Chapter 4

Joel had become his feet.The soil in these woods was feather-bed soft from yesterday's rain, and each shiny fallen leaf helped cushion his steps. Why didn't he appreciate these miracles every day?

He stopped and closed his eyes, absorbing the cicada song through his skin and into his lungs, the way the bugs breathed through their exoskeletons.

"Just listen to that for a sec." There was no response. "Danny?"

A voice murmured far behind him. He turned and opened his eyes. Danny was shuffling along the trail with tiny, careful steps.

"C'mon, Danny. We're almost there." Not really, though.

Danny stopped. "You feel far away."

Joel sighed and trudged back to join him. He took Danny's shopping bag, then grabbed his hand.

Danny made a weak attempt to pull free. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you a lifeline." He hooked Danny's pointy finger into the belt loop at the back of his jeans. "Now we're connected. Don't let go."

"I won't." Danny enunciated his vow.

Joel moved forward with Danny latched onto him like a little kid. "Kinda cool how we're taking turns wigging out, huh? If you hadn't kept me focused back at the 7-Eleven, I might still be standing in front of the Almond Joys trying to do math in my head." Shit, he'd forgotten to buy an Almond Joy.

"I'll always have your back, Joel."

"Dude, we just met."

"Did we?"

"Now you're getting weird." Joel laughed softly. "I like when people who look like you turn out to be as weird as me."

Danny scoffed. "You got no idea."

They plodded on in silence—Joel's voice had grown hoarse from speaking over the cicadas—more or less straight ahead until they had to veer around that annoying thicket of mountain laurel, with the clearing just beyond.

"I feel better now," Danny said, but he didn't let go, not until they were standing beside the silent boom box.

Joel sat in the grass, his feet singing with relief, then flipped Sign o' the Times to Side Two and pressed play.

Danny plopped down across from him and dug into his stash. "I'm never going back to normal Doritos. Cool Ranch is the wave of the future."

"I guess if you have to eat Doritos, those smell slightly less ass-like than the regular ones."

"They don't smell li—" Danny sniffed one, then shrugged and ate it anyway. "Fritos smell like dog feet."

"I accept that." Joel relit the hash cigarette and held in the first deep drag for several seconds. "Here, you don't have to have more if you're sufficiently wasted."

"I am insufficiently wasted." Danny took the cigarette, fingers brushing Joel's an extra-long moment.

They spread their snacks between them like a Thanksgiving feast, forming the plastic shopping bags into a tablecloth to slow down any ant invasion. Then they proceeded not to talk, their mouths too busy eating, drinking, and smoking. The cicadas continued their baffling commentary, like a Greek chorus speaking through ten layers of static.

"Hey, I…"

Joel looked up. Danny was staring down at the remaining half of his pudding pie.

"You what?"

"I…" Danny closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath through his nose "…have never been so…" The perfection of his face was only enhanced by the dab of vanilla pudding just south of his mouth.

"High?"

Danny opened his eyes. "Happy."

Joel stared back at him. Nothing had ever sounded truer. The joy in this meadow—between him and Danny, between the bees and the flowers, between the cicadas and the other cicadas—could fill the universe.

Or…

or or or or or

…maybe it was the universe.

Did it even matter one way or the other, whether there was a world outside them right now? This moment here was eternal.

Joel's throat spasmed suddenly, forcing a cough that spotlighted the taste and smell of the special cigarette.

Oh. That's why his mind felt as big as a dozen galaxies.

"It's the hash talking," he told Danny. "Drugs lie."

"Sometimes." Danny nodded twice, slowly. "And sometimes they're the only thing that tells the truth."

It did feel like that. But feelings lied too.

Danny picked up the canister of spreadable cheddar and whipped off the plastic seal with a flourish. "Whaaat a friend we have in Cheeeeez Whiz," he sang, bopping his head back and forth in time to the tune.

"Huh?"

"At vacation Bible school, me and my friends would sing all the songs substituting ‘Cheez Whiz' for ‘Jesus.' We'd get in so much trouble." He held up the can and danced it back and forth in the air. "Cheez Whiz loves me, this I know," he sang, "'cause the label tells me so."

