Chapter 2

“Just as frustrating.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “It’s the reason I’m late getting here.”

I checked my watch: 11:45.

“I had to stay and close the diner by myself because dickhead Dean Harold watched me from his motorcycle in the parking lot. It pissed me off.”

“I thought nothing happened at work today?”

He shrugged, snubbing my question.

“Why do you still work for him?” I asked.

“He works around my school schedule,” Rocco said, adding, “but tonight he told me that I was keeping him from his friends.”

“He’s got friends?”

“A bike gang called—get this—Skull Riders.”

“Stupid,” I said, shaking my head.

“A bunch of middle aged bald men pick Dean up at the diner every Thursday night and they go biking around town.” He paused, rolling a joint, licking the edges of the paper and folding it closed. “He told me his friends don’t like it when he’s late. They give him a hard time. Dean blamed me tonight.”

“You’ve been at the diner for almost three months now.”

“Four months,” he corrected.

“All you do when we’re together is complain about how awful Dean Harold is.”

“I know. Jesus. I didn’t come here to get a fucking lecture.”

“For your peace of mind, you need to find another job.”

I thought from his steely gaze that he was going to lambast me. “I heard you the first time,” he said.

“Just trying to help.”

“You can help by getting off my back.”

“Fine. I won’t mention your boss again.”

A prickly silence ensued.

“How do you want to be remembered?” Rocco asked a few minutes later.

Hesitation filled the void between us and I turned to him, crestfallen. “Where’s this coming from?”

“How do you want to be remembered?” he asked again, his voice taking on a darker tone, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.

“I see now why you’re still single.”

He reached for the joint and I jerked away, taking a long drawl.

Holding. Holding. Holding.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to answer him. I wanted to be anywhere but here. Somewhere else, away from the pain of the small upstate New York town of Milton, a dead-end journey to nowhere, and the day today theatrics of seeing my Grams dying.

“I want to be remembered as a caring young dude,” I said.

“Boring.” He cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and rang the night with his recycled verbiage.

“How do you want to be remembered?” I asked, handing him the joint, our fingers touching.

“Hands down, the best lay this side of town.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the seriousness of his answer. He fucking meant it. “You’re an idiot.”

“You still love me,” he said. “Don’t deny it. Nobody can resist The Roc.” He flexed his arms, a small ripple of muscles bulging beneath his Imagine Dragons T-shirt.

“Moron.” I snickered.

He laughed at his own mundane stupidity.

“When was the last time you were in a serious relationship?” I asked.

“I have never been in a serious relationship.”

“Exactly,” I said, ripping the joint from his spindly fingers. “You go through girls like Kleenex. It’s disgusting.”

“I would’ve liked it if you compared the chicks I date to their undies.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” I whispered under my breath, taking a hit.

“Dirty girls are reusable,” he said, smirking.

“Tell me again why we’re still friends?”

“You and I are connected like a fucking tumor.”

“You’re malignant and I’m benign.”

The gluey heat of summer clung to the back of my neck. I felt sweat drip from my forehead. I wiped the perspiration off with the back of my hand, squirmed in my T-shirt and shorts and pulled my knees up to mychest.

“Have you ever imagined flying to the moon?” Rocco asked after we finished the last joint.

“I’m afraid of heights.”

“You’d be inside a space shuttle. Protected from the elements.”

I shook my head and dabbed my damp hands on my shorts. “Just thinking about it makes me sweat. I’m afraid of flying.”

“You’re a pussy.”

“At least I own it.”

He sighed. “Whatever happened to your sense of adventure and curiosity? You used to be a really rad dude.”

“What am I now?”

“Dull…as a doornail.”

“My idea of adventure is climbing on a rooftop thirty feet from the ground. I want to know that if I fall there’s going to be a net to catch me.”

“You used to be so inquisitive about everything,” he said. “It’s like you’ve died already.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I think I know when everything changed.”

I waited for him to respond, eyeing him steadfastly.