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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There was nothing scarier than Heather Hagley with a clipboard, decorations, and free reign of an unoccupied gym.
"Chris," Heather spoke. "You will be in charge of decorating the snack table. I trust your eye for glitter quantity."
"No pressure," Chris mumbled to himself.
He wandered off, sighing as he approached a pile of folded card tables. Everyone ignored the clacking of falling chairs, but Evan glanced at his friend to see if he was okay. He looked like a T-Rex trying to do origami – hopeless.
"Nadine, you will be – "
"No heavy lifting," Bones interjected after seeing Chris's struggle.
"Streamers," Heather stated. "Nadine will be designing the streamer scheme. Bones, you'll be hanging them wherever she tells you to hang them."
"Fine," Bones accepted his duty.
The spring dance wasn't for another two weeks, but Heather loved an excuse to be a boss.
Masquerade – that was the theme. She had been saying the word in a French accent for days.
She turned, naming, "Evan."
"Jesus," he grumbled, awaiting something horrible.
"You need to set up the sound system," she said.
Evan examined the humungous gym, seeing no speaker in sight. The ceilings were two stories high, and the walls were built entirely out of brick. And where were the electrical outlets?
"Alone? How am I supposed to do that?" Evan asked.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "You'll figure it out."
Her skirt flowed as she started the march way.
"Can't I help Chris instead?" Evan asked.
Heather looked at the boy with glasses, but said, "No. He's fine."
There was another crash of chairs, but she pretended not to hear it.
Evan deflated. "Can I make a photo booth?"
"Sure," Heather spun around to smile at him. "After you finish the sound system."
He rolled his eyes. "Where's Jackson? Isn't he supposed to be helping?"
"Jackson has more important things to worry about," the blonde said. "I told him he didn't have to help."
"Important things? Like what?" Evan wondered. "Did the bearings on his skateboard need tightening?"
Heather smacked him with her clipboard. "No, dickhead," she said. "He's having family problems."
"Family problems?" Evan questioned. "He doesn't even have a family."
Heather gave him a bullish look. "If you must know," she began. "His mom isn't doing very well."
The words made Evan's heart stop. "His mom?"
"Yeah," Heather was writing someone down. "His mom has been crazy ever since I've known him. She did a bunch of psychedelics in the seventies. Now she gets all these hallucinations. Still does a lot of drugs too, but I guess it can happen to anyone. The state finally insisted she be put into a mental facility. Thank God Jackson is eighteen, otherwise he'd have to live with some cracked-out foster family."
"So he's...He's just going to live alone?"
"He practically lives alone already," Heather told him. "His mom was never really around. Sometimes he stayed at my house. He liked to cook and bake with my mom. Who do you think made the fruitcakes for the holiday bake sale?"
The bake sale had paid for their state championship trip. Jackson hadn't told anyone he made the fruitcakes. Evan didn't even know he liked to bake or cook. He didn't really know anything about Jackson other than the fact that he was a good swimmer...and a good kisser.
"I, um...," Evan stuttered. "I didn't – "
"BONES!" Heather shouted, making Evan jolt. "You're wrinkling the streamers!"