It was Easy Cheese, not Cheez Whiz, but the idea was too funny to nitpick. They spent the next…however long…coming up with examples—mainly Christmas carols, because they were the only Jesus songs Joel knew, having been forced to sing them in elementary school holiday performances.

"…the little Lord Cheez Whiz, asleep in the hay," made them laugh so hard, they had to take a pee break (far apart in opposite directions).

Back at their picnic spot, Danny held out the cheese canister. "Do you want some?" Then he pulled it back. "Wait, is this stuff—what's the opposite of kosher?"

"Trayf. And no, cheese is only trayf if you eat it with meat." How cool that Danny had asked, considering there probably wasn't a huge Jewish population in Almost-Kansas, Colorado. "Or if it's made with non-kosher rennet. That's the curdled milk inside a calf's stomach."

"I know." Danny jutted his thumb at his own chest. "Cowboy."

Joel found his Slurpee lid and held it out for a serving of processed cheese, into which he then dipped a pair of Fritos.

Danny blinked at the bag in Joel's hand. "My stepdad frickin' loved Fritos."

Joel froze with the corn chips halfway to his mouth. "What happened to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said, ‘loved,' past tense." He lowered the chips without eating them. "Like he died."

Danny shook his head. "He's still alive, he's just not my stepdad anymore. Rodney was a shithead—to me, at least. That's why Mom kicked him out."

"Good for her."

"Yeah, except she reminds me about it whenever she gets lonely." Danny rubbed his left cheek hard. "Like it's my fault he started leaving bruises."

Joel's mouth went drier than ever. "Shit, dude. Sorry." He rolled the bag of Fritos shut, crushing the contents. If only he could do the same to the guy who'd used Danny as a punching bag. "How old were you when your parents got divorced?"

"Six." Danny dropped his hand from his face, which bore brief impressions of his own fingertips. "What about you?"

"Fourteen." Joel opened a package of Pop-Tarts, the foil whispering as it tore. "I don't know if it's worse or better to happen when you're older."

"Probably better." Danny stared at a clump of Queen Anne's lace waving in the breeze, his brows pitching together in a way that made him look much younger than seventeen and three weeks. "More time that way."

Yeah, more time to watch them fight over big and little things every day, every week, until their breakup comes as a relief. "It's stupid that judges assume mothers should get custody. How come a guy can put his career before his family, but a woman can't? When you're as good at your job as my mom is, don't you have, like, a duty to the world?"

Danny looked up from the Dorito he was painting with cheese. "What about the kids?"

"Why can't dads raise them?"

Danny popped the chip into his mouth and shrugged.

"Think about it." Joel broke off the Pop-Tart's end crust. "Men can do any of the kid-taking-care-of stuff, only they don't because no one makes them. Maybe some of them want to try."

"Like Mr. Mom."

Joel just nodded, because the Pop-Tart crust was soaking up his saliva.

Danny started his next Dorito Picasso. "So you'd rather live with your dad?"

It was Joel's turn to answer with a shrug, since either yes or no would be disloyal to one of his parents.

"I would," Danny said. "It's dumb, but I always thought it'd be good to try."

"It's not dumb. And it's cool that you get to spend the summer with him."

Danny's smile brightened in an instant, then dimmed just as quickly. "Yeah," he said, but his tone said the opposite. "You know, mothers can do father stuff too. When I was a kid, Mom took me camping every summer in western Colorado. To look for Bigfoot."

"And what happened when you didn't find him?"

"She said it was proof the government covered it up."

Of course. "Did you believe her?"

"When I was little I did, but now I know it's horseshit." Danny formed a cheese sandwich between two Doritos, then stuffed it into his mouth. "I like camping, though. Anyhow," he said as he crunched, "one time when I was eight, we were in the woods, and a mountain lion started stalking us."

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah, they like eating kids, I found out later. My mom's a big lady—not size-wise, but strong and loud. Like, you know right away when she comes in the room."

"Uh-huh."

"She knew exactly what to do with that mountain lion. So she tells me to hide behind her and not make a sound, no matter what happens. Then she starts waving her arms and yelling, making herself as huge and obnoxious as possible. She's cussing this cougar out using words I'd never heard in my life before that day. And suddenly the cat lets out this snarl that's more like a roar." Danny imitated it, his face transforming into a portrait of animal rage. "I was so fucking scared. My heart was shaking."

