The Sticks and the Stones
�But I don�t want to move out.� Pink-tipped storm clouds dumped rain into the yard, and Andy�s frown rendered him ridiculously attractive against the picture window. To keep from staring, I focused down at my pop tart. Each passing afternoon that we sprawled on the floor of the dining room for late breakfast, I spent more time glaring desperately at my food; the alternative view was too dangerous. Andy�s greasy curls and peeling suntan hadn�t changed since he moved in from Las Vegas. In all but dress he still looked like Huckleberry Finn. But as if he�d yawned and stretched and gotten stuck that way, Andy had grown almost willowy in his lean, freckled skin. His face, too, became thin and serious.
�Trev, what if we can�t live together anymore?�
�Wouldn�t that be fantastic?� I said and felt the sarcasm drip from my teeth. I flat out refused to see us separated. If worse came to worse, I�d handcuff myself to him. After a year together--on the run from our deranged families--we�d gotten attached.
�I�m not dicking around, T. I don�t want to leave you.�
I know what you mean. Taking the chance, I looked up at him�oh, but he was hot. Thinking of myself as straight was a joke, but I knew I wasn�t gay, and I wasn�t �confused.� Instead of committing to a damning label, I practiced a quiet acceptance of my attraction to Andy. No denial for me; I coped with wanting him. I told myself he was just a fluke and tried to avoid the tempting situations that come about naturally when teenage boys spend too much time together. I focused back down at my pop tart. By now, Andy noticed how weird I�d been acting. And I knew if he�d noticed that, eventually he�d see the way I looked at him.
�What�s your pop tart got that I don�t?�
�Cinnamon filling.� Miserable with the thought of Andy discovering what I thought about him, I imagined him ruffling my hair with a dismissive, That�s cute, Trev.
�That�s cute, Trev.�
I cringed. He laughed, confused. �What�s wrong with you today?�
While excuses sped through my mind, I picked at the edges of my pop tart, �I�m just freaking about finding a new place.� It�s not like we hadn�t moved our hideout before. But the abandoned house had been a great find, perfect for spring, and it would be hard to match.
The echo of rain drops plinking into the bowls and buckets upstairs set a lonely staccato as we stewed over our move. The rain had started months ago--a sprinkle on my face as I watched Andy skate on the driveway--and never stopped. The house rotted, the basement flooded, the driveway cracked as the rain froze and melted, the yard washed away, the carpet molded over, and all the crawling things of the woods claimed sanctuary from the weather on the second floor. Outside and inside, the rain poured.
I couldn�t help myself, I looked up at Andy. He frowned over a new leak in the ceiling that dripped rain onto the floor nearby. His frown was perfect. He was perfect. I wanted to be so much closer to him than I was. I wanted to own more eyes to see him with. I wanted to trace his frown with my finger. I wanted�
Stop.
I glared daggers at my pop tart.
�What are you doing?� He�d caught me again. I shrugged, feigning innocence, but he wasn�t convinced. �Just eat the pop tart, and get on with your sad life.�
�Sorry. I�m just�drifting.�
�You�re so weird,� he said.
�It�s genetic,� I said, nudging the conversation back to our long-lost parents, decaying house, and jeopardized future.
�Look, I know you�re right,� Andy said, �about moving out before the house collapses and all. But you turn eighteen in a week and if we hold out that long we won�t have to-� The house interrupted with a grotesque moan. There were plaps upstairs as soggy pieces of ceiling fell to the floor. Andy sighed. �Yeah, you�re right.�
I watched him pop up from the floor and stretch immensely. I was always watching him, but Andy rarely mentioned this. He was too nice of a guy. Too forgiving. And so I pushed it as far as I could.
�-hunting.�
�What?� I snapped out of my daze.
�I said you should go house hunting,� Andy left the remnants of breakfast on the floor and wandered out of the room.
�Just me? What are you going to do?� I scrambled up from the floor and followed him through the aching house to the ex-living room. Since the second floor was infested, we�d made a makeshift bedroom downstairs. Two piles of sheets and blankets served as our beds. What was left of our clothes were stacked in a corner and covered with a piece of tarp we�d found in a tree in the front yard the day after a bad storm.
�I�m going to sleep,� Andy announced, pulling the blankets of his makeshift bed around him until he was just a spray of blond hair on a pillow.
But I wasn�t about to let him off that easy. I crouched beside his pile of blankets. �Why do you get to sleep?�
��Cause you�ve got to get to work finding a place. I need time to think of people we could crash with in the meantime.�
�And you think best when you�re unconscious?�
�Uh huh. Now either get in and keep me warm or get the hell out of here,� Andy said, grinning up at me from his nest.
�That�s tempting.�
For an instant, Andy�s smile vanished. And I knew fear. �I�m sure it is,� he said, quickly recovering.
I shrugged helplessly.
�Leave.�
Suddenly, the idea of a two-story house collapsing on top of me didn�t seem so bad.
part 2 [incomplete]
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