Page 13 of Down Bad

Things are starting to wrap up (i.e. Chad is getting drunk and Lance is dreading the twenty-minute drive home since they live on the outskirts of town halfway to Fairview) when Billy and I are in the kitchen cleaning. “So what’s the story with that situation outside?” asks Billy at the sink, washing the tray.

I fumble with the cup I was drying off, dropping it. “What?”

“That big clunker in the driveway.”

I glance at the window.

The car sits there with its hood up, rag draped over part of the engine, tools on the ground in front of it. The garage is open, light spilling out.

No Diego in sight.

“Lottie and Marcos’s nephew.”

Billy squints at me. “They have a nephew?”

“He’s in from out of town. Watching the place until they get it sold. He’s our age. And a …” I shake my head, not wanting to speak ill of him. Then suddenly I can’t not. “He’s a bit of a dick.”

Billy cracks a smile. “Like, in a hot way? Or …?”

I frown at Billy.

He lifts his sudsy hands. “Just teasing, just teasing.” He peers out the window. “So I take it you met him and it didn’t go well?”

“I even brought him a welcome basket. With your muffins.”

“Oh, that’s who those were for?”

“And he revs his engine at, like, ass-crack-of-dawn-o’clock.”

“Y’know, Tanner was a bit of a dick at first. Now we’re married with kids.”

“And he completely mowed over the flowerbed.”

“Actually, so was Chad with Lance, and they’re a thing, too …”

“And that ugly, ugly car …”

“Maybe there’s a thing about dicks being secret princes …?”

I turn to Billy. “What are you even going on about?”

Billy shrugs. “You always get mad when people don’t let you be nice to them.”

I’m about to argue back, but his words strike me into silence.

Is that what’s going on?

Billy, smiling suddenly, takes the cup from my hand and gives it another quick washing, since I’d dropped it. “Knew it wasn’t a raccoon,” he says, proud of himself.

I let him have his victory.

It isn’t much longer after that we’re on the front porch saying our goodbyes. The night is thick and warm. It’s one of those nights you can really feel the weight in the air. Chad keeps insisting he’s “thoroughly sober” while using poor Lance as a human crutch on their way to their truck. Tanner keeps apologizing about his mom, even though I seriously have no hard feelings, and Billy gives me an extra-long hug. They’re Ethan’s ride, so he heads off with them, still working on the same bag of Twizzlers. Doors shut. Engines on. Laughter trails down the street as my friends disappear.

Just like that, I’ve got my peace back.

Almost.

Diego emerges from the garage and hunches over the hood, a rag over his shoulder, dirty tank top glued to his body from sweat. He wrinkles up his nose as he fights to loosen something with a wrench. Or a ratchet. Or whatever it is he’s holding that I’d likely misname if put on the spot.