Clues, an o.c. fanfic

Clues

Rating: PG-13 for language.

Summary: Ryan likes to do the dishes. Who the heck likes to do dishes? It may not seem like it at first read, but I think it's important to note that I wrote this as a direct response to try to explain Ryan's reaction to Oliver's dish-breaking in "The Links". There's been a lot of talk of how he sees Marissa as Dawn and Oliver as AJ subconsciously, and that really got me thinking. Thanks as always to the TWOP Ryan-thread for tears, fears, giggles and speculation.

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue. But c'mon, it probably did happen this way, right? Right? Please?

Sometimes the house is in chaos, and sometimes everything is okay. Or almost okay. Ryan learned a long time ago that he can tell which is which by looking around and scoping things out. He doesn't need to see a single face to tell what kind of day it will be. He knows.

He figured that one out pretty quickly. He likes to think of himself as a detective. Looking for clues. Trying to predict the immediate future based on the environment. Music playing and all the lights on? It's going to be a good day. Open bottles of alcohol and darkness in the living room? Could be a bad night. Empty sink? Good day. Sink full of filthy dishes? Not only a bad day, but he's also more likely to hear the scratches and rustling of the neighborhood mice coming to check it out later on. Everything in Ryan's world at least makes its own twisted sort of sense. He's pretty sure that Arturo next door never has to look at the sink to figure out what kind of day he's going to have. But then, he doesn't live with Dawn Atwood, either.

Today's going to be a bad day. He's figured it out before he even gets past the fence. He got in late last night, there was a beer bash down by the middle school soccer fields he used to play on, and then there was a girl who was drunk and all over him, and then the guys left them alone, and then that was that. Then he had to get up early in the morning, because he really is going to fail Algebra II if he doesn't show up once in awhile, and to make a long story short, he hasn't seen his mother in over twenty-four hours. These kinds of days, he really has to look for the clues to figure out what kind of day it's going to be.

Clues. The mail has come, but nobody's picked it up. He pulls it from the mailbox and flips through. Two letters forwarded from Fresno, for Dad. Somebody needs to update their address books. They look like junk, which is fortunate after some of the last letters for Dad that made it to Chino. A couple of catalogues for Mom. A letter from the Chino Hills guidance office. Ryan fingers it apprehensively. Addressed to Mom. Probably not a great thing. But then, he hasn't had any run-ins with the guidance office in the past couple of months. He can't come up with anything he could be in trouble over, this time, anyway, and so he shrugs and continues on into the yard.

Clues. The lights in the living room are off, and the curtains are drawn. He can hear the television blasting from out here,

He sets his bike carefully beside the armchair that's been out here for two months and doesn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. It's Mom's idea of being neighborly. Stick a bunch of crap furniture on the porch so that you can sit outside and yell at the neighbors. She thinks it's welcoming. Ryan thinks it's kind of horrendous, but he's not about to say that to her. Instead, he tries to force a smile and a "Sure, Mom," when she cheerfully asks him on a good day what he thinks.

Clues. The door is unlocked. He takes a deep breath and pushes his way in to the house.

Clues. The sink is full of filthy dishes. Ryan wrinkles his nose at them. Somebody made Kraft macaroni and cheese for lunch, and it's still sitting out in a pot on the stove. So at least if he gets hungry later on there's something for dinner. He drops the mail on the dining room table. Yesterday's mail is still sitting there.

Clues.

"Mom, I'm home," he calls out half-heartedly before trudging through the empty living room, past the blaring TV, to his bedroom. He hears a muffled sound coming from her room and hopes to hell she's alone in there before he pulls his own door shut.

He carefully sets his bag on the folding chair beside the door before collapsing on to the bed and reaching for the remote that he keeps on the windowsill. He turns on the television. TRL is on. He doesn't really like the videos on MTV, he likes the shows better, and so he keeps flipping the channel until it lands on a Full House rerun. This he can do. He leans back against the wall with a sigh and reaches for a pillow.

"Ryan? You home already?"

"Yeah, Ma, I'm in here," he calls out.

The door pops open. On a bad day, she never knocks. "What happened? What are you doing home?" Her hair is wet. She showered today. Clues.

