It was late Tuesday night when football practice finally ended, and the team retired to the locker room, dragging their feet, but in good spirits.

"Oof," grunted one of them as he lowered himself to the bench between the lockers. "My bones hurt."

"It'll be worth it after Friday's game," said another as he pulled his shirt off and slung it over his shoulder.

"Damn right it will," chimed in another boy further down the row. "Just to see the looks on their faces when we rip 'em to shreds on the field. Ain't that right, Boutan?"

The question was directed at a tall, muscular boy with dark blond hair cut close to the sides of his head and left longer on top, who was sitting in the row across the aisle. He seemed not to hear, and after they called him again, he looked up with distracted eyes. "What?"

"Where you been today?" asked someone else. "It's like your body was here but your mind was on vacation. No offence," the boy added quickly, because though Boutan was only sixteen he was already over six feet and strong enough to pound anyone into the floor.

The teenager looked away. "I've been here."

The others exchanged glances and shook their heads, but left it at that and talked amongst themselves. The boy went about his business silently, and after showering and changing, he was the first one to leave, declining invitations to eat or hang out. The other players watched him go and shook their heads again.

Drew Boutan was the kind of guy that fit a certain type: handsome, athletic, popular, had all the right morals and values for Ulysses, the same Oregon town in which he lived. He was blond haired and blue eyes, with an open smile and always ready with a helping hand, which endeared him to his peers and adults alike. But his light blue eyes had depth and saw more than others thought, and his forehead was wrinkled with more lines that others his age. Things had changed for him in the last three years, and he no longer had the same air of simplicity he once did. He spent more time in his own head than with his friends, and tonight was no different. They didn't get the change, but they also didn't care that much.

Rain had fallen earlier, and the tarmac of the parking lot was wet and glistening, the air thick with the scent of dirt and oil. Making his way out to this car, parked under the harsh white circle of a light post, he put his bag in the trunk and got in the driver's seat, inserted his key, but didn't start the ignition. Instead, he sat for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring out between the water droplets on his windshield to the darkness ahead.

He might have sat that way for a long time, had the doors of the building not opened and his teammates begun trickling out. Running a quick hand across his face, he buckled up, started the car, and pulled out of the lot. He drove in silence, no radio, no music, until he got to the gas station. Pulling up to a pump, he got out of the car and went to pay, but the attendant, sitting on the concrete platform with a paperback in his hand, waved him away.

"It's on me, Boutan," the small, wiry man with a trucker's hat and beard said. "Consider it me doing my part for the game on Sunday. Don't let us down now."

"Thanks. I'll try my best, sir," Drew said, smiling and shaking the old timer's hand.

Leaving the car at the station, Drew crossed the road to the twenty-four hour mart. The small parking lot out front was empty, except for a half dozen or so teenagers, clumped around the guard rail of a space up front, and lit by the lights from the mart. They were all dressed in black, with heavy makeup, silver studs, chains, and zippers on their clothes, some smoking, some drinking out of a brown paper bag. They watched him as he passed by, but he didn't look at them. Ten minutes later he came back out with a paper bag and a small bouquet of flowers. Back in his car, he set the bag and flowers carefully on the passenger seat and pulled out of the station and back onto the road, raising a hand briefly through the window at the attendant.

Once more, he drove in silence. Sometime later he turned off the road, his tires crunching on gravel, and the beams of his headlights swept across wide wrought iron gates, tall and glistening with moisture, and the wire work sign above that read Shady Pines Cemetery. Parking under a large maple tree, he exited with the bag and flowers and made his way to the small metal door set into the gate. It was never locked, except, ironically, on Halloween. Wide lanes spread out before him, with rows of grey headstones and white concrete benches beneath maples, Douglass furs, spruce, and white oak trees stretching into the distance. Lamps lit the lanes with orange glows, leaving the graves in darkness. The grass was well cut, covered in moisture, and the air was redolent with the smell of greenery, dirt, and pine needles.

A brisk November wind cut through his jacket, but he didn't feel it biting into the skin of his face or hands. His mind was elsewhere. He left the lane and stepped onto the grass. It was dark, and he hadn't thought to bring a flashlight, so he tucked the paper bag under his arm, took out his phone and turned on its flashlight. It wasn't bright, but it was enough. Besides, he knew the way by heart. Coming to a white, square slab of marble topped with a cherub, he stopped. The light faintly illuminated the engraving: Mary Louise Boutan, beloved daughter and sister, 2000-2010. In front of the gravestone, in a small painted pot, was a white lily. Drew looked at it for a moment, then looked away.