The hairs on Joel's nape prickled his skin. "I bet."

"But I stayed quiet. I was smooshing my face into her back and holding onto her shirt—this long, thick flannel shirt—with both hands."

Joel stared at him, not even chewing. "Then what?"

"After forever, the cat slunk off. It was still snarling—but quietly, maybe talking to itself. Then Mom picked me up like I weighed nothing and carried me all the way to the car, which felt like miles. I was too big to be carried, but I didn't care." He took a deep breath, then let it out. "The end."

"That's incredible."

Danny nodded solemnly. "Word up."

So if not for his mom, Danny would've met a violent death at age eight, and they wouldn't be sitting here together today. Then again, if it weren't for her Bigfoot obsession, they wouldn't have met the mountain lion to begin with.

Joel looked at the boom box as the opening notes of "Adore" crooned out. "This is the last song, so pick the next tape now."

Danny pawed through the bag of cassettes, then pulled out The Smiths' Hatful of Hollow. The cover had faded to a baby blue, and the plastic case was chipped at two corners, but it still held the ￡3.99 price tag from the Chelsea shop where Gavin had bought it.

Joel held his breath. Maybe he and Danny really were kindred spirits, despite their skin-deep differences.

Danny tossed the tape back into the bag. "I heard The Smiths are depressing."

Oh.

"I have this one!" Danny grabbed Life's Rich Pageant. "It's awesome."

Joel took the R.E.M. tape from him. "How do you even know this? I thought you had only one shitty radio station."

"In our town. But sometimes late at night, I can hear the station at UNC. That's where I heard R.E.M. I ordered the tape from a catalog."

"You hear University of North Carolina?"

"No, dork—University of Northern Colorado, up in Greeley."

"Okay, we'll play this after Prince is finished." Joel picked up the pack of Marlboros. "You want another regular cigarette? My mouth is so dry, it'd burst into flames if I took one more drag."

Danny examined his hands, folding and unfolding his fingers. "I should probably avoid fire right now."

Joel zipped up the bag with the cigarettes, then held up the one with their original clothes. "That means we can take off our embarrassing shirts."

"Thank God." Danny dropped the rest of his pudding pie onto the plastic-bag tablecloth, then pulled up the hem of his skin-tight Virginia is for Lovers shirt. The T-shirt rose to cover his face, where it stopped. He struggled for a moment, then said, "I think I'm stuck."

Joel stared at Danny's tanned abs and the line of dark-brown hair descending from his belly button. "I don't have scissors, so just wrestle it off. It's okay if it rips."

Danny twisted and turned, making no progress. Then his body sagged in what looked like defeat. "Definitely stuck."

"I can't send you back to your dad that way. It'll look suspicious."

Danny started giggling. "You think?"

Joel rose up onto his knees and shifted closer. "Hold still."

"You keep telling me that."

"Well, you keep getting yourself into situations. Now straighten your arms." Without touching any skin, Joel wrenched the shirt up another inch. "Your shoulders are too big."

"Maybe your shoulders are too small," Danny said, lips moving beneath the cotton cloth.

"You're insulting your savior? I could just leave you like this."

"Noooo." Danny shifted his face. "I'm sorry. Your shoulders are the perfect size. Please help me."

Joel tugged the T-shirt collar down an inch at Danny's nape to give the front more slack, then grabbed hold of both sides at his ears and pulled up.

The shirt came loose, lifting Danny's hair, which fell into place like the pages of a book.

They were face to face now, less than a foot apart. Danny's lips, stained blue from his Slurpee, were close enough to kiss. If this were a movie—not any kind of movie Joel had ever seen, but if that kind of movie existed, it would go this way—Danny would take him in his arms, then lower his body onto the grass, and then…

Things would happen, the sort of things that had happened with Gavin, though the air had never sung between him and Joel the way it was singing now.

"Thanks." Danny sank back onto his hands, putting much-needed space between their bodies. "Wow, that feels amazing." He gestured to his chest. "Air. Skin. Together again."