            He stares back at her. "School's out."
            "This early?"
            "It's three-thirty," he says, glancing half-heartedly at the time display on the Fox Family Channel.

She wrinkles her nose. "Already?"

"Already," he confirms in a monotone.

"Huh."
She drifts back towards her bedroom, leaving his door open. He hears a man's voice, and the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. She's got company.

"School get out already?" the voice asks.
"Yeah, it's late," Mom says, laughing a little.

Ryan scowls at the voices and pulls himself off the bed to go close the door. AJ doesn't even feel the need to try and play nice anymore. No need to even say hi. It's already gotten to that point. His favorite part of new boyfriends is when they feel like they have to be nice to him. His least favorite part of new boyfriends is when they stop feeling that way.

AJ didn't take too long to come around. Quicker than a lot of the others.

"Hey, Ryan?" Mom's voice has that whiny tone to it, she needs something.

"Yeah?" he calls back, apprehensive.

            "You got a sec?"
            "What?"
            She opens the door again as he sits back down on the bed. "Can you run to the store, kiddo? We ran out of milk."
            "Now?" he asks, trying to look pitiful. He's tired now. He barely slept last night, and he's really hoping to nap if she'll let him. If the day isn't bad enough. He has a feeling he's going to need the energy later. For when it gets worse.

"Well, AJ wants cereal, and I used up the last of the milk with lunch..."
"There's plenty of mac and cheese sitting out." Ryan feels obligated to point that out. He knows that if he started whining about cereal with that much food sitting out on the stove, that Mom would tell him to shut up and finish the food she already cooked.

"Could you just run to the store? Please, baby," Mom says.

Her eyes look tired. He catches a glimpse of AJ behind her, storming in to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him, and even Mom jumps a little as the door closes.

"All right," Ryan grunts, and he rolls back off the bed. He hasn't even had time to kick his shoes off yet. But the day is going to be bad, and this at least gets him out of the house and could put him in AJ's favor. At least he has something he can use to his advantage later on. The bearer of milk. The milk fetcher. The dairy king.

The toilet flushes loudly, and Ryan wonders if the pipes are okay. Maybe his hearing is just sensitive from the fatigue.

"Got the money?" he asks Mom as he moves through the living room. She's a step ahead of him, poking in the dining room, looking around for her wallet.

"Uh... somewhere..."
He blinks and waits patiently. He knows full well that he's got fifteen and change in his own wallet. But he's not about to use his own spare cash to buy something for AJ.

"Ry, ya got any cash on you?"
"Not enough for milk," he lies.

            "AJ?" Mom calls, and the door to the bathroom opens. He comes lumbering out, looking pretty damn tired himself. "Ryan needs money for the milk."
            AJ looks up at Ryan, his eyes scanning him up and down, and squints at him. "You don't have any money?"
            Ryan feels muscles starting to clench at the back of his neck. "Nuh-uh." He wants to scream out, It's your damn milk! What the fuck? Wrong answer. Today is a Bad Day, and he doesn't particularly relish the thought of making it worse.

"Bad news," Mom says, trying to feign a laugh. "God, look at this, I gotta get to the bank, all I got's a dollar. Can you even get milk for a dollar?"
"I don't think so, Mom," Ryan says, relieved. Maybe he won't have to go to the store after all. Maybe he can take his nap.

"Maybe we got some change somewhere..." Her voice trails off, and she scurries back to the bedroom, leaving AJ staring Ryan up and down, and Ryan standing in the living room hoping to hell AJ doesn't see the need to check his wallet.

"Where were you last night?" AJ asks suddenly.

Ryan blinks again. "You were here?"

            "I asked where you were. Not where I was."
            Ryan takes a step backwards. "There was a party. I came home. I went to school on time."
            "That's my boy," Mom says with an audible sigh from the bedroom. "Goes to the party and still makes it to school on time. Early, I bet."
            "Yeah, by a few minutes," he says, trying to keep the smugness out of his voice.

"For a fifteen year old kid, you sure do stay out a lot," AJ muses, his eyes still scanning Ryan.