"Hey, little sister," he said cheerfully, laying his own flowers on the other side of the lily. "Sorry I'm late, I had practice. Didn't think I'd forget, did you?" He gave a quiet laugh. "No way, not your birthday. I got you something." Turning off the flashlight on the phone, he put it back in his jacket pocket, then reached into the paper bag and pulled out a plastic container with a slice of red velvet cake, cream cheese frosting and chocolate sprinkles. "Tah-dah!" he said. "It's your favorite, right? I remember. Here, we'll share it."

Sitting down on the damp grass, he opened the plastic container and began to eat with a plastic fork. "Mmm, it's good," he said. "Better than last year." He ate another bite. "Maybe the best we ever had, don't you think?" He laughed. "Yeah, I know I say that every year." Another bite. "Next year, let's get rainbow sprinkles. No, I didn't forget the sodas. But I'm in training and you know you can't sleep if you have sugar after nine."

He ate well, making sounds and saying how good it was. When he was done, he set aside the debris and pulled his knees up, hooking his arms around them and crossing his ankles on the grass.

"I miss you, sis."

A sniffle.

"Are you lonely?" he asked. "I am."

He took a deep breath.

"God, I miss you," he said in a broken whisper.

Head bowed in the darkness in front of the grave, his shoulders began to shake.

**

David entered the mart close to ten o' clock. Going to the refrigerated section in the back, he took a bottle of water and a package of string cheese and made his way back up front to the register. The cashier, an older middle eastern man, yawned as he rung him up.

"That'll be two twenty-five," the man said.

David reached into his pants for his wallet but found the pocket empty. He reached into another and found it the same. His wallet wasn't in his hoodie, either. The cashier stared at him, suddenly very alert. David glanced up at him, at the suspicious, belligerent look, and took a step back.

"Sorry, I don't think I'll be buying—" he began.

"I got it," said a voice from behind.

David looked to his right in time to see Drew Boutan walk up and stop beside him. The other teenager flipped open a wallet, took out a few bills and dropped them on the counter.

"You don't have to," said David.

"And I didn't," Drew said. He tossed David the wallet. "It's yours."

David pulled back and caught the leather between his hands. Looking at it, he said, "Oh. Thanks."

"I found it in the grass," Drew said. "Next to...a flower."

David looked at him and their gazes met for a brief second. Then Drew lowered his eyes and moved away, picking up a medium bag of chips and a water and coming back to drop them on the counter. The cashier rang him up and Drew paid as David went outside.

When Drew came out, David was with the group from earlier. He walked past them and went to his car, parked in the spot furthest away. Placing the bottle of water on the hood, he leaned on the car, back to the mart, pulled open the small bag of chips and began to eat, crunching loudly with every bite. A few moments later another presence joined him, leaning lightly on the hood and chewing on his noiseless food. Neither of them said a word. A breeze, cold and biting, blew across the lot, ruffling their hair, cutting through Drew's jacket and David's black hoodie. They didn't look at each other but stared out into the road.

"Got a cigarette?" Drew asked, rooting around the bag for any stray chip.

"No," David said.

"Can you get one?"

"No."

Drew exhaled forcefully through his nose. "Can't, or won't?"

"I won't." A pause. "Not for you."

Drew's hand paused, then continued its search. "Didn't know you cared," he said over the crinkling of plastic.

"I don't."

Drew believed that. "When did you go visit her?" he asked, licking the salt from his fingers.

David pulled up his hood against the cold. "This afternoon."

"And you didn't notice your wallet was missing?"

"No."

"Didn't you have to buy anything? Dinner?"

"I was treated."

Drew gave a forced exhale of breath. A few moments of silence passed. "Was there anything from my parents?"

David looked down. "No."

A mirthless laugh. "So, you went to visit her, but my mother and father didn't. That's...great." He crumpled the chip bag into a ball and rose his right arm to toss it into a nearby trash can, but almost immediately gave a hiss of pain and quickly pulled it back towards his body, the crumpled bag falling from his hand onto the ground at his feet.

"Are you—" David reached for him, but Drew pulled away.

"I'm fine," Drew said. Bending, he picked up the bag with his left hand. "I gotta go."

David stepped back silently as Drew got into his car, slamming the door behind him. He stood and watched as Drew drove out of the lot, turning wide and onto the road, then disappearing in the distance with a screech of tires.