed him, and I kept expecting him to say something, but he didn't. He just kept walking. He looked like he wanted to start running or something, but he didn't.

We got to the park after about ten or fifteen minutes. Pietro was still sort of shaky and I was still friggin' confused. I'd never seen Pietro that wigged out before. It was starting to really freak me out. I sat down on one of the benches, but Pietro just kept pacing. It was like he needed to keep busy, or something, or he'd go nuts.

I didn't know what else to say, so I just asked again, "Pietro, what's wrong?"

And Pietro--Pietro didn't get mad or anything, like I thought he would. I annoy him sometimes, I think. Or maybe I don't and he just acts like it. He's been acting pretty weird, besides, so maybe it was just this week. You can never tell with Pietro.

He was walking back and forth, looking all nervous, then he turned to me and asked real hysterically,

"Evan, did you follow me?"

"What?" I felt cold again, and all I could think about was Pietro and Denver at the top of the stairs.

"Did you fuckin' follow me, Evan!?" He was getting mad.

Then, instead of covering up and all, what I said was--Christ, I don't even know why I said it--

"I didn't mean to."

Pietro looked at me and I swear that he looked like he could've killed me right there. He had this wild look in his eyes, like he'd just lost control of everything. I wasn't scared or anything, though. I don't even know why. I must be a real dope, just like he always says. All I could think was, 'This is Pietro.' And when I thought that, I couldn't help but think of blue eyes and that kiss--that kiss Katherine gave me, then the kiss he gave me. I couldn't help but think of when he said, 'You ever want to make everything better for just a little while?'

"Why the fuck did you follow me?"

He was close now--all 'in your face' like he can be, only this time he wasn't goofing off or screwing around. I didn't know what to say. His voice was real shaky now, and I could barely make out his words until he yelled them--yelled them at me--

"Why the fuck did you follow me?!"

He reminded me of Chelsea just then--how she yelled, 'Fuck off!' at me and said words like, 'fag.' But Pietro wasn't as ugly as she was. He wasn't ugly as she was at all. He was practically screaming now, but there wasn't anyone around except for him and me. I couldn't think of anything to say or anything to do, so all I did was--all I did was kiss him. And he shut up.

Pietro shut up.

He was shaking so hard. I wanted to ask him what was wrong again, but I wasn't thinking too clear. It didn't feel like the kiss with Chelsea--it didn't even feel as smooth and warm as when he kissed me that one night. Then I noticed: He had chapped lips. Swanky, cool Pietro Maximoff had chapped lips. And it felt like he was about to cry. I felt cold.

"What's wrong?" I guess I must've stopped kissing him, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to say anything. His face was really close to mine now, and I was standing up. He was looking at me, like he was searching for something but then he looked away, as if he couldn't find what he had been looking for or something.

"Pietro?" I asked.

He shook his head again.

"You shouldn't've followed me," he said, sort of all quiet and sad now. He looked back at me and I just asked again,

"What's wrong?"

It would've been sort of funny, I think, if it had been any other time. Pietro'd probably make some crack about how I get 'brownie points' for persistence and he'd call me Sherlock or Holmes or something. He'd say it real sweet, too, like he meant it or something. Pietro's like that. Piero can be an asshole sometimes. He can be a real bastard, but I don't know. That wasn't what I was thinking about. Right now, I was thinking about Denver and him and him and Denver. Right now, I was thinking about them kissing.

He sat down next to me now, and he looked real tired. I wondered if he slept. I wondered if he'd get pissed if I asked him about it.

"You don't know him, Evan," he said, all quiet; all serious. He called me 'Evan.' He only does that when he's being serious. I didn't think he was ever serious, really.

"You just don't. It's not fair to say he's weird."

"Denver?" I still didn't know the kid's last name.

"Yeah. Denver." Pietro paused, like he was thinking about something or whatever. Then he just sort of shook his head again,

"The kid's got problems. He's fucked up, you know." I almost expected him to say 'you dig' for a second, and--for a second; one, brief second--I felt like laughing. I think I was going nuts.

"Why?" I felt real dopey, asking all these questions, but I think Pietro was too tired to notice that I was being dopey.