            "Sixteen," Mom calls from the bedroom, where Ryan can now see her rooting in the dresser for spare change. He raises an eyebrow in her direction silently. "Ryan's sixteen, he had his birthday last month, remember?"
            AJ squints at that. "You had a birthday?"
            Yeah, you were wasted and stumbled in drunk on the party, remember? You had a piece of cake and puked it up all over the bathroom, and I spent my birthday cleaning it up cause Mom was crying into her bourbon? Wrong answer. "Yeah. I'm sixteen now," Ryan says.

"Huh," AJ says, turning the thought over in his head. "What grade you in again?"
"Tenth," he says patiently. "I'm in tenth grade."

"And you stay out late?"
Beats being here. Wrong answer. "Everybody else does, too."

"Huh," AJ says one more time.

"Hey, look at this! I found four quarters! Ryan, you can get milk for two bucks, right?" Mom emerges triumphantly from the bedroom, and Ryan's shoulders slump just a little.

"Probably," he says, and takes the money from her. Without thinking, he reaches for his wallet and opens it up to stick the money inside.

"What the hell is that?" AJ asks, snatching it away.

"Don't-" Ryan starts to say, but AJ is already pulling out the ten and the five, an astounded sneer on his face.

"Lookit that! The kid had cash the whole time," AJ calls after Mom, who's already halfway back to the bedroom.

"I forgot," Ryan protests lamely. "I... forgot I had it."
"Sure you did, you shit," AJ snarls, reaching out to shove him. Ryan backs up instinctively and gets off with his balance only slightly set off. He stumbles and makes his way back to an upright position. "I know you, you don't forget nothin'."

"I'm going," Ryan mutters, reaching to snatch his wallet back, the two dollars

still clenched in his hand, because he's not buying the milk. Not for AJ. He doesn't feel that charitable.

He manages to make his way out of the house before either one of them realizes that he's taken their money despite having more money in his wallet than the two of them combined. Not a bad getaway. He leaps on the bike and launches off down the street for the convenience store.

            "Ryan! Hey Ryan!" He brakes the bike to a stop. "Hey Ryan, what's goin' on?"
            He drops his feet to the sides to steady the bike. His heart hasn't stopped pounding yet. AJ's face is still leering in his mind. "Hey."
            She jogs up beside him, her backpack still bouncing on her back, breathless. "I came and looked for you last night, but you were out."
            "Yeah," he says, trying not to reveal too much. "I had plans."
            "Where you goin'?"
            "Get some milk."
            "Walk you?"
            "Sure," he says, and climbs off the bike, gripping the handlebars to walk it down the street.

"Listen, so I was talking to Cheryl Summers, and she says there's a place downtown where a bunch of kids are going to skateboard this weekend. I thought maybe we could take your board and go try it out."
"Theresa – I even can't stand upright on that thing," Ryan says, staring at the ground as it passes beneath the wheels of the bike.

            "You gotta learn sooner or later, right? I'll help you."
            "It's not even mine. It's Trey's."
            "Well, he left it here, right? He's not coming back for it?"
            Ryan shrugs miserably. "He hasn't asked me about it."
            "So how's he doing, anyways?"

"Okay, I guess. Saw him last night."

            She raises her eyebrows. "God. You went to that party at the soccer fields?"
            He tries not to react, but it's hard, and she always sees right through him. "Uh-"
            "Turo went. He told me. God!" She smacks his arm.

            "Ow-"
            "You were the one he – god! Why the hell did he tell me that story? Cause now I know you were there, and now I know it was you he was talking about. Course it was."
            "Me what?" he asks innocently.

"You and Luisa Mateo?"
"Don't know what you're talking about," he says, trying to stay neutral. It doesn't work. She smacks him again.

"Ow-"

"Ryan Atwood, if you think I am ever letting you in my window at three a.m. again, you are sadly mistaken, buddy."
He shrugs miserably. "Okay."

"Okay? You ain't even gonna try and defend yourself?"

"What's there to defend?" he asks casually. Though really, it's more like he just doesn't feel like defending himself right now. He breaks in to a jog to cross the street in front of traffic, and Theresa moves faster to catch up. He drops the bike next to the lamp pole and pulls the chain out of his pocket to chain it up.

"You are such a lameass. I'm going home."
"Don't wait up," he mutters as she scampers back up the street towards their block. He can never quite figure her out, especially not when she starts dropping hints like that without saying what she means. He's not sure that he'll ever really understand girls.

