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...
Oups ! Cette image n'est pas conforme à nos directives de contenu. Afin de continuer la publication, veuillez la retirer ou télécharger une autre image.
Oups ! Cette image n'est pas conforme à nos directives de contenu. Afin de continuer la publication, veuillez la retirer ou télécharger une autre image.
JULY
Most people knew Henry Maier Festival Park for one reason only—Summerfest. Underneath the suspended framework of the interstate, there was a concrete lowland that teemed with crowded beer vendors, rattling rock music, and, of course, drunken concert-goers. Milwaukee had a reputation for being many things, but being dull was never on the list. The most anticipated music festival of the year drew a mass of people from all over the country, including a little town called Des Plaines, Illinois—only an hour outside of Wisconsin.
"Can we get some lemonade for the road?" Chris asked.
"The line might be long," Evan replied.
"We should get a funnel cake for Nadine," Heather added. "She just had a baby. She needs to carbo-load."
"The park doesn't close until midnight," Jackson said to Evan. "We have time."
Evan nodded agreeably. They shuffled toward the food line. They had spent most of the evening at The Go-Go's stage—upon Heather's request. Evan had ushered Jackson away for an hour, getting to see the last bit of INXS's set and then a couple songs by The Temptations. After standing at three different concerts, the soles of Evan's feet were beginning to feel prickly. He was already fantasizing about cuddling on the couch with Jackson.
Avoiding the most snarled part of the crowd, Jackson scooched closer to Evan. Their shoulders brushed and Evan glanced at the redhead to make sure he was okay. His grey eyes darted around the busy pavement—skeptical of the strangers. It was his first time in the big city and Evan could tell he was uneasy.
As the skyline traded a muted yellow for a dusty shade of blue, Evan's hand exchanged his denim pocket for Jackson's palm. The red-haired boy visibly perked up, letting Evan intertwine their fingers. He was still getting used to that feeling—dependency.
Their public display of affection was subtle enough to be considered uninteresting to the people around them. In a mob of mullets, full-body tattoos, sheer tops, and striped overalls, two boys holding hands didn't look as uncanny as the news stories had made it seem. Jackson liked that—he liked the little, make-shift world that existed in the under layer of Milwaukee. There was something magical about the mixture of good music and a lack of inhibitions. A sense of acceptance settled into his chest, leaving him wishing the line would move slower so he wouldn't have to leave.