"He's got problems," Pietro repeated, and he looked down, so I looked down, too. His hands were white--like when you grip something too hard and you can practically see your friggin' knuckles. It was sort of scary how white his hands were. I'd never really looked at his hands before. You just don't look at a guy's hands.

"What problems?" He wasn't looking at me.

"He...he just found out something. It's nothing."

Pietro was saying it again. 'It's nothing.' But it wasn't nothing--I could tell. Without thinking, I asked,

"Did he come out to you or something?"

Pietro looked at me. And he looked at me some more.

He didn't have any expression. Then, he said real soft--I could barely hear him,

"You did follow me, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to," I said, then I continued,

"Katherine asked me to a movie, you know." Pietro was being real quiet now. He wasn't saying anything or moving or anything at all.

"She asked me to a movie, but it wasn't really a movie. I mean, she wanted to-to make out, or something. It was really friggin' weird. It was messed up, 'tro."

I couldn't stop talking to save my life. I couldn't stop friggin' talking. I felt like a dope. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't.

"She started all-all kissing me and stuff, Pietro. And she wouldn't quit it, and I didn't really tell her to quit it. I guess that's why she didn't stop. 'cause I didn't tell her to."

Pietro wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the ground and his hands--his hands were still white.

"But I left. I guess I sorta ran."

"Evan," Pietro said, real quiet. I couldn't stop talking. I couldn't.

"I felt like a sonuvabitch, leaving her there and everything. But I did. And she seemed real pissed, 'tro, she really did."

"Evan."

"I saw Davis downtown. He was just sorta wanderin' around or whatever, and-and I asked him for Denver's address but he wouldn't," My words were blurring together now, "he wouldn't give it to me. But then he did."

"Evan."

"He gave it to me and--this is sorta friggin' messed up, 'tro--he told me 'good luck.' Why the hell do I need good luck? But he said it and I-I wasn't thinking, so I just went."

"Evan!"

"I went and I saw you kissing. I mean, I saw the two of you--I saw you and Denver kissing. I climbed over the railing, you know. I climbed out the friggin' window and you just--"

"For God's sake, Evan!"

I turned to look at Pietro and he was shaking so bad. He was shaking and his hands were white and he was looking at the ground. I wanted to laugh.

"Pietro," I said and I think I almost yelled, "What the hell happened to Denver? What friggin' happened to him, Pietro?"

He just sort of looked at me, in that--that listless way, and all of a sudden, I just said,

"You look like your mom. You really do. You remind me of her."

"Shut up," he said real fast, like he couldn't take what I'd just said, and he got that look on his face again, like he was going to kick my ass but not really because he'd end up kissing me or something or sitting on my stomach.

"Shut up, Eva--"

"What the fuck happened to Denver?!" I know I yelled this time. He stared at me.

Pietro was all quiet now. I couldn't figure out why. I think I was shaking because when I went to sit back down, and I sat down sort of hard, I couldn't feel my legs. I felt cold.

I don't know how long I just sat there next to him, but he wasn't saying anything and I wasn't thinking or saying anything either. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't.

Then--I could barely hear him--

"He's dead."

"Oh." I sat there. And I wasn't thinking.

I wasn't.

I didn't see Pietro a lot after that. I thought about him all the time. I even gave in a few times and thought about doing other things with him. I didn't really think about kissing him too much. I don't know why.

I went to that wedding that my mom wanted me to go to. It was real boring. It was in Pennsylvania, which was pretty cool. But it was boring. I didn't see Pietro much before it or after, either. It was like he just disappeared. I figured he was still around, though, 'cause Davis said that he'd seen him a few times. I guess I can't complain, though, because it's not like I tried to find him or anything. I just sort of expected that everything would go back to normal. But it didn't. I don't know why.

After everything, I still didn't know what exactly happened to Denver. I felt sort of rotten. The guy couldn't've been too bad. I see Neff around town sometimes, and I feel lousy, because I have no idea what to say. I didn't hear anything about a funeral, either, and the guys don't talk about it much. I didn't want to bring it up or anything. I felt real lousy about it. I saw his picture in the obituaries, though. It didn't say much. It just told his name and his age and crap like that. I sort of hated it. I don't ever want to be in the newspaper when I die. I guess it's sort of lousy to think that, but the way I figure it is that the people who know that I'm dead will be the people who count. I don't want some chick from math class to point at my friggin' picture in the paper and be like, 'Oh, I knew him. That's too bad that he died. That's too bad.' I sort of hate that, too.