He gets the milk – skim milk, he really can't stand whole milk, and he knows he'll end up finishing the damn thing anyway – and has a few cents left in change, which he crams into the pocket of his jeans.

He flips open the combination lock on his bike, swings the plastic bag handles over the bike handles, and hops back on, launching back up the street, the milk swinging back and forth from his handlebars. Theresa's already out of sight, good riddance, and by riding instead of walking he's home within a minute. He sets the bike back down carefully on the porch and walks back inside.

The door to the bedroom is closed, which is probably a good clue. Ryan carries the milk to the fridge and opens the door to put it on.

Beside him, he notices the sink full of dishes. It's going to be a bad day with the sink that full of dirty dishes. With a sigh, he closes the refrigerator door and stands over the sink. He turns the water on and starts rinsing off the crusted food. AJ can't even rinse a plate when he's done. It's borderline pathetic.

He stacks the pre-rinsed dishes together beside the sink, grouping them. Big plates in one pile, little plates in another. Silverware he rinses and deposits in the plastic Disney World cup.

"That you, Ry?" Mom calls out, and it occurs to him that if it's not, maybe she'll learn to lock the goddamn door. But of course, that's the wrong answer.

"I got the milk," he calls back.

The bedroom door flies open, hitting the doorstop with a bang and he jumps, dropping a fork into the sink with a loud clatter.

"What the hell is this?" she cries out, waving something in his face. He flinches, trying to figure out what indeed it is. With a sinking dismay he recognizes the Chino Hills guidance department stationary.

"If you'd quit flapping it around, maybe I could tell," he grouches at her.

            She stops. Her face is red. She's furious. A pretty obvious clue. "You missed the deadline for PSAT testing?"
            He tries to think. "I did?"
            "How come you didn't tell me they wanted you to take the PSATs?"
            He suddenly has a memory flash, a note from his homeroom teacher the day he knew Rico was planning to bust him after school, and he remembers not seeing it after his bag got spilled during the brawl in the dirt, and he realizes now that he never saw it again after that.

"I – uh, guess I lost it," he says lamely.

            "Ryan!" she snaps. "God. One good thing comes along for you, one thing, and you fucking lose it?"
            He closes his eyes. "I didn't know."
            "Well, lucky for you, they're giving you an extension. You get your ass down to the counselor's office first thing in the morning, you hear?"
            "Okay," he mumbles.

"Extension," AJ snorts as he stumbles into the room. "Damn teacher's pet."

"With his grades these days?" Mom asks. "Hardly."
That's about all he can take right now. Ryan turns angrily for his room just as a knock sounds at the door. Could it be Theresa, coming to apologize? Doubtful. He glances at Mom, who's in no hurry to open it. But AJ is there, stumbling over across the living room.

            "Erica!" he cries as he opens the door. "Girl! Get in here, babe."
            Ryan takes in the disheveled figure at the door, clad in a Lakers jacket, and turns to Mom in disgust. "He's got girls coming over here now?"
            She shushes him. "It's business."
            "Business?" Ryan echoes. He glances across the room, where AJ is ushering the unkempt woman in, and he's suddenly struck with an odd desire not to see where this is going.

            AJ blocks him as he starts across the living room, momentarily forgetting the strung-out girl in the door. "Hey, man. Where's my change?"
            "Your change?" he echoes again, this time in disbelief. He digs in his pocket. "And here I was thinkin' it was my mom's money." He knows it's the wrong answer. He just doesn't care.
            "You cut that out!" AJ smacks his face without even hesitating. Ryan yanks the change from his pocket and claps his hand to the smarting pain, shocked.
            Ryan exhales, feeling the sting, waiting. But Mom says nothing, and Erica says nothing, and AJ says nothing, and until the dishes are clean it's gonna be a Bad Night, but all Ryan wants to do now is curl up in his perch in bed and watch Full House, so he throws the money at AJ, turns on his heel and barges back to the bedroom, slamming the door shut and collapsing on his bed, breathing heavily.

Erica's nasally voice carries back to his room. "That last stuff you gave me wasn't near strong enough," he hears her say, and he's really not surprised.

"I know, babe. Had a little trouble with the supplier, but that's all taken care of now."

