In the middle of Des Plaines Illinois three boys find themselves in a tangled knot of angsty lust and amateur love.
Evan Webster has an average American life. When he isn't at swim practice or the movie theater, he's trying to make time to study bi...
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The large windows made the biology lab feel like an academia terrarium, as if someone was going to open the ceiling and feed Evan a textbook. He could see the fading remnants of summer through the streaky-clean glass, wishing he was a bird perched on a branch instead of a student slouched on a metal stool. The trapped feeling made Evan understand why his childhood hamster bit him so much.
Across the room, Jackson sat alone as he absentmindedly observed a Petri dish. He sniffed the bacterial culture and noted that it smelled like rotten fish and dirty socks. If he was sitting closer to Evan, he would have tricked him into smelling it and then laughed when his nose wrinkled in disgust.
The two boys had been in contention since the day Evan joined the swim team. Jackson—the red-headed boy with a superiority complex—had been baiting and goading the preppy boy ever since their first swim match. Evan was lankier than Jackson, but he was just as good in the pool, maybe even better sometimes. Jackson still found ways to plow past Evan every chance he got, like he did earlier in the school parking lot. In response, Evan always dominated the water during practice. It was a game they had been playing for years.
Back when Jackson and Evan were freshmen, Jackson was the coach's most anticipated new swimmer. He had the strength, the skill, and the determination to become a champion. That all changed when Evan anchored every relay and was quickly branded the golden boy. In turn, Jackson's accomplishments were repeatedly overlooked and swiftly forgotten. His temper grew to match his fiery red hair, and whenever Evan tried to compliment Jackson's abilities, Jackson only became more hostile. He didn't trust Evan's kindness. It felt like charity, and Jackson didn't want to feel like he owed anything to some preppy rich boy he barely knew. Three years later, Evan had grown tired of trying to be friends.
They weren't just vying for trophies—they were vying out of habit.
"Okay," Evan said, chewing on the end of a pencil as he looked down at his notebook. "What do you see?"
"A teenage travesty," Chris answered.
Chris had abandoned the microscope and fixed his attention on a lab station across the classroom. A blonde girl in the back corner tossed her hair over her shoulder. She beamed and giggled with her new lab partner, which was what caused Chris to take notice. The Barbie-like girl's happy façade wasn't fooling anyone, though. People had been whispering about Heather and Jackson's breakup since homeroom.
