In the middle of Des Plaines Illinois three boys find themselves in a tangled knot of angsty lust and amateur love.
Evan Webster has an average American life. When he isn't at swim practice or the movie theater, he's trying to make time to study bi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Danny's palms were so sweaty that his hands kept slipping while he turned a wrench. He was crouched over the hood of his car, laboriously jerking at a corroded radiator cap. The rust had festered too long for his clammy hands to be an adequate rig of motion, so he gave up and tossed the wrench aside. He let out an uneven sigh and used the hem of his shirt as a hand rag.
The February night air had kissed Danny's cheeks, leaving behind the familiar coldness of mid-winter. His hands, however, continued to perspire as if it was the start of August. They had been pooling with worries ever since he had left his house early in the morning. The day went on and he opened the auto shop, changed a few tires, counted some cash, checked a couple transmissions, but his mind kept wandering.
Working on cars usually eased Danny's mind, but today he could only think about one thing—the little metallic square in his back pocket. It was burning a hole so deep into Danny's backside that he imagined inverting his own body and plunging straight through the gates of Hell.
If Danny's heart was an ancient coliseum—ridden with blood, strife, and Roman tradition—it would be hosting a duel for two gladiators named Lust and Chastity. On the sidelines, guilt-hungry lions would bask in the abundance of provisions, turning to gluttons as the audience bolstered the lively arena with screams of doubts and shouts of nerves. The rhythm of their harrowing voices would replace Danny's pulse as he tried to deter his pores from exposing his internal torment.
This personification of uncertainty seemed to be true as Danny ran his hands through his hair in distress. He tried to steady his breathing again, but his diaphragm was as shaky as his hands.
He had grabbed the condom from the back of his cousin's wallet. It was wedged between a Dairy Queen gift card and a bible verse, which made him feel even worse. He then took a jar of Vaseline from his mom's makeup drawer and hid it in the seat console of his car. He didn't know what Evan had planned for tonight, but he wanted to be prepared for anything.
To distract himself from his vexing anticipation, Danny turned his attention to the source of his headlights. He flipped them on and off, and then hunched over the hood again to see if there was a way to brighten the bulbs. The cross on his neck idly dangled above the dormant engine. Not even a minute had passed before he heard the granulated sound of plastic rumbling over cracked concrete. He twisted his neck to see Jackson rolling over pockets of ice and rock, stopping at the mouth of the open garage.
