There’s one table, and it’s empty. But that’s because the dumpsters are a few feet away. And they stink.
“There’s places over there thataren’tnear the dumpster,” I say.
“Yeah, but this side is quieter. Breathe through your mouth.” When they call out Easton’s name, he goes and grabs the ice cream, then sits across from me.
Finally he changes the subject, telling me about school and how he did on his finals—aced every class. He also asks about my therapy because he’s interested in possibly going into psychology.
“I’m fascinated by how our brains work,” he says. “Like, do you know what theDSMis?”
I shake my head, trying to enjoy the ice cream without breathing in the garbage smell. The shift from him scolding me about the podcast to talking about school is sudden and a little awkward. But maybe it’s how Easton wants to say he’s ready to move on.
“Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.Basically every mental disorder is listed in there. It wasn’t even published as theDSMuntil the fifties, and even then it was antiquated. Like they said homosexuality was a sociopathic tendency. And then they didn’t take it out until the seventies.”
I almost choke on my ice cream.
“You good?”
“Brain freeze,” I lie, trying to play it off. Is he sharing trivia or is he purposely telling me about the history of gay psychology?
He gives me a second before continuing. “It’s wild to me because this manual—which everyone is supposed to refer to for diagnostic support—is from studies of people who have already been diagnosed.Which, what if someone’s diagnosis is wrong? We don’t actuallyknowwhat’s going on in someone’s head or why people are the way they are; we’re guessing based on the knowledge we have. Like they used to give women hysterectomies as a treatment for hysteria. And then decades later they’re like, ‘Oops, our bad, we shouldn’t have done that.’”
Easton’s ice cream cone is melting; he’s barely even touched it.
“So are you thinking you want to go into psychology because you want to figure out how brains work?”
He shakes his head. “I know how they work. I think it’s interesting that people will go talk to someone else about their problems instead of fixing them themselves.”
Oh. “Therapyispeople fixing themselves. You talk to your therapist about your issues and they give you tools to help figure them out when you’re on your own.” I’ve actually enjoyed talking to Dr. Zapata. Sure, it’s only been a couple sessions. But it’s still nice to talk to someone.
“But what if they give you the wrong tool? Or diagnosis? And I don’t mean by mistake; I mean, what if they choose to make you worse?”
“Why would they want to do that?”
He stares at me for a second, then shrugs. “To rip you off and overcharge your insurance company, I guess?” He licks his ice cream to keep it from melting onto his hands and stares off at the dumpster.
“Well, that’s not my therapist,” I say.
“Sure.” He takes out his phone and checks it. “Want to hang out with me and JT tonight?”
“Because this has been a blast. I can walk home from here if you want to go.”
He sighs.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick tonight. I’m...” He shrugs.
“Feeling some trauma from when I disappeared?”
Easton laughs and the energy between us shifts. “Yeah, that’s it. Come hang out with me and JT. You need a night out of the house anyway.”
He doesn’t know I was at Miles’s house last night, so it would really be two nights in a row out of the house. And if all goes to plan, I should be home free tomorrow afternoon. Well, as home free as a homeless imposter can be. Plus, Easton is clearly trying to make up for being a dick. “Okay.”
“Well, we’re late, so let’s go.” He gets up and throws away his ice cream cone without even having eaten much of it. I take another spoonful of mine before throwing it away.
He stops me as we get to the car. “Listen. Valencia is going to be tracking your phone, and I don’t want her freaking out and calling us home right away. Where we’re going, she’ll think I’m getting you high or something. Do you trust me?”
“You want me to turn off my phone?”
“No, because then she’ll worry about the tracking being off. Put it on do not disturb and hand it over.”