He's getting awfully comfortable now, doing "business" at the house. Ryan does not like this development. Not at all.

"Kasey said it better be. Kasey wants me to take a sample."

"Kasey, huh?" AJ asks, and even Ryan can't read his emotion.

Ryan wishes sometimes his life was easy as a sitcom. A big, happy family gathering in a kitchen, cracking jokes on each other. Not in his lifetime.

            "Dawn, can you get my stuff, girl? You know where it is."
            "Uh – sure..."
            Ryan thumps his head back against the wall and stares up at the ceiling. The last thing his mom needs now is illegal activities under her roof. As if one parent in jail isn't bad enough...

It's going to be a Bad Night. He should go somewhere, get out of here. He has history reading to do, but he can probably fake it in discussion in class tomorrow if he has to. He wonders what Luisa is up to, since Theresa is probably out of the picture for tonight... Maybe he should call Trey, see what he's up to, which may or may not be more legal than what AJ is up to.

"Tell me what Kasey'd make of this shit."
"Jesus, at least let me try it first. Hey Dawn, you want?"

"No, but thanks, Erica."
Ryan breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Small favors. Alcohol is bad enough without his mom turning into a cokehead. She keeps telling him not to touch the stuff, telling him she won't touch it herself, but somehow he doesn't quite buy it. He's dreading the day when she folds. Because he knows she can't stand strong against it forever. His mom's not that strong a person.

"So, I bet Kasey'd like to know who your bum supplier was."
"Aw, it's all taken care of. It's all good. Mmmm," AJ's voice says, relishing something.

He doesn't want to know. Ryan turns up the volume on the television. It doesn't help. He can't drown out the living room.

"I don't know about this, man. This feels just the same as the other shit."
"Well, the problem has been fixed. Don't know what to tell you-"

            "You're full of shit."
            "Easy, babe, easy-"
            "You want me to call Kasey over here?"
            The voices are escalating now. Ryan fixes his eyes on the Tanner family.

"Hey. Maybe I should put you and my suppliers in touch."

He's in San Francisco, not Chino.
"Maybe you oughta talk to them yourself. After you talk to Kasey. By then, you oughta look the part."

In a clean townhouse, not this junk heap.
"Now, now, Erica..."

His gaze goes right through the screen, taking him into their world and past it, out of his own, to a very different California.

"I'm not paying for this crap." Her voice is rising.

The kind of California where everything is okay after thirty minutes.
"Okay, fine," AJ snaps at her. "You got your free hit, now fuck off."

He doesn't think his life will be okay in thirty minutes.

"Kasey'll want to talk to you. We want our money back."

In fact, it seems to suddenly be getting worse out there. Clues.
"Jesus. You got what you came for already, now get out of my house."
My house? Ryan's ears prick up. He wants to barge out and remind AJ just whose house this is, but he knows on a Bad Day that's definitely the wrong answer.

"I'm comin' back with Kasey," Ryan hears her scream as the door slams.

No. He can't take this any more. He leaps from the bed and barges in to the living room, even as the doorframe is still shaking from Erica's slamming.

He's not in San Francisco any more. He can't do it. He's in Chino, and he's not going anywhere anytime soon, and it's about time he said something.

            "The fuck was that?" he blurts out angrily. AJ is staring at the door, hypnotized, and Mom is poking around in the kitchen, apparently trying to put the mac and cheese away in a tupperware container that's way too big. "They're fucking coming back? Here? To our house?"
            "No, they ain't," AJ says, but he looks pale and worried, way too worried for Ryan to relax. "Chill out, man. I'll get the guy his money back."
            "Where you gonna get the money, pumpkin?" Mom whines, fastening the lid onto the giant tupperware container.

AJ turns to her hopefully, and Ryan suddenly feels ill.

"Mom, no way," he pleads rapidly. "Don't do it."
"You? Stay out of this," AJ snaps.

"The hell I will. How much this time, huh? Fifty? A hundred? That we don't have?"
"Ryan," Mom says in a low voice, "Calm down, I got it under control-"

"Two hundred," AJ says, and Ryan feels chilly now. Two hundred. How long does it take him or his mom to earn two hundred bucks? Longer than AJ cares about. "Look, man, this ain't your business."

