“Yeeeessss?”

  “Well, so long as you’re quite certain and enthusiastic about it.”

  Bram smiled, but confessed, “I seriously get very freaked out. One time my sisters were watching some sleepaway camp movie with a stabby killer person stabbing everyone.” Zachary smiled familiarly. “I accidentally saw some of it while I was going to and from the shower, and I was scared to go out in the dark for weeks.”

  It had been months, really, and he had only seen maybe five seconds of it, but in that five seconds, a girl with a blond ponytail had been eviscerated. Her life snuffed out in an instant. He shuddered just thinking about it.

  “Yeah, I kinda got that,” Zachary said. “We could watch a non-scary movie.”

  The relief that washed through Bram was overwhelming. He was all for overcoming fears, but...er, maybe not just yet. And maybe not this fear.

  “Oh. Well then, yeah.”

  Zachary led him to the couch. Unlike the cozy—that is, beaten-in-by-seven-people—couches of his youth, this one was more art than furniture. It was cool gray with clean lines and a light wooden frame. It also looked like Bram might reduce it to kindling if he flopped down on it.

  “Midcentury modern,” Zachary said, mistaking Bram’s trepidation for curiosity.

  Bram lowered himself to the couch very gently. He’d always been large—his whole family was—and when he started working construction his already large frame packed on muscle quickly.

  Mostly he liked his body and his stature. It made him feel good, being strong enough to do nearly whatever he wanted to do. But times like this, he wished he could fold himself just a bit smaller.

  After thirty seconds of waiting for the couch to creak and threaten, Bram relaxed. It was actually more comfortable than it looked. Which wasn’t a mean feat, since it had looked about as comfortable as a graham cracker.

  “Okay, what do you want to watch?”

  Zachary opened a midcentury highboy hutch—Zachary’s words; it was just a cabinet—to reveal a DVD collection.

  “I know, I know, who still has DVDs when you can stream everything.”

  “My parents. Hell, they still have VHS tapes. We never had TV when I was younger, just watched the same videos over and over.”

  “Could you not afford it?” Zachary asked. His tone was neutral, no judgment or pity, as Bram had often heard when people learned he hadn’t gotten new clothes or video games or his own bedroom as a kid.

  “Nah, we just lived pretty off the grid. There was a lot of other stuff to do. Take care of the animals, tend the garden, cook. There are a lot of us, so dinner was quite an affair.”

  Zachary was looking at him with interest.

  “Did you live on a commune?” he asked delightedly.

  “Not exactly, but my parents would be happy to think so. It was just our family, but there are seven of us, and we grew most of our own food, had goats for milk and cheese, and chickens for eggs.”

  “Wow. That sounds...”

  Zachary paused and seemed to argue with himself about what to say. Some people said it sounded idyllic or perfect or magical. Some said it sounded like hell. All of which were a little bit true.

  “Smelly.”

  Bram laughed. “Yeah, well. Animals do smell like animals.”

  “Hmm. I don’t really know anything about animals.”

  “Did you grow up in Wyoming?”

  A shadow passed over Zachary’s face.

  “Yes. I grew up in Cheyenne. We moved here when I was sixteen.”

  That made more sense.

  Bram rose and stood behind Zachary to peruse the movies. It was almost all horror, judging by titles like It Follows, Repulsion, and Drag Me to Hell. But there were also mysteries and some science fiction, some classic old Hollywood romances.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what any of these movies are, so I’m not going to be much help.”

  “What genre are you in the mood for?”

  Bram shrugged. “Why don’t you just pick something? I’m sure whatever you pick will be great.”

  “Okay.”

  Zachary put on a movie called Let the Right One In.

  “It’s not scary,” he promised. “Just a little bit spooky. Atmospheric, really.”

  Bram nodded, and Zachary sank onto the couch beside him.

  The movie was about children, but with each swell of ominous strings or camera tracking around a dark corner, Bram felt himself getting more and more tense.

  It was a physical reaction—an involuntary cringing back in the face of something that seemed about to hurt him at any moment.

  After twenty minutes, Zachary pressed pause.

  “Too scary, huh?” he said.

  “Huh? No, no. Um. Well. Yeah. Yes. Yep, too scary. God, sorry!”

  Zachary laughed. “It’s okay. I kind of like that you’re so affected by all the musical cues and angles and stuff. I’m so inured to them mostly that I forgot how fun it is to watch with someone who doesn’t know the vocabulary.”

  “I’m just sitting here waiting for something horrible to happen. It’s like...like getting dumped. You know something’s off even though your partner’s acting like everything is fine. Then one day, the hammer falls and you realize why you’ve felt wrong.”

  “Oh.” Zachary seemed to think about that for a minute. Then he said softly, “I’ve been dumped but it was always after just a few dates.”

  “It feels almost cruel,” Bram said. “The movie, I mean. Like its goal is to torture you.”

  Zachary shook his head. “But that’s the thing. If you enjoy it, it’s not torture, it’s...”

  “Masochism?” Bram joked.

  Zachary frowned.

