Argyle joins them for dinner. It’s just macaroni and cheese from a box, but he and Jonathan devour it like it’s been hand crafted by a Michelin star chef. Will knows it’s the weed, but Joyce is none the wiser. He doesn’t like that his mom is naive about this, but at the same time, he kind of wants her to stay in the dark forever. He hates it when she gets upset, and Jonathan smoking pot is bound to bother her.
“So, my friend wants to know if I can go over to his house and watch a movie tomorrow?” Will says. It comes out lilting like a question, even though he doesn’t mean it to.
“You made a friend?” Joyce asks, shining with the bright, proud happiness that only a mother can possess.
“Way to go man!” Argyle praises from across the table.
Jonathan stays questionably quiet, eyes small, red, and glassy, fully absorbed in his macaroni.
“Who is this friend?” El asks, and Will can’t tell if she’s suspicious or teasing.
“His name’s Boris. He’s new.”
“Well, will his parents be there?” questions Joyce.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we should have him over here first. Just so I can meet him.”
She’s two seconds away from going into full mothering mode, which Will understands, and loves, but also hates, because he’s almost fifteen, and Lenora isn’t Hawkins. He just wants to be able to have fun sometimes like everybody else seems to get to.
Will’s shoulders sag.
“Mom, c’mon,” he sighs. “He just moved here too. He only lives with his dad. He moves around a lot. We’re just gonna watch a movie. He lives right by the school, and I’ll be home before dark.”
She gives him a soft smile, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair.
“Jonathan, can you boys pick up Will after his movie?”
“What?” at his name Jonathan is shaken from his stupor. “Will’s going to the movies?”
“Nah, he’s going to someone’s house tomorrow,” Argyle says.
“Who’s house?”
“Boris!” Will groans, frustrated.
Joyce’s face is scrunched up in a mixture of confusion and concern, but she doesn’t say anything just yet.
“Oh, right. Right.”
“He’s Will’s new friend,” El chimes in.
“That’s good! It’s good to make friends.”
“So, can you guys pick me up tomorrow?” Will asks.
“Yeah, sure!” Argyle agrees.
The next morning, for no reason at all, Will frets. He showers for five minutes longer than usual, spends extra time messing with his hair, and takes care in picking out his clothes. (He decides he hates all of them.) He keeps telling himself it’s just a movie. A movie with a friend. But that doesn’t seem to help in calming himself down.
A part of him is hoping that Boris will cancel. The rest of him thinks that he’ll die if that happens.
By the time he gets to school with El, he’s worked himself up into such an anxious mess that Boris’s shout of “William!” when he’s by his locker literally makes him jump in surprise.
“Apologies,” Boris speaks. “Didn’t mean to frighten.”
Today, Boris looks good. Or at least, as good as Will’s ever seen him. Freshly showered, hair tumbling in clean curls around his angular face. He looks semi-well rested rather than an inch from death, and his clothes don’t look slept in. He’s wearing even more bracelets than he was yesterday. Some are made of string, some look like stretched out hair ties, more are made of dark leather.