            "Oh, yeah, so my mom's money is none of my business."
            "She can decide for herself."
            She can't. But he can't say that. If he says it, she'll cry and argue and drink and it'll be a Bad Night even more so. Instead, he clenches his fists to his sides.

"Ma. We don't have that kind of money!"
"So, you want to let that Kasey fellow come over here and destroy our whole house over it?" Mom asks, an accusatory tone in her voice.

"How about we point him in the direction of AJ's house?" he asks softly, hearing the dangerous tone in his own voice as he raises his eyebrows.

            "Oh, now, you are really askin' for it," AJ growls, and Ryan draws back a step. "When you got your own place, your own money, then you can decide what to do with it, smartass."
            "Half that money is mine," Ryan snaps. He's not cold any more. Now, he's boiling. "I didn't work my ass off all summer to cover your bum coke deals. Mom? Don't do it."
            "Fuck off!" AJ yells, and Ryan braces himself for what he knows is coming as AJ takes a swing at him. He ducks just in time, but AJ still crashes in to him, and both of them collide with the wall, Ryan pinned between it and AJ. It takes a moment for AJ to find his balance, and in the span of what seems like hours but can't be more than a second or two, Ryan can't find his breath, feeling the weight of the larger man crushing him against the wall even as he wants to suck in oxygen.

AJ yanks him up by the t-shirt, and Ryan goes limp. He doesn't know what else to do. He's not big enough to hit back yet, really. Play dead. Don't give him a reaction. But AJ will keep pushing and pushing until he gets a reaction. He inhales sharply.

"You better learn how to mind your own business," AJ snarls in his face.

"This is my business," Ryan growls back, squirming as his t-shirt writhes around him via AJ's fist. "Mind your own, keep it outta my house!"

"Ryan, guys, calm down," Mom is pleading. "Ryan, it's fine, we'll do what it takes. We'll get by, it's okay."

"Don't you mess with me!" AJ adds.
"Get offa me," Ryan grunts, twisting away. "Mom!"

"C'mon, AJ, let him go," she commands weakly, and after a moment, AJ releases him. Ryan yanks away, moving as quickly across the room as he can, putting distance between him and AJ. He shakes his arms out, trying to straighten his shirt again.

He could go to his room, but that would be giving up, and right now, he's way too hyped-up and pissed-off to give in. Instead, he crosses to the sink, grabbing the now-empty macaroni and cheese pot on the way, and returns to pulling his dishes out noisily. He can hear his breath coming in rapidly, and he sniffs loudly to clear his nose, covering up the sound as he clanks another plate onto the stack. She's already made up her mind. She's made her decision. She's chosen AJ, stupid, cokehead AJ, over Ryan, the one who's trying to help her see the light. There's nothing he can do about it. It's just the way she is, and it pisses him off.

"You're doing the dishes? Dawn, he's doing the dishes," AJ says plaintively, and Ryan can't quite read the tone in his voice.

"Well, Jesus, what do you expect him to do? That's just Ryan. He gets pissed off, he... he does the dishes..." She starts to giggle a little at the thought, and Ryan feels his shoulders relaxing. Just a little.

He rinses off the last plate and stacks it before putting the stopper into the sink. He pours a squirt of dish detergent into the sink and starts the hot water running, plunging the first set of plates in to the bubbles as they slowly rise.

"He does the dishes," AJ says with a snort. Ryan even wants to smile at that, although he doesn't.

Because it is calming. Taking the dirty plates and the mess and making order out of it. Taking everything that's falling apart and putting it back together, clean and sparkling. The thought that with just a little soap and some scrubbing, he can fix everything. Make his house look like Arturo's house. If Mom won't do it, he'll sure as hell try.

He senses Mom standing behind him, reaching for the cabinet where she keeps the liquor. Ryan bites his lip, not saying anything. He's not going to say it. He's said enough already for one night. He bows his head over the sink and scrubs with the rough side of the brush at the crusted remains of dried ketchup on one of AJ's used plates.

She squeezes his arm from behind and rubs it up and down a couple of times. He stares down ruefully at the sink as she moves away from him.

            "Ryan," Mom says. "Maybe you don't want to be here when Kasey comes back."
            He wants to argue and plead with her, but he knows she's right. "I could... go to Trey's," he mumbles.
            "That might be a good idea."
            He turns on the water to start rinsing the first round of dishes. He shakes the excess water back into the sink and sets the first plate on the drying rack before reaching for the second.