  “I was just kidding. Sorry if I—”

  Zachary waved his apology away. “Okay, but listen. The way you feel about horror movies? That’s how I feel about exercise. Like, those people who glorify sports training or military training? Running until you vomit? Doing a ropes course in the mud until you’re so physically exhausted you collapse. Listening to a coach or a drill sergeant bark orders at you like they’re encouraging you to shut off your own brain or awareness of your body and only listen to their commands? That’s torture to me. That’s masochism. Yet people voluntarily submit to it and our culture glorifies it. I don’t want to watch a movie about some teenager training past the point of pain every day to go play a game where he slams other kids’ heads into the ground. It’s unbearable.”

  “Never really thought about it like that before.”

  “Sure, because sports stars are heroes and fascist militarism is lauded in our culture. People who like horror movies are told they’re messed up for liking them, whereas people who like football get the message that they’re normal.”

  A dozen other examples came to mind and Bram nodded, realizing Zachary was right.

  Zachary stood and ran his fingers along the titles in the cabinet, then plucked out and swapped the disks.

  “I think this will be more to your liking.”

  The Wizard of Oz, the titles announced. Bram relaxed.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a wink. “When that scary witch comes on you might have to hold my hand.”

  Bram had been kidding. Had been flirting, really. But when the Wicked Witch of the East appeared on the screen, a cool, soft hand slid into his. Zachary kept his eyes on the film, but he squeezed Bram’s hand and didn’t let go until she’d disappeared in a puff of smoke. Then he turned to Bram with soft eyes.

  “You doing okay?”

  Bram felt something important liquefy in his gut and swallowed hard.

  “I’m doing great.”

  Zachary kept looking at him and all Bram wanted in that moment was to pull him close and kiss those full lips. “Um,” he said instead. “Does this mean our prank war is over?”

  Zachary smiled, warm and delighted.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  Chapter Ten

  Zachary

  Finally, everything was coming together. Zachary had spent the whole day putting up the first layer of what would be his Halloween decorations, and all was going to plan. It didn’t look like much at the moment—the first layer never did—but Zachary saw it all in his head.

  The idea had been inspired by his friend Wes’ experiments with bioluminescence. It was derived from undersea creatures, and was what gave the depths of the ocean their eerie glow. So Zachary designed a concept that would take place under the sea. He was calling this year’s Halloween installation “Ghost Ship.” The challenge was in lighting the display so it was visible in the dark, while still maintaining the illusion of an absence of light. But Zachary Glass thrived on a challenge.

  And this year, he wasn’t just thinking about his display. He was also about thinking of ways to prank Bram.

  Bram.

  Zachary had spent a lot of time thinking about him lately. He’d been surprised when Bram showed up at his house the other day, but it had led to one of the most enjoyable evenings he’d had in some time. Bram had seemed to see what he was doing with his designs and to be genuinely impressed. Zachary smiled remembering his wide blue eyes and his lips parting around “Wow” over and over again.

  Zachary grinned. He hoped he’d get an even bigger reaction with the prank he was about to pull.

  Gus, Wes’ stepdaughter, had really come through for him on this one. Wes had texted him the other day: Gus says a good prank is to set up a table like for dinner and then it’s your head. Whatever that means.

  But Zachary knew exactly what it meant, and it delighted him.

  Which was how he had come to be crouched beneath his own dining table at 7:00 p.m., waiting for Bram to arrive.

  He’d invited the other man to dinner and a few minutes ago texted that he should let himself in, as Zachary was occupied cooking.

  The knock on the door came, and then it opened.

  “Hello? Zachary, I’m here! Don’t wanna startle you.”

  Zachary grinned. Bram was the one who was about to get startled!

  The tablecloth hung to the floor all the way around the table to hide Zachary from view, so he couldn’t see Bram, but he could hear his footsteps approach.

  “Wow, this looks fancy,” Bram called into the kitchen from right in front of the table. “Can I peek?”

  Of course Zachary couldn’t yell from the kitchen since he was, in fact, under the table, but he was counting on the fact that Bram’s curiosity would compel him to lift the silver dome from the platter in the center of the table.

  And sure enough...

  The silver dome lifted. Zachary’s face was fixed in a rictus, and he bit down on the blood capsules. Blood spewed from his mouth and down his chin in a viscous blerb.

  Zachary had just time enough to see Bram’s handsome face horror-struck, before he screamed and the silver dome went flying. It missed the hanging lamp by centimeters and hit the wall with a ringing sound and the crunch of plaster.

  Bram clutched his chest. He looked genuinely aghast, and Zachary’s stomach fell. Somehow he had let the fact that this idea was thought of by a child convince him it would only be mildly startling, but it was clear that the effect had worked too well for someone as easily scared as Bram.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zachary said.

  More blood poured out of his mouth. It tasted blank and slimy.

  Bram winced.

  Zachary attempted to extricate himself from underneath the table, but his legs had fallen asleep as he knelt there, and he couldn’t quite drag the leaves of the table apart from this angle.

  “Er. Any chance you could pull the table leaf out?”

  Bram seemed to wake up then, and with one yank, Zachary was free. His head, which had been surrounded by a cardboard platter with a cutout for his neck, popped out, dripping blood, and with a groan, Zachary stood.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said again, wiping the blood from his mouth with the doily around his neck. “I didn’t think this would be scary. I meant it to be funny, but I’m such an asshole and I didn’t think how scared you would be. Damn. I’m really sorry.”