And you know what? I bet that Denver sort of hates that, too. That's probably why he didn't say much, and when he did, he was sort of angry. I feel like a real dope that I just figured it out, but I sort of like the guy now. It's lousy that he's gone. It really is.

Dad got back from Europe about two weeks after the Penn wedding. He brought me back this little seashell thing. It's one of those wind chime things, I guess, or something. It was pretty lousy--I didn't like it at all. It sort of looked like a jellyfish, actually. I just left it in the corner of my room until my mom made me put it up outside the back door. I can hear it every so often when it gets real windy. It's almost creepy; it sounds like bones rattling or something. I don't really like it much.

You know, I didn't see Pietro much or anything, and it was boring. I didn't find anyone else who'd go play a midnight game of basketball or soccer with me. I called Davis just for the hell of it a few times at around one or two and he told me to go get my dick readjusted 'cause I wasn't thinking clear. Or something. Davis can be an asshole, too. In fact, I think he's always an asshole.

Everyone was the same. Matt just wanted to run. I'd see him jogging every so often and he'd wave at me but that'd be all. I didn't know him too well. I got into skateboarding, too, and no one was real interested in that. I think Pietro would've been at least curious. I guess I sort of missed him. Yeah. I guess I did.

I didn't see Pietro until the last week of summer. Dad was going to be transferred to another place to work that was actually in the US, so it was good that I saw him; we were moving besides. I wasn't even looking for him, either. I was just skateboarding along--I was actually getting pretty decent at it, too--and I saw him and what he was doing was sitting on one of the park benches. He was sitting on the back of it, though, with his feet on the seat of it. He looked sort of bored.

"Hey," I said.

He looked at me like he didn't recognize me for a second, and I was almost afraid that he didn't.

"So," he drawled, and I almost smiled right then and there.

"You took up skateboarding, Ed?"

I kicked my board up and sort of sat down beside him. His knees were about level with my head, though, on account of how he was sitting so weird.

"There wasn't anyone to play basketball with," I offered as an explanation and he snorted and sort of grinned.

We didn't say anything for a while, but then I just sort of looked at him, and I asked,

"How've you been?"

He shrugged.

"Alright." He paused, like he was thinking about something real important, then he asked, "You?"

"Alright," I said. "What've you been up to?"

"Eh," he shrugged again.

I tried not to get pissed off. He was being a real asshole today.

"I missed you," I tried.

"Oh," he said, like that was matter-of-fact.

He was really being an asshole today.

"Pietro," I started and then he looked at me.

He was real pale.

"Pietro, are you okay?" I asked. I hadn't planned to. I had planned to say something else, like about how school was almost starting or whatever, but he looked so lousy that I felt bad for him. He seemed like he was feeling real rotten, and I couldn't help but think about back then with Denver and everything and how I didn't even recognize him even though he was my best friend.

He was sitting there, all friggin' quiet like he wasn't really Pietro but some statue of him that used to have a voice but didn't now. Or something. I hadn't realized how little I knew about him, but that dopey part of me--the part that made me want to apologize for everything and sometimes get wise on someone--wanted to learn more. I don't really know why, but I sort of leaned a little toward him and kissed him. It didn't feel anything like I thought it would feel or how I remembered it--just like we were touching our lips together, and suddenly I felt like I wanted to cry. I don't even know why...I just did. When I sat back down normal, Pietro looked at me and asked,

"Did that feel like nothing to you?"

I wanted to say, 'Christ, can't we try again?' but all I could do was nod.

I got up, then, because I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he watched me with his blue eyes and this weird expression on his face, and I didn't even recognize him. This wasn't the Pietro I had missed. It couldn't be. I didn't even know him.

There wasn't anything else to do or say, so I just sort of mumbled "good-bye" and I left. I didn't want to. I really didn't.

