“Well, Jesus Christ,” Horton says. “I figured you might be a homo, Ramsey.” He’s wagging an accusatory finger at me. “Wait’ll I tell your old man about this.” He scrunches his nose and frowns. “And what the hell’s that smell? Man, you two stink.” He looks at Tank. “As for you, Foster, I have to say I’m a little shocked. I never pegged you as gay.”

“I’m not gay, coach.” Tank bounces to his feet and dusts himself off.

“Whatever,” Horton says. “Have a good night, ladies.”

“Hey, Coach,” I say, totally pissed as I toss the condom into the evergreens and manage to pull up my underwear and pants. “Guess what?”

“What is it, Homo? I mean Ramsey.” He laughs.

And I say, “Enjoy yourself tonight, because you’re about to go down.”

There’s a long silence, Tank shifting his gaze between Horton and me, Horton shifting his gaze between Tank and me.

“Is that right?” Horton finally says. “And what makes you say that, Homo Ramsey?”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Another silence.

“Yeah right,” he finally says. “You don’t have anything on me and you know it.”

He drives off. We listen to him laughing to himself all the way down the street.

As Tank stands in the median with his hands on his hips, staring at Horton’s taillights, I come up behind him, cautious. I know he’s about to totally call me out on what I just said, so I put my hand in my front pocket, relieved to feel my phone and the empty injector bottle.

Trying to keep it light, I say, “I guess Horton thinks we’re gay.”

“Yeah, looks that way.”

“Think he’ll really tell my dad?”

“No,” Tank says. “He’s bluffing.”

“What’s he doing out here in the Heights so late, anyway?”

“Beats me.”

I inhale deeply, smelling nothing but skunk spray. “Hey, I think the skunk got us a little.”

“Zach, don’t ever say a word about what just happened.”

“Don’t worry. It was kind of weird, wasn’t it?”

“It was the weirdest thing ever,” he says. “So don’t talk about it, okay?”

I nod.

He says, “At least you know how to wear a condom now.”

“True.”

We cross to the sidewalk and continue on.

A few moments later Tank says, “So what the hell were you talking about when you told Horton he was about to go down?”

And I still have my hand in my pocket, grasping the Decabol bottle, and I’m just about to take it out and simply hand it to him, when suddenly I get cold feet and decide to go with another fact instead. Tank just looks too unpredictable and crazy tonight. I seriously consider the fact that he might break a bone of mine or kill me altogether if I confront him with the stash.