massive smile out of him.
“This is so awesome,” he says.
“I’m glad you like it. I hang out here a lot. Like, when I read or listen to a podcast, I sit there.”
“I do that, too, actually. Just, at my place.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.”
Once we’ve done a lap, we go back inside. He marvels at everything, including a piece of modern art hanging on the hallway wall. I know it’s ridiculously expensive, even though it’s pretty much just a single black line on a red background. Dad bought it for himself to celebrate landing a big protection racket deal. We get a lot of our income from that. Businesses pay us to keep them safe …
But if they don’t pay, they get torched. So really, we’re protecting them from ourselves. It’s totally messed up, and I hate thinking about it.
“I like this,” he says.
“Yeah, me too.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Hmm.” I put my hand on my chin, and lean back a little, like I’m an art critic. “I think it’s about the way men bottle rage, until it all finally erupts, ruining the lives of everyone around them.”
“Really?”
“God no, I have no idea.”
He laughs, and then we go down the hall.
“Oh, and the bathroom is there, if you, um, need to use it,” I say.
“Noted.”
“And down there’s my brother’s room. Don’t go in there, it smells like Axe.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like, all the time. And this one,” I say as I walk into my room, “is mine.”
I feel really self-conscious. I’ve put a lot of work into my room.
Now it feels stupid.
Like, who has this many movie posters? They feel childish now. Maybe I should’ve taken them down before I invited him over. Tried to man the place up a little.
“I love this,” he says.
I kick at the dark carpet. “Really?”
“Yeah, dude, your room is sick. Have you seen all these movies?”
“Multiple times, yeah.”
“That’s amazing.”
He walks over to the poster I have of Creature from the Black Lagoon. He touches it.
“Which one’s your favorite?”
“Movie or poster?”
“Either.”
“Well, my favorite movie is Mulholland Drive. I don’t really have a favorite poster.”
I walk him over to one of the posters by the door. My Mulholland Drive one.
“What’s it about?” he asks. “It looks cool.”
“It is. It’s about this actress … actually, you should probably just watch it. It’s better to just experience it blind, trust me.”
That’s how I found it. I heard a lot of discussion about it being good, so I decided to finally watch it. When it ended, I knew right away that I’d just seen my favorite movie.
“There’s this great song inspired by it. I could play it, if you want?”
“Sure.”
I pull out my phone, and sync it to my Bluetooth speaker. I find the song, and hit play. It’s a song called “Mulholland Drive” by the Gaslight Anthem. To me, it feels like how the movie feels. And I love it for that.
The chorus hits. It goes: Oh that