For the very first time in his life, Will is actually slightly embarrassed of Jonathan. Not of his brother as a person—he loves his brother as a person—but as Argyle’s van rolls into the parking lot, big and yellow and reeking of weed, Will wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Normally, he doesn’t care what people think, especially anyone here at a Lenora, but this is Boris, and Will is constantly struck with the urge to impress him. And after a hard day he doesn’t think this first impression is quite the kind of impressive he’s going for.
Before the doors even open, Boris immediately knows what’s up, eyebrows arching into something sly as he side-eyes Will, an excited sort of smile spreading on his face. He’s never met anyone who had a face that could express so many different things at once.
Then, El opens the door, and they’re piling in.
“Boris, Jonathan and Argyle. Jonathan and Argyle, Boris,” Will introduces.
“Hey,” Jonathan starts to greet before Argyle booms over him:
“Hey, man, what happened to your eye?”
Boris gives a well-rehearsed laugh, a small slip of a thing that sounds nothing like the eruption of his real one.
“This is nothing. Just accident! Playing football near home and got hit in the eye! Such concern from American teachers though. Is good thing!”
There’s plenty of room for all of them, but Boris still chooses to sit close to Will, close enough for their knees to knock together as they speed around corners and make winding turns.
“Sucks, man. It’s easy to get hit in the eye. Happened to me once in fifth grade gym class,” Argyle says. He’s driving way too fast, causing Boris to slide and bump into Will way more often then necessary.
“Didn’t you get hit in the eye because somebody like…punched you?” Jonathan asks.
“Yeah, so? It still happens. Kids are mean, man!”
“I thought you hit him first.”
“I didn’t hit him first, you’re getting your stories confused.”
Will tunes out their conversation, knowing they’ll never make it back to them by the time they get home, when Boris leans in.
“You never told me your brother gets high,” he whispers.
Will shrugs.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“William, of course it matters. Means he knows where to get it. Have you never tried?”
Something races down Will’s spine, something he can’t quite identify. Not quite fear, not quite exhilaration either. Maybe it’s the thrill of knowing more about his new friend.
He shakes his head no, because he hasn’t. Hasn’t even considered it. Has Boris smoked weed before?
“Have you?” he asks, and the question feels weighted somehow, like he’s asking so much more.
“Of course. All the time in Las Vegas, especially with my Theo.”
Will feels a pang of jealousy at the mention of Theo (My favorite to kiss.) and tries to bury it back down. He knows very little about the boy; only that he was Boris’s close friend from Vegas, that they kissed, and now they apparently smoked weed together. It doesn’t help anything to be jealous of somebody you don’t know that’s also not around.
“Oh. What’s it like?”
Boris’s grin slides slow across his face.
“It is fantastic. All calm. No worries. Is why your brother does it.”