"Ah," was all Joel could squeak out. He picked up the ashtray and dumped its contents into one of the 7-Eleven bags.

"That shirt was so tight, I think it cut off my circulation." Danny shook out his hands like his fingers had gone stiff. "Might stay like this for a while if it's okay."

"It's great." No, not great. Joel bit his lip. "I mean, it's fine. Sorry."

"That's okay." Danny stared into the trees, then turned his bleary gaze on Joel. "Sorry for what?"

"Nothing." Joel focused on the empty ashtray in his hands, swiping his thumb over the charcoal ash streaks.

"Sorry for what?"

"It's just, at school, when someone like me looks at another guy with his shirt off—like in the locker room—someone like me tends to get beaten up."

"Someone like you?"

"Yeah, someone people think…" His neck had gone all hot and prickly, but he couldn't rub it because both hands had latched onto the ashtray for dear life. "Someone people suspect…people assume is…you know."

"Is what?"

"Gay."

"Oh." Danny sat motionless for several moments. "Are you?"

Danny froze,the question turning sour on his tongue. Why had he come right out and asked that?

Because he needed an answer, like whether he was right about Joel. Maybe he was just imagining the unspoken messages, feelings, urges, that seemed to be flashing between them. Maybe it was just the hash.

Joel stared at Danny's chest with the same bone-deep thirst they'd given the Slurpee machine. Around them, the cicadas seemed to soften their song, as if they wanted to hear the answer too.

Finally Joel lifted heavy-lidded eyes to meet Danny's. "No."

Danny blinked and looked away. "Okay, good." Wait. "Not ‘good' like it's a bad thing. I wouldn't care if you were. I just don't want you to get AIDS and die."

That hadn't come out right.

Joel wrinkled his nose. "You don't have to be gay to get AIDS and die, dude."

"I know, but?—"

"I promise I won't get AIDS and die," he said with heavy sarcasm.

"Good."

"I'll be careful."

"Good." Danny shook his head hard to ward off images of Joel doing careful things. "All I meant was?—"

"Shut up, Danny."

"Okay." He curled his lips under his front teeth to keep the rest of his stupid thoughts inside.

The Prince tape clicked off, making Joel jump. He punched the eject button so hard, the tape sprang halfway out of its slot. He yanked it out, then shoved the R.E.M. cassette into the boom box.

The opening guitar lick curled out of the speaker. By reflex, Danny sang the first line of "Begin the Begin," defying Joel's order to shut up. Then he sang the next line, and the next, gesturing to himself with every I and at Joel with every you. Even if it took the entire album, he would haul their budding friendship back from the brink.

More lyrics, typically R.E.M. mumbly and unintelligible, so Danny improvised with nonsense words.

Joel rolled his eyes. "That's not what he's saying."

Danny sang louder. Shimmying his shoulders and fanning his hands, he serenaded Joel with the chorus—or the bridge, whatever—because right here might be the only person in the world who wouldn't judge him for being a doofus.

The opening lines came again in the final verse, with more intensity. Danny lurched to his feet, though he could barely feel them. He hopped along to the music and kept singing. It was impossible not to.

On Joel's face, annoyance was melting into something like…awe? That gaze was a second sun on his skin.

Danny belted out the line about Miles Standish—one of the few clear lyrics, the one he'd read that concert crowds always shouted out.

Joel's lips moved in sync.

Finally! Danny reached out to him, curling his fingers to beckon, but Joel leaned away, shaking his head like he was allergic to dancing.

The next song began, with a fast, infectious beat. Danny bounced on his toes—which he could feel again! Every bone, muscle, tendon, and ligament in his feet flexed and extended with each jump.

Joel heaved a huge, inaudible sigh, then lifted his arms.

Danny tugged him to his feet, and they jammed together, voices mixing with cicadas and rock stars.

Song after song they danced and sang. Maybe they'd never talk again. Why use words when they could say what they meant by sharing music and breath? In the midst of this, there was no No, no Sorry, and definitely no Shut up, Danny. This moment, this day, this summer—they were perfect, and they might never end.

