I don't understand why he'd want to work with lunatics like us. But I understand that he wants to help. I nestle closer.
"There's a program," he continues, and now his voice is excited. "At the state university. Griff wrote a recommendation for me already. If I keep my record clean…" He stops. "Well. Cleaner than it's been lately."
"Your record is spotless except for me," I say.
"Exactly. You're a full-time job, Marsal."
His arm tightens around my waist, just slightly. I giggle.
From across the room, Jack lowers his comic book, and he props himself up on one elbow.
"You two are the worst at whispering, you know that?" Jack says, but he's grinning. "I can hear every word."
"Eavesdropper," I accuse, though I don't actually mind.
"Hard not to eavesdrop when you're three feet away," Jack says. He adjusts his position, one arm behind his head, staring at the underside of the bunk above him. "Since we're doing this, my older sister's got a tattoo shop. Back home in Georgia. She said when I get out, she'll take me on as an apprentice."
"You'd be good at that, you can draw really well," Ethan says, and he means it.
"No more drugs either," he says. "I learned my lesson. Three years clean, and I'm staying that way. Just me and the ink and normal-people adult problems, like taxes and shit."
“It fits you,” I say, and he beams. It fits him so well, I feel a pang of something that might be envy. I don’t think anything fits me. No pun intended.
"What about you, Miles?" Jack asks, touching the undersideof the bunk above with his foot.
For a long moment, I think Miles won't answer.
Then, flat and quiet. "Research. Microbiology."
Jack waits for more. Nothing comes. That's Miles.
"Like... in a lab?" I ask because I can't help myself.
"Yes." He says, and doesn't say anything else. We wait, but nothing comes. But we're used to it.
"You'd be amazing at that," I say. He doesn't answer. He knows he'd be amazing.
"Alright, Liam." Jack turns his attention back to our bed, and I feel Ethan's arm flex slightly around me, protective and unconscious. "Your turn. What's the master plan?"
My stomach drops. I've been dreading this, knew it was coming the second I opened my stupid mouth and started this whole conversation. Why is that the case with me, always? I do things that will fuck me up, even if it's a simple question. Because the truth is ugly and simple: I've never had a plan. Not once. Future planning requires the belief that you'll have a future. I was planning to be dead by now.
"I don't…" I stop. Start again. "I never really thought about it before. Before here, I mean."
Ethan's fingers resume their movement on my arm, steady and patient, not pushing.
"Survival was kind of the whole game," I continue. "Wake up, don't die, find food, don't vomit said food."
The room is quiet, but they aren't judging, and they aren't pitying me either. They understand, because we're all in the same fucked up sinking boat.
“Aren't you like, eighteen?” Jack asks. I nod, humming a confirmation. “You're a baby. Relax. That's when we start to figure out life.”
“Aren'tyoulike twenty-two?” I snort. “You sound like Griff, a fifty-year-old.”
“Twenty-three!” he exclaims. “I'm the oldest here. Ethan's twenty-two, so you all should listento meand not him.” I knew that. Ethan had told me when he explained that we usually have kids here until they turned twenty-eight, twenty-nine. After that, wehaveto get a life.
“Mmm, sure, bro,” he says, and I chuckle. “Go on, Liam,” he tells me, seeing I still have stuff to say.
"But now..." I say. "I don't know. It's weird. Being here, with the routine, and the schedule, and knowing where I'm going to sleep every night and that there'll be food in the morning, even if it's disgusting food, it's like my brain finally has bandwidth for other thoughts." I laugh, but it comes out thin and strange. "Not carpentry, though. I suck at that. And… I like having you guys with me. I… I…" I hesitate, not being able to say what I want to say.