After that, I thought about kissing him. All the time, even. I thought about kissing him at night, and I thought about how it'd be like in the movies. But when I thought about that, about how in the movies it's all perfect and stuff, I couldn't help but remember that time when Pietro got all pissed off and said all that crap about how in the movies it was so fake. I think what he was trying to say was that if everything was perfect, then it wasn't real. Did that mean that what we had was real? I didn't even know.

I think it's bullcrap anyway. If things are perfect, then they're perfect. That's fine. And what I had with Pietro--whatever it was--it wasn't. It just wasn't. Pietro's wrong--if we had anything, it wasn't anything special anyway. Because everything was wrong. Everything went wrong. I don't even think we had anything. We couldn't have.

The last time I saw him was right before we moved. We were gonna move to somewhere in Michigan (3). It pretty much sucked. Katherine didn't come to say bye, either--I think she was still pretty pissed about what happened and everything.

Pietro just sort of came up one day and was looking at our trashcan and all the empty boxes we didn't use and stuff piled up next to it. I saw him through my bedroom window. He was looking at it like it was the lousiest thing in the world. I wondered if he missed me. I should've felt rotten, but I didn't. I couldn't help but think, suddenly, that all that shit that happened between us--that all that stuff that went wrong--was somehow his fault. It wasn't fair. But I was angry all of a sudden. Not even angry. Just sort of...I don't know. Blank. I felt really messed up. Or something.

I went down past all empty walls and stuff and I just sort of stood outside the front door. He looked up after a minute or two and said in this weird voice,

"So, you're moving?"

"Yeah," I said. I didn't feel anything just then. I didn't even want to look at him or touch him or anything. I didn't even want to kiss him.

"Where to?"

I shrugged. "Michigan."

Pietro didn't say anything. He sort of kicked a box a few times with the toe of his shoe but that was all.

"How've you been?" he asked.

"Alright." I said. I didn't know what else to say, so I asked, "You?"

"Alright," he said.

We didn't say anything just then, and I felt sort of angry again. I heard my mom call me from the other side of our house, and I figured that we were leaving. The moving truck had come the day before, so all that was left was the stuff that we had in our trunk and us. I felt sort of quiet inside. I wasn't thinking or anything, I mean. Sometimes, you just feel like being quiet. Pietro wasn't saying anything either. He wasn't saying anything about how he missed me or whatever, and he wasn't even treating me like he knew me.

I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't. So all I said was,

"You're an asshole."

In the end, that was what it really came down to. So I left. I don't know if he watched me walk away. I really don't know.

And I didn't turn around to look.

~fin~

(1) Scott :D

(2) Aughh. O.o; It's Rogue!

(3) I'm making it so that Evan's family moved to Michigan, but then later, after Evan finds out he's a mutant, then he goes to Bayville. That's why it sucks ass through a crazy straw if he leaves Bayville; he wouldn't just be an hour or two away--he'd be in a whole different state. (Orororororororo: O.O Noooo! Evan! The long-distance minutes are killing me! You can't leave!"

A/N: Wow. O.O This has to be the single, longest thing I've ever written. It's longer than Simple Tensions in its entirety, for cryin' out loud! Anyways :D Thanks for reading this monster of a fic! The button to review is at the bottom (; Thanks a ton!

Now, to clear some stuff up.

1. Yes, there's a reason why Denver called Pietro. I'm expecting to clear that up in the sequel.

2. Davis is not gay O.o; Not that anyone cares, since his existence was basically, ":D Whee. I give you his addy now! Kazaam."

3. Yes, Chelsea is weirdly similar to bitchified!Rogue O.o This struck me as I was writing the midnight-park scene.

4. I will reiterate that everything is from Evan's point of view. I felt really bad (lousy XD heh.) for Pietro at many times throughout the fic, partly because he's not getting any nookie, and partly because Evan's like, "Yargh. *smites*"

5. Ed. Yes, people have asked me why Pietro calls Evan 'Ed' O.o It's basically just to bug him :D And also, it's me amusing myself at around 2 in the morning with "Whee! Evan's initials make a name!"

6. The title! For those of you nuts that love figuring out my obscurity feel free to think about it long and hard for as long as you'd like :D:D In fact, I encourage it.

Once again, thanks a bunch for reading!! *hugs* :D Now, REVIIIIIEW! ...please? :D