During a slow song, Joel stopped, holding his sides and breathing hard. Then he drained the rest of his Slurpee, tipping the cup nearly vertical to drop the last bits of slush down his throat. "Should've bought two of those." He tugged at the front of his sweat-soaked Maryland is for Crabs T-shirt. "I forgot to change. Turn around."

Danny did a 360° spin, a move he used to evade rushing defenders, then spread his arms in a Ta-daaaa fashion.

Joel shook his head. "You know what I mean."

"Fine." Danny turned his back. "I saw you topless before, so I dunno what the big deal is." He smirked to himself. A lot had changed in the last few hours.

At the rustle of plastic bag, he angled his head and shifted his gaze so far to the side his eyeballs hurt.

"Fuck it," Joel said. "It's too hot."

Danny turned around as Joel was plunging his hand into the Doritos, the bag shielding his bare chest. He scanned the treetops as he shoved a chip into his mouth.

"Thought you said Doritos tasted like ass."

Joel stuck out an orange-dusted tongue. "Better than eating balls."

"Next time you're in Colorado, give me a call and I'll find a couple for you."

Joel raised a single eyebrow. "Wow, dude."

"C'mon, that's not what—" Danny swiped his wrist over his mouth, heat creeping up the sides of his neck. Was it what he meant? No. It was just talk. Just stupid bullshit words.

The music turned fast again, breaking the tension. Joel bounced like he was in a mosh pit, flinging Doritos like orange confetti. Danny joined in and started flailing his arms in all directions. His body had never felt looser, every joint lubricated with heat.

Yeah, dancing was definitely safer than talking.

"Swan Swan H" began, and Danny stopped, out of breath and fighting off a stitch in his side.

"This song's about the Civil War, so you're in the perfect place to hear it." Joel smoothed his sweaty hair back from his face. "Another fun fact? It's in 6/8 time."

Danny did the math. "How's that different from 3/4 time?"

Joel scratched his chin. "Um, the fourth beat has less emphasis than the first beat but a bit more than the others. You can count up to six before you need to start over." He tipped his forefinger back and forth like a metronome. "One-two-three-Four-five-six. One-two-three-Four-five-six."

Danny counted under his breath. "Huh."

"We could waltz to it if we move our feet really fast. Or really slow. Lemme restart it and we'll try." Joel crouched down and rewound the tape.

Wait a minute. "I don't know how to waltz," he said, as if that was the biggest problem.

"I'll show you." Joel hit play, somewhere in the middle of the previous song. Then he stepped close and placed Danny's left hand on his bare shoulder, put his arm around Danny's waist, and took his other hand.

"Um." Danny shot a glance at the trail. No one was coming, but that could change, and any approaching footsteps wouldn't be heard over the music and the cicadas.

Still, he couldn't pull away.

"A waltz is simple," Joel said, not quite meeting Danny's eyes. "It's three steps: long, short, short, long short, short. Okay?"

Danny swallowed. Heat radiated from the line where their skins met. "Okay."

"I'll start by stepping to my left, which is your right. Then we'll step twice in place. Then another long step, then step twice in place, and so on."

Danny nodded, his mouth as bone dry as his palms were clammy damp. The boom box went silent between songs.

"We'll start on the third measure, when he sings the first words." Joel squeezed Danny's hand. "Here we go."

Somehow Danny stepped at the right time, in the right direction. Then two steps in place and?—

Joel stepped on his foot.

"Ow."

Joel glared up at him. "You're supposed to move back when I move forward."

"How do I know you're gonna move forward?"

"You're supposed to read my, you know…"

"What, your mind?"

"My body."

Oh hell. This had to stop now.

"Whatever," Joel said. "Let's try again and not worry about it." He tightened his arm on Danny's waist. "C'mon, it's a short song."

"Wait, I?—"

"Ready, go!"

He hurried to keep up as Joel's feet went in every direction way too fast. But all that mattered was that Danny's skin was no longer numb and far away. It lay close to every nerve, feeling every drop of Joel's sweat.

"We'll be flying,"Joel had said before they'd smoked the hash, but it hadn't been true. Until now.

It wasn't 1860-something, when this soil had held fallen soldiers, had drunk their blood and invaded them with maggots. It was 1987, when this meadow buzzed with breathing, singing, dancing life. Unless nuclear war struck before midnight, this would go down as the best day Danny had ever had.

