I mean, before everything happened. Enrique let him spend hours touching all the grooves on the wheels of the tractor that doesnât work but that the city kids climb on to get their pictures taken. But I havenât brought Dylan by in months, and now Jason McGinty wants to talk about it.
âEverythingâs fine,â I say, reaching out my fingers for the joint so he knows I want another hit. Jason is holding in a big swallow of pot and air, and even in the last remaining bits of daylight I can see his face turning just a little red. Finally, he exhales.
âYeah, but isnât it also, like, a little weird? Like, when you think about what might have happened to him while he was with that dude?â
Oh, Jesus, Jason McGinty. Not now.
âYeah, I guess,â I answer. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about this morning when my mother was trying to give Dylan a bath. I think about his high-pitched shrieks and the thud of his feet kicking the sides of the tub and the splashing of water and my mother starting to cry. I think about my dad getting into his truck to go on a job that suddenly, magically appeared out of nowhere.
A swimmy fuzziness starts to come over me, which is good, but my heart is beating fast, which sometimes happens when I smoke. I donât like that part so much.
âAnd Ethan,â Jason keeps going, like Iâm not even there on the fence next to him, like heâs talking to himself, âI still donât get it. The neighbors saw that dude hanging out alone all the time, and he never tried to leave? Or call his parents? That makes zero sense. Shit, even if he liked it there for some weird reason, you would have thought he would have at least called the cops for your brother.â
My heart is pumping so fast I start thinking back to the drug movies they made us watch in Human Growth and Development last year and I wonder whether any of them showed 16-year-old girls dying from pot heart attacks. Pot sometimes makes Jason chatty, and normally I donât mind getting high with him and talking shit about people we know before we start making out. But now Iâm so jittery I slide off the fence and start walking parallel to it, away from Jason toward the back of the property.
âHey, whatâs up?â Jasonâs behind me. For a second I think heâs concerned about me. Then I realize I have the joint in my hands.
âHere,â I say, turning around to give the joint back to him. He scratches under his neck and looks at me, and his eyes look beady and tired all of a sudden in the darkening sky.
âWhatâs going on?â he says, and suddenly his free hand is around the small of my back and heâs tipping his face into mine. He asks me this question in a soft, worried voice. I think heâs sincere, too. But the trouble with Jason McGinty is that he only gets sweet and gentle when heâs high.
âI donât ever want you to talk about my brother again, okay?â I say, and my words are a whisper. They sound like theyâre coming from far away, like theyâre floating down from the black walnut trees above us.
âOkay, fine,â he says, confused. âItâs cool. Iâm sorry. I was just asking if he was okay.â
âOkay,â I answer. âBut seriously. Donât bring him up again. Okay?â
âOkay,â he says, his voice turning even softer, which makes him sound more appealing somehow. âIâm really sorry. I didnât mean to make you mad.â I donât know where the joint is because now both his hands are around me, holding me around my waist. I press a cheek into his chest, which feels like a warm, safe wall I can hide behind. I listen for his heart. Maybe itâs beating slower than mine. Maybe if I listen to his long enough, mine will slow down, too.
But I never do find out if his heart is beating fast or slow because now Jason is kissing my neck and the back of my