“Seriously, man, I can’t until I get my license next month,” Pete says.
I drive down the familiar roads for the next few miles before pulling off into a clearing in a wooded area attached to a cul-de-sac within the Oakwood Development. Half of the kids in our school live in these houses, including myself. The other half live within the town borders but in farmhouses with more land and fewer opportunities to see other kids hanging out on the street. Pete has no neighbors within a two-mile radius, and he’s an only child.
“No one’s here. That’s a first,” I say as I step out of the car.
“Eh, it’s four on a Tuesday, and it’s cold,” Pete says.
“True.” I follow Pete down the man-made dirt path, both of us quiet until we make it to the small dam and eight-foot long bridge. I’ve always wondered why there’s a bridge here without a legitimate path leading up to the spot. Whatever the case is, the bridge allows us a shortcut to Razor’s Edge. This place is so well hidden, you need coordinates by measuring steps to find the sliver of an opening within the thick brush. I’ve memorized which trees to look for and could find my way there blindfolded, but only because I’ve been here so many times over the last few years—a benefit to knowing the older kids on the football and lacrosse teams.
“I’m going up today,” he says.
“Up, up? Like to go for a swim?”
Pete twists his head for a glance over his shoulder. “Dickhead.”
I might be the only one who knows about Pete’s intense fear of swimming, but it doesn’t mean I can’t poke him about it. “Just asking,” I jest.
Climbing up three steps to sit and talk isn’t at the top of my list of fun things to do, but people do it all the time for the view, privacy, and quiet. No one can sneak up on you when you’re up in a wooden tower forty feet above ground. It was a watchtower back in the day. But I don’t think any person of power has given this place a second thought over the last fifty years, at least not by the looks of the rotting wood.
“Ah, just a few more weeks until it will be warm enough to take a dip,” I say, dropping my legs over the ledge of the wooden plank. Miles of lake water unravel before us. Only on clear days is it possible to see where the water meets the base of the mountains. Otherwise, the fog settles in and visibility isn’t great.
“Yeah, have fun with that,” Pete says, glancing up at the rope tied to a beam within the roof of the tower.
Pete sits down beside me and pulls his knees into his chest rather than dropping off the side like me. He takes his ragged Boston Red Sox cap off and shuffles his hands through his hair before replacing the hat. “My parents are filing for bankruptcy,” he says.
I’ve heard the word before, but I’m not entirely sure what it means. “Does that mean you can’t pay bills or something?” I ask.
“They’re in debt up to their eyeballs, or so they say. They had to borrow money to pay for lacrosse. I told them I would get a job at the grocery store or something, but they said it wouldn’t be enough and I don’t have the time, anyway.”
I try to digest his words, but I’m confused why even a little financial help wouldn’t be something. I think it’s great he’s offering to help. Why wouldn’t they let him? “Yeah, but—”
“I fought with my dad for two hours about it last night. He told me I can’t get a job because of the bankruptcy thing. I don’t understand all of it.”
I’m not knowledgeable enough about it either. That sounds off, though. “Man, this sucks,” I offer.
“My dad’s drinking again and my mom’s been threatening to leave him for the past month. In any case, I can’t stand living in that house anymore. It’s like a war zone that never sleeps.”
His words seem to melt together as if he’s stuck on his thought, and when I look over, he’s staring out into the water. “Can I do anything? You can stay at my house. My parents are always cool with you staying over.”
“For a night, yeah, not permanently,” Pete says.
“We have a year of school left, then you’ll be able to make your own plans, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, despondently.
“Why is your dad wasting money on booze when you’re so tight on cash?” I can already guess there isn’t a logical answer.
“Booze outweighs the wellbeing of his family. I think I can assume why he’s drinking again. I have a feeling my mom’s been seeing some dude after work. They’ve said some weird things when they argue. Neither of them will tell me a damn thing, but whatever is going on, it doesn’t sound good.”
That’s a lot of shit all at once. “I’m really sorry, man. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thanks, I just needed to tell someone, and I hope no one else finds out.”
“I won’t say a word.”
Pete looks over at me, a dark look swimming through his eyes. “It means a lot that I can trust you, bro. Thanks for hearing me out.”
Silences fills the space between us for several minutes before I remember I’m supposed to go to some stupid party with my parents tonight. I glance down at my watch, seeing I have about an hour to get home before I get my ass handed to me for taking the car without asking, especially since this isn’t an actual emergency like I thought. “I have to go to some party or whatever at The Bourbon House tonight with my parents. Do you want to tag along, get out of the house for a bit?”