And today's best-ness was only the beginning. He would figure out what he'd done to make Dad so faraway, and they'd fix it and be a family, and he'd have a friend in Joel, and life would be okay in a way it hadn't been maybe ever.

The accordion came in, barely audible, which meant the song was half over.

"Let's slow down," Joel said, "or I'm gonna fall on my face."

Just a single step per measure now. Ninety times easier than before. No more stumbling over each other. No more laughing.

The accordion, louder than the guitars. The song, almost over. Their steps, finally in sync.

As the last note struck, their feet came to a stop. Joel didn't let go, so Danny held on too. This close, Joel's lively eyes weren't black after all but a dark umber, like the walls of a fireplace with the flames just lit.

Around them, the cicada song swelled, matching the pulse pounding in Danny's ears. Was the pause before the last song really this long, or had time actually stopped?

The first guitar licks of the hidden track rang out.

Joel's gaze fixed on Danny's mouth.

They could do anything.

Danny bent his knees, just enough to bring them?—

"Joel!" shrieked a voice from the trees.

Danny leaped back. His foot landed on something hard. Joel's ashtray. He spun away so he wouldn't break the little art project, pitching over into the long, scratchy grass. The music cut off with a snap of the Stop button.

Joel's sister flew out of the woods, her hair a loose black mass around her face.

"Ella!" Joel crossed his arms over his bare chest. "We didn't take any of your stuff, I swear."

She ignored him and ran straight for Danny, her eyes red and…wet?

He pushed himself up, a thorn stabbing the base of his thumb. Why was she crying?

"We have to go," she said, and then her words slowed and stretched, like she was speaking underwater. Words like collapse and ambulance and cardiac arrest. Words that swallowed the summer whole.

Danny found his shirt and slipped it on. The numbness was returning to his skin, and spreading deeper, until the world felt far off again, far enough it couldn't touch him.

Like a robot he followed Ella back through the woods, keeping his eyes glued to the swish of her hair. Somewhere behind him, Joel was stumbling through the underbrush.

He should wait for Joel, grab him, lean on him. But if he stopped or even slowed, the earth might rotate out from under them all.

At the edge of the woods, Joel caught up. He grabbed Danny's wrist and pressed something hard against his palm. "A friend gave this to me, so I'm passing it on to you."

Danny looked at the cassette, The Smiths' Hatful of Hollow.

"I promise it's not depressing." Joel laid a soft hand on Danny's back. "It might even be the opposite."

"Danny!" Ella called from up on the bike trail. "We have to run!"

Right. In case Dad wasn't dead yet.

Danny broke into a jog to climb the hill. On the bike trail, his jog became a sprint. He caught up to Ella, but she was fast, nearly keeping pace with his unsteady steps.

Autopilot, autopilot. Just get there.

He reached Ella's car, parked beside the road at the trailhead.

"Door's unlocked!" She dashed to the driver's side, keys rattling.

He dived into the passenger seat. Ella started the car and grabbed the gear shift.

Lungs heaving, Danny looked out his window. Joel was still way down the bike trail, staggering and waving his arms. "What about him?"

"We can't wait." Ella checked her side mirror. "And I can't let Mom see him stoned like that again. He's better off walking home and coming down while she's at the hospital."

"What about me? Don't I look stoned?"

She examined him, her eyes so much like Joel's, but drooping with sadness at the corners. "Babe, you look exactly how Mom would expect, considering your dad…"

Ella jammed the gear shift into first. The car lurched forward, gravel clattering against the chassis. Danny craned his neck to look down the bike trail one last time, but the greedy trees already blocked his view.

Dull pain stabbed his palm. He opened his hand, where the cassette had left dents in his skin, he'd clutched it so hard.

His breath stuttered. He'd been having the time of his life while Dad was…oh God.

He should chuck the Smiths cassette out the window, turn his back on these last few hours. It would serve him right.

Danny reached for the window button, but his unfeeling fingertips fumbled with it long enough for second thoughts.

Throwing away Joel's gift wouldn't throw away the memories. Nothing could make him forget this day, this boy, and that place of infinite possibility.