"I shouldn't have to," he says, raising his voice a little to be sure that it carries over into the living room.

"Oh, yeah?" AJ offers as a rude retort. Ryan scowls into the sink. It's not the best of comebacks.

"This is my house. I got homework to do tonight. You complain about my grades, and then you kick me out of the house when I got homework to do?"

            "Don't talk to your mom like that."
            Ryan turns off the sink and turns around to face Mom, who's still rooting around in the liquor cabinet. "Don't make me have to talk to my mom like that."
            "Ryan, shhh, sweetie," Mom says, pulling out a bottle of gin. She puts it on the counter before turning back to him. She takes his arms in hers, rubbing them up and down. "Don't do this again. It's okay."
            "No, it's not," he says quietly, so quiet that he knows AJ can't hear. "Mom, it's not okay. We don't have two hundred dollars. Don't make his problems-"

But she's already shaking her head. "Sometimes we just gotta do these things, baby. You'll understand someday."
But I understand now, he wants to say. I understand everything, I understand more than you do. I understand that as long as that guy's hanging around, I don't want to be here. I understand that as long as you keep going back to that liquor cabinet, it's going to be a Bad Day. I understand that I can never take what you say at face value, and I understand that as long as there's dirty dishes in the sink, things aren't okay...

He pulls away from her and turns back to the sink, to start scrubbing the silverware. Each fork, each spoon he scrubs to a shine before rinsing them off. Back to the way they were before AJ touched them.

He hears her voice, soft, coming from behind him. "It'll be over soon. I promise."
He understands everything, and he understands that it won't be, not as long as he and AJ are trying to co-exist, not as long as they're competing for her love, not as long as AJ is winning.

            "You know," Mom says softly from behind him, "Ryan... sometimes? I don't know what to say to you. What you want from me."
            He pulls the plug from the sink and reaches for a towel. "I don't want anything from you." He hears her audible sigh. "Wait. I don't mean that, I mean-"
            "No. You want everything from me. I know. And I don't have it to give back."
            "Mom," he says quietly as he rubs at the dishes. "Don't."
            "D'you ever wish you had another family?"
            "Ma, no," he pleads. "No."
            "Sure you do. Who wouldn't? Who'd want this family, huh?" She issues a small laugh at that.

"Me, cause it's my family," he says firmly, knowing even as he does that she can see through the lie. She knows better. She knows him.

            "Uh huh," she says, unconvinced. "Okay, step aside, I'll put those away."
            "No, I got it. It's okay."
            "Ryan. My turn."

He concedes, and heads back to his room, past the couch where AJ is watching TV, into his room, where he starts rooting for a change of clothes. Fresh t-shirt, some underwear for school tomorrow. He grabs the remote control from where he left it on the bed, switches off the Fox Family Channel, and carefully places the remote back on the windowsill. He grabs his toothbrush and deodorant from the bathroom, and tosses it all into his bookbag, which he zips up in a sudden, ripping roar.

He trudges back into the kitchen. "I'm goin' over to Trey's."
"Okay. C'mere." She pulls him in for a hug, the glass of gin already in her hand. He stiffens in her arms.

"Be safe? Please?" he asks her quietly.

            "Aw, baby. We're fine. Tell you what, I'll call you when it's okay."
            He bites his lip. "Okay." He pulls back. "So. Bye."
            He turns and marches out of the house, past AJ, past the TV, past the drawn curtains, to his bike. One of these days, he'll leave and not come back. One of these days when he can bear to do it. Not today. He can't leave her here today. Not for good. Not like this. It's hard enough to leave her here for the night.

He shoves off on the bike and pedals with a bump onto the road, setting out for Trey's house. He'll sleep on the floor tonight, on top of the extra towels with the bean bag chair as his pillow, and instead of his homework he'll probably spend the evening watching TV and smoking up with Trey. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. Maybe in the end it'll actually wind up being a Good Day.

He won't know. Ryan won't know until he's seen all the clues. Because there's just too many for him to deal with right now, and he's just now starting to figure out that even the clues aren't enough to tell him what's coming next.