Chapter Seventeen #2
“I have an itinerary,” Parker says. He eats the bottom of his muffin first, leaving the top for last. Zach finds this weirdly endearing, which sends embarrassment rushing through him, so he looks away.
“We already did your passport stamp. We should go check out the national monument—you can, like, climb inside of it? And then there’s a hiking trail.
” His normally caustic, indifferent tone is replaced with something like excitement, soft and eager.
Hearing Parker talk about this stuff makes Zach feel strange. Like there’s something light and expansive filling his body. He lifts his eyes and catches Parker watching him, his face open, vulnerable.
It clicks that Parker’s earlier nonchalance about this trip was all an act—maybe Parker thinks caring about things makes him look like a loser, or something.
Except, by now, Zach knows that Parker cares, like…
a lot. He cares what people think of him, even if he pretends that he doesn’t.
And he cares what Zach thinks about this trip, which means he probably cares about Zach.
As far as Zach can tell, Parker doesn’t like doing outdoorsy things. He’s not really into any of this stuff, but here he is. Sitting with Zach, overlooking a battlefield, eating muffins, two hours away from home.
It’s suddenly difficult for Zach to draw a full breath. He nods, agreeing, and Parker practically glows as he gathers up their garbage and chucks it into one of the outdoor cans.
Zach gets the feeling that this trip wasn’t actually planned as a spur-of-the-moment response to their night at the lake.
Parker seems to know exactly where to go, and Zach pictures him sitting in front of Paige’s laptop, carefully lining up each activity.
Zach’s own excitement feeds off of Parker’s, which is uniquely infectious, considering Zach is used to seeing Parker care very little about anything at all.
They climb the monument, which is very tall, skinny, and steep.
Zach is huffing by the time they get to the top, his back growing damp under his coat as the walls of the monument shield them from the chilly breeze.
At the very top of the 188 steps, they squeeze together on the viewing platform and peer out a small, square window.
Spread out before them is a view of the Hudson River Valley, still green in the places not yet swallowed by the sharp bite of winter.
Parker’s arm is pressed all the way against his own and Zach can smell his laundry detergent.
Parker wants to take more pictures and Zach lets him.
He doesn’t like pictures of himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever taken a single selfie.
But Parker winds an arm around his shoulders, holds his phone out in one hand, and takes a picture.
When they review the pictures together, huddled at the top of the monument stairs before they descend, Zach looks…
okay. He looks nice, even. And Parker is grinning in the picture, lips crooked, cheeks and nose flushed from the chill or maybe the climb up the monument stairs. Most importantly, Parker looks alive.
After the monument, they stop back at the visitor’s center and buy big water bottles from the cafe, then head over to the Wilkinson trailhead.
It’s supposed to be hallowed ground or something, following the footsteps of the soldiers and battalions, but Zach is deeply uninterested in the history.
It’s much more enjoyable to walk side by side with Parker in the midday sun, the cool breeze biting at their noses, enjoying one of the last few warmish days before winter sets in.
“Thank you for this,” Zach says, after they’ve been walking a short while.
Parker’s boots crunch heavily on the path beneath them, and Zach can’t help but think that he came incredibly ill-prepared for a day at a national park.
“This is… like, I don’t think anyone has done anything this nice for me, like…
ever. Including my mom, and she’s obligated to do nice things for me. ”
Parker’s brow winkles a little, but he’s screwing up his lips like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling.
It’s a good expression, one that Zach has grown increasingly fond of over the last few months.
It feels like no one else gets to see Parker like this.
As if this side of him, loose and happy and funny, is just for Zach.
“You… I…” Parker tries to get something out, stops, starts.
He works the words around in his mouth. Zach’s not sure he’s ever watched Parker try to say something carefully.
Usually, he says the first thing that comes to mind, even if it’s really mean.
Even if he doesn’t actually mean it. Finally, he says: “You’re kind of my best friend. ”
Zach’s never had a best friend before. Including Isaac.
Parker glances at him and Zach catches sight of his strange eyes, one blue and one brown. He really does like Parker’s eyes, and he’s so glad Parker didn’t succeed when he tried to kill himself. Zach is infinitely glad that Parker’s mismatched eyes are still in the world.
Another thought forms slowly: Parker doesn’t feel like his best friend. When Zach looks at him, at the side of his face illuminated in the bright white winter sun, Zach knows intrinsically that friend isn’t right. It doesn’t sound right; it doesn’t fit whatever Parker is to him.
Maybe it’s because they started talking over a suicide pact.
Maybe planning to kill yourself with another person elevates them to a level beyond friend.
They’re a two-person Dead Boys Club. For months, Zach has found himself always turning to see if Parker is there—whether he’s waiting for him at his locker, or if he’s beside him to share a look, or a joke, or a smile.
And Parker is always there, like he’s eager to be the first person that Zach turns to.
Maybe it’s just that Zach hasn’t had friends before, but it isn’t like that with Isaac, or Bea, or even Paige.