dysphoria is a roadblock on a route riddled with endless repairs, and I’m not sure Arthur would understand how to navigate all the signs and detours, but I keep that part to myself and nod instead. I sigh.
On the drive to my house, Arthur and I discuss school—his graduating, my upcoming junior year. He graduated two weeks ago. I know this because I follow him on Instagram, and every single picture he posted that day had a different girl in it. I suddenly feel guilty and think about how he attended my high school graduation with a smile. But I’ve always been kind of petty, I guess, and I just couldn’t bring myself to see him, not when I’m a mess, a crippling mass of confusion and heat.
“Well,” he says, reeling me back into the conversation. “At least that’s over. I’m just glad that I don’t have to take any more stupid tests for a while. You know what I mean?”
I nod, and watch him drive up the hill that I’ve called home for nearly twelve years now. “Yeah, I feel that,” I say. “College is nothing but tests and papers. It can be really shitty sometimes. But hey,” I reply, suddenly remembering, “Gwen tells me that you have your own place now. Look at you being an adult and everything, mister construction worker.”
Arthur laughs and places an arm across my chest while the truck takes a sharp left turn. I briefly consider leaning into his arm, but think better of it. I don’t want him to think I’m a weirdo.
“Okay,” he says, both hands now on the steering wheel. “It’s a goddamn trailer. We ain’t talkin’ about no palace here. Sturgill’s Mobile Homes, you know, by that used tire store? And construction sure beats the hell out of unpaid volunteer work. At least I’m getting good money outta this.”
While Arthur talks about his new job, I watch his lips move, how he bites on the inside of his cheek, how he licks his lips twice, how his bottom lip trembles every time he says my name. Watching him speak never gets old.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, finally. “Gwen mentioned a bonfire tonight, and something about a seance, maybe? I’m not sure I’m really ready for that. You know how people get at these things, especially when they’re drinking. They take Ouija boards way too fuckin’ seriously, and fights always break out because someone gets freaked out.”
Arthur slumps slightly and makes a noise. “Pretty please,” he says. “With sugar on top? I haven’t seen you in forever. Don’t you want to hang out with me? Didn’t you miss me at all?”
Other than Gwen, Arthur is the only person in Avalon I care about, and it’s been that way for the past five years, but any time he gets brought up, or the status of our friendship gets brought up, I choke and have a difficult time verbalizing a response.
“I did miss you,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry. “But you know how I feel about her bonfires. The music is always terrible and loud, and you can’t hear anyone talk. Everyone’s drunk and being obnoxious, touching you and stuff.”
“I’ll stand real close to you so that you can hear me, and we can hang out on the porch if it gets to be too much. I won’t let anyone lay a finger on you. Or we can check it out and leave if things get dumb. Please, Lance.”
I love this man, and I have been in love with him since my junior year of high school. The perpetual sincerity in his voice shakes my steel core every time.
“All right,” I say, caving in without putting up much of a fight. “But I swear, if someone calls me Linda, I’m out of there immediately. Do you hear me?”
“We don’t have to stay the entire time if you don’t want. I just want to hang out with you.”
Against my better judgment, I agree to let him shower and change clothes before heading to the bonfire, but now that we’re here in the trailer park, I’m not so sure it was a good idea.
Arthur pulls into the gravel driveway of a small mobile home, then hops out of his truck and hastily opens my door. His excitement is a little jarring, honestly, because I am not used to bright, bubbly personalities, not after having been away at college for the past year. I’m used to keeping my eyes glued to the sidewalk and walking