My Favorite Everything

Chapter Nine

Denise Harris rose to answer the knock at her front door around seven o'clock. The last time she cared to check, her son was upstairs in his room. As she turned the knob, an arrogant, familiar face nervously smiled at her. Denise nearly rolled her eyes, becoming annoyingly accustomed to the boy's constant presence.

    "Hi, Miss Harris. Frankie invited me to spend the night tonight... is that okay?"

    She raised an eyebrow, watching how Wilder uncomfortably shifted his weight as his backpack slung over one broad shoulder. "I don't see an issue unless you're planning on getting my son into anything illegal," she huffed.

    "Not to be rude, Miss Harris, but have I ever made him do something like that?"

Denise crossed her arms resentfully. Ignoring his logical question, she pursed her lips. "How are your parents doing, hm?"

Recognizing her petty tone, Wilder pressed his lips together. "Just fantastic. Am I allowed to come in?"

Right as he finished asking, the thud of footsteps cascading down a staircase caught his attention. Frankie pushed his thin frame in front of his mother as politely as possible.

"Hey, wanna head to my room?" he offered, shooting a side-eye at his now uninterested mother, who stood picking at her grey nail polish. Wilder nodded, making his way inside and up the stairs as Denise padded into her room. Once the boys were alone, Wilder set his backpack down as Frankie closed the door behind him.

"Everything okay with my mom down there? You looked pretty pissed off."

"Oh, yeah. Why does she think I'm such a bad person? You're not telling her shit, are you?" Wilder prodded, the panic rising in his tone. Frankie pushed the glasses up the rim of his nose as he rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, Wiley, what kind of guy do you think I am? And why do you care, anyway? She's a bitch to everyone, even me- when she decides to act as I exist, that is."

Frankie noticed that Wilder did not berate him for using the nickname he usually despised. Instead, he slumped onto the boy's perfectly made bed, his face contorted in an agitated stupor. Resting his elbow onto his knee, Wilder propped his head up by his palm. Staring up at Frankie, a part of him became slightly less reserved as he spoke.

"Do you think I'm, I dunno, like, a bad person?"

Frankie moved to sit beside him, patting him on the shoulder. "Would a bad person join the Environmental Club?" he teased.

Wilder swatted at him in exasperation. "That doesn't even make any sense!" he protested.

Frankie chuckled as he softened his tone, acknowledging that Wilder most likely needed reassurance. "I know, I know, I'm just messing with you. You're great, come on," he nudged him.

"Okay, but, sometimes I do bad things."

Frankie decided to take Wilder's statement as an opportunity to potentially uncover the true cause of his unhappiness. He was tired of being the person that was out of the loop, especially when it came to the charming, sarcastic boy with idiotic tendencies that sat in front of him. He noticed that when Wilder was not busy pushing people away with his insulting behavior, he would randomly reach a state of vulnerability that was upsetting to encounter.

"What kinds of things are you talking about?" he asked as Wilder stared down at his feet.

"Well, like, drugs- only sometimes. And drinking. Being a dick to everyone. Not giving a shit about school. Being a dick to you. Egging someone's house sophomore year. Stuff like that," he listed, his stomach twisting into knots.