I go find some clothes, feeling a little more at ease with the situation. From his tone, I’m fairly certain Sarah hasn’t said anything, which means this is my big chance to do the right thing. It’s time for me to tell Tank about Sarah. It’s time for me to confront him about the stash and show him the empty bottle and the crawlspace pictures on my phone.

He presses his face to the screen. “Hey, did you get any more liquor?”

Slipping into my blue jeans, I smile and say, “I have enough whiskey and cigarettes to last a month. I stole some condoms, too.” I hold up the orange three-pack and put it in my front pocket, not because I think we’ll need them, but, again, because I know Tank will think that’s cool.

He gives me this look like I’m reading his mind.

“You’re a good man, Zach Ramsey,” he whispers. “You’re a damn good man.”

I smile again. Moments like this make me wonder how I’ve gone a day without seeing or speaking with Tank. His sense of humor, his daring personality, they always have a way of sucking me in. I’m a perpetual passenger on his life ride, and when it comes down to it, I’ll do anything to help him. Tank’s my best friend, my brother, and my father all rolled into one.

I take a fresh pint, an unopened pack of smokes, and the empty Decabol bottle from my closet hiding space, tucking the latter deep into my front pocket. Then I pop the screen and hop out into the sticky August night.

“Don’t think I’m weird or anything,” I say as I secure the screen back in place, “but I’ve missed you.” I give him the Jack Daniels and the Marlboros, both of which he tucks into his front pockets. “Life’s been pretty boring lately.”

“How do you think I feel?” he says. We’re walking across the lawn now. “Every night I come home, I tell myself I’ll go out and have some fun, but once I sit down I collapse.” He pauses. “I slept twelve hours last night. You believe that?”

“How’s wrestling going?”

“I pinned a former state champion yesterday. The guy went to Iowa on a full-ride and I pinned him in less than two minutes.” He shrugs. “You know what’s funny? I can’t do fractions without your help, but I’ll get to handpick my college because of my body.”

“I guess,” I say, staring at my feet as we walk. The neighborhood’s a ghost town at this hour. “You want a smoke?”

“Yeah, light me up.” I light it. He snags the cigarette from between my fingers, saying, “You’re not going to believe what we’re about to do.”

“Oh yeah, what?”