  Bram shook his head.

  “I just. Jesus, you really got me.”

  He pressed his palm flat against his chest as if to check his heart still beat beneath all that muscle.

  “I guess I should’ve known it was a prank when I didn’t smell any food, huh? Silly me.”

  And that was when Zachary noticed that Bram wasn’t wearing his usual outfit of worn jeans and a T-shirt (or worn jeans and no shirt at all). He was wearing navy pants and a pale pink short-sleeved button-down shirt that struggled to contain his biceps. He was dressed up. For dinner. With Zachary.

  Only there was no dinner.

  There was just an empty table covered in blood and Zachary in ratty old clothes he used to paint the walls when he moved in. Also covered in blood.

  “Oh,” Zachary said softly.

  “Er. Yeah. You got me,” Bram said. And although he was playing it off with his usual good nature, Zachary thought he could detect a darker emotion beneath that smiley facade.

  Zachary wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and apologize again, but both of his hands were sticky with blood. He felt awful and it was very unlike him. He’d won! The prank had worked perfectly—even better than he’d imagined, and he would certainly be telling Gus every detail—but he derived no satisfaction from it. He wanted to replace the stilted smile on Bram’s face with his real smile. The broad, unselfconscious one that showed his teeth and crinkled the skin around his eyes.

  “Hey, what if we go to Peach’s Diner for dinner? My treat?” Zachary offered.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Good one, ha-ha.” Bram said, as if that too were another prank. But he wasn’t leaving.

  “No, no, I want to. Please.” Bram’s shoulders relaxed and he put his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t mind waiting for me to take a shower and change.”

  “I’d pretty much insist on it,” Bram said. And there was that happy grin.

  * * *

  Peach’s Diner was an institution in Garnet Run, and it was one of the few places that Zachary felt at home outside 666 Casper Road.

  When his family had moved to Garnet Run at the beginning of his junior year of high school, Zachary hadn’t made friends. He hadn’t joined clubs or done after-school activities. After all, why would people like him any more here than they had in Cheyenne?

  Instead, when he couldn’t stand being in his house any longer, when the sound of his mother’s voice on the phone, tracking down what she’d believed were leads, had wormed its way into his head such that he absolutely had to get out of the house now, he’d taken his sketchbook and his iPod, and he’d come to Peach’s Diner.

  He’d order a piece of pie and sit at a booth in the back and draw everything that crowded his mind.

  Sometimes Melba, who was still a waiter there, would slip him a plate of fries or a grilled cheese sandwich. She’d say a customer had sent it back and it’d just go to waste otherwise, so he didn’t need to pay. But even at sixteen, Zachary had seen it for what it was: kindness. An act of kindness for a pitiful boy that no one else was kind to. And he’d loved her for it.

  “My favorite customer!” Melba said as they walked in. “Been a long time, sweetie.”

  “Hey, Melba. How are you?”

  “Can’t complain, can’t complain.”

  It was her standard answer. Though he had known Melba for twelve years, he knew almost as little about her now as he had the first time he’d come in.

  “And who’s this?” she asked, with a twinkle.

  “Bram Larkspur, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

  Melba raised an eyebrow at Zachary, as if to congratulate him on something. Zachary looked at the floor.

  When they were seated and had menus, Melba put a hot tea in front of Zachary without asking.

  “What’s good here?” Bram asked.

  “I don’t really care about food. You should ask Melba.”

  Bram goggled.

  “You don’t...care about it?”

  “No. I mean, it’s a necessary part of staying alive and all that. I’m just not terribly invested in specific foods as opposed to others.”

  Bram raised an eyebrow, but just nodded.

  “What would you recommend?” he asked Melba. “Just has to be vegetarian.”

  Melba’s eyes got wide at that.

  “Well, not the veggie burger,” she said conspiratorially. “Only a few tourists passing through ever order them, so I think we’ve had the same box since about 1997.”

  “Noted. No veggie burger, then.”

  “You know what,” Melba said, sliding the menu from his hand. “I’ll just have Cal cook you up something. No meat,” she repeated, giving him a thumbs-up.

  “Thanks, that’d be great.” Bram’s smile was irresistible, and Melba smiled right back at him.

  “The usual, sweets?”

  “Yeah.” Zachary handed her his menu.

  “What’s the usual?” Bram asked.

  “Whatever Cal feels like giving me.”

  When the food came, Zachary’s was meatloaf with gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, and a biscuit.

  Bram’s was a baked sweet potato with cheesy broccoli and sour cream on top, a bowl of chili with corn bread, and a side of mac and cheese.

  “Wow,” Bram said. “Looks amazing. My thanks to Cal.”

  Melba winked at him, then mouthed to Zachary, I love him.

  “Oh my god,” Zachary muttered, but Bram didn’t seem to notice, too busy tucking into his potato.

  Once they’d eaten for a few minutes, Zachary said, “I just want to apologize again for earlier. I should’ve thought about—”

  Bram waved his apology away.

 

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