Robby’s face crumpled, and for a split second, Calder feared the boy might start crying again. “Jesus, Barbie, stop helping. Also, for the love of God, never volunteer for a suicide hotline.”
Charlie scoffed. “Like I’d ever make that mistake again. Laugh at one clown…”
Calder stared at her for far too long, unable to tell if she was joking but fearing she wasn’t. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“Can I borrow your tv?” Charlie asked, already flipping it on and linking it to her phone without waiting for Calder’s permission. “Wi-fi password?”
Calder handed it over, feeling at that point like resistance was futile. This was his life now. Overrun and bossed around by two twinks and a scary brunette with no filter. As soon as she connected, she plopped herself onto the floor, folding her jean-clad legs beneath her and staring at Calder expectantly. He went and sat back in his seat, his weight displacing Robby so he shifted towards him. Before he could scoot to give the boy his space, Cas crawled down from the top of the sofa to curl up in Calder’s lap and go back to sleep. All three of them stared at him as if he’d performed some kind of magic trick.
“Are we gonna do this or what?”
Charlie nodded. A picture popped up on the screen. Robby stood with a group of dude-bros in polo shirts and backward ball caps. Shots of tequila lined up before them. The hashtag said Boardwalk 11.
“Do you know these guys?” Wyatt asked, threading his fingers through Robby’s and squeezing.
Robby nodded. “Yeah, the guy in the pink polo is Marco. He’s my dogwalker.”
“You went day-drinking with your dog walker? I’m so impressed,” Charlie said. “I know you’re sad but heartbroken Robby is definitely more fun than fake boyfriend Robby. I stand by this. So, we know at five thirty you were doing tequila shots with a bunch of frat boys because they all tagged you in several pics. You must have stayed there until at least eight o’clock.”
“Because that’s when open mic night starts…and that’s when you started performing.”
Charlie keyed up another video, and all the color drained from Robby’s face. “Please, tell me you’re joking.”
“Oh, buttercup. I wish I could. Brace yourself.”
Robby stared in horror at Calder’s television. It was like a car accident. He didn’t want to look but he couldn’t look away. Why did they have to have a video of this? Robby couldn’t sing. He sounded like somebody was trying to strangle a duck. As soon as Charlie hit the play button and the music swelled, Robby’s fear of carrying a tune faded and a new terror gripped him as the music to Eminem’sRap Godswelled. “Oh, please. No,” he whispered.
“Oh, yes,” Charlie confirmed, gleeful.
For the next two minutes, Robby could only sit frozen, staring as he stalked across the stage, arms swinging as he attempted to spit the lyrics to one of the fastest songs in existence, spurred on by the crowd who screamed for him like he was actually Eminem and not a kid who ironed his jeans. Maybe they just hadn’t expected a kid in khaki pants and a button down shirt to know anything about rap, or maybe they were as drunk as he clearly was and couldn’t hear him butchering the song. Either way, it now existed on the internet forever.
“I think we get the point,” Robby muttered.
“Shh, this is my favorite part,” Charlie said, waving her hand at him.
Robby’s face was on fire as he watched himself lift the mic in the air and drop it before stalking off the stage. The crowd went wild. “Please, tell me that was the most humiliating thing I did that night.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Sorry, sweetie, but this doesn’t even make the top five.”
Robby could feel his organs shriveling within him. “Can you guys just watch the rest of this without me?”
Charlie chuckled. “What kind of fun would that be? Besides, for a kid raised in a cult, you kinda nailed it.”
“It’s true. You were amazing, really,” Wyatt confirmed.
Calder said nothing, his expression uncharacteristically stony. Robby buried his face behind Calder’s shoulder as Charlie pulled up the next video. He forced himself to lift his head and look at the screen when he felt Calder tense beneath him.
Wyatt snickered at the picture on the screen, but Robby’s brows knitted together. A guy in a realistic Spiderman costume hung from a street sign. Robby had unrolled his mask so only his lower face was visible and it appeared they were seconds away from re-enacting the famous kiss from the movie.
Robby cut his eyes to Calder who sat with his jaw clenched tight. Was he…was he jealous? Embarrassed? Robby didn’t remember anything, but he prayed he hadn’t kissed another stranger. He didn’t want to kiss anybody else, just Calder. Except, maybe now Calder didn’t want to kiss him anymore. That thought cut like a knife through his rib cage.
“Am I at the Walk of Fame?” he asked, if only to distract himself from the idea that Calder was angry with him.
“Yup,” Charlie confirmed.
“What the hell am I doing there?” he wondered out loud.
“Making friends,” Wyatt said, pointing to the screen.
