The Burning of Evan Deroucy

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In the summer, there are three constant truths in the town of Jay Hill, Arkansas:

Adam Deroucy is drunk.

It's two hours from raining.

The Jay Hill Crew are in trouble.

"Listen." Paige Hazard paces up and down the side of the highway on-ramp. The boys are sitting in front of her, listening attentively to the new plan. The last one—some friendly graffiti, just a little bit of neighborhood destruction—went awry when one of the local boys in blue rolled up in his pickup truck to see who was vandalizing the abandoned barn on the Willis property.

You four, he sighed, and he told them to go make trouble elsewhere. Maybe get a job. Maybe find something to do that didn't involve someone else's property value. He shook Sharpe's hand, clapped Rafa on the shoulder, nodded to Evan and Paige and said that maybe they should just stay in for the rest of the day. Play some board games or something. Do normal teenager stuff.

Rafael Medina, smiling as always, sits on the concrete railing on the side of the ramp. He kicks his heels against the stone and says, "Listening."

Evan feels small surrounded by the rest of the crew. He sits on the ground next to Sharpe and folds up as compact as he can. His shoulders are a little too wide for him to curl up well. His knees don't quite fold flat to his chest. His heart is still beating too fast after speaking with the officer earlier, even as he knows that he could never get in trouble.

The Jay Hill Crew can never get in trouble, but Evan Deroucy is especially sacred. After all, no one wants to risk his father's temper. Evan has only seen his dad truly angry a few times, and that's not an experience he'd like to repeat. There's something terrifying about a drunk tearing down the road in a busted pickup, tires screeching as he squeals to a stop. It's worse when he's six-foot-four, built like a bull, and can pull fire from the air as easily as he can put it out.

No one in Jay Hill wants to get Adam Deroucy angry. Thaumaturges are frightening enough when they're sober and happy.

Paige kicks a rock, and it skitters away down the ramp. "So I'm thinking—"

"Dangerous." Sharpe is quicker than the switchblade in his boot.

"Fuck off." She rolls her eyes and looks to Rafa and Evan in turn, eyebrow raised, waiting for them to say something.

Rafa leans down and taps Evan's shoulder with his fist. "Better call your dad. I smell something burning."

Paige's laugh is a loud snort that rips through her chest. It gets her teased in school, but only when Sharpe isn't looking. "I am capable of coherent thought, thanks."

"Really?" Rafa scratches his nails over the concrete of the barrier. It makes an unpleasant grating sound that runs down Evan's spine like a shiver of ice. "I thought all girls were, like, unicellular organisms."

Sharpe puts his phone down on the ground between his legs and Evan's. "That's amoebas, Rafa. You're thinking of amoebas."

Evan lets his head hit the concrete of the barricade. Days like today, he's just happy to be here. It's nice to exist somewhere without the threat of the world collapsing on his head. He doesn't want this day to end.

He doesn't want to go home.

He doesn't want to go home at all.

"Anyway," Paige says, and her authoritative tone is enough to make the boys stop. She folds her arm over her chest and grins down at them. "Let's get in trouble."

• • •

It's half-past dark by the time Evan slips through the squeaky screen door into his dad's house. He closes it carefully, gently, afraid to even make a sound. The place smells like beer and tobacco smoke, and a little bit like wood smoke, too. It smells like home and like a place he wants to avoid all at the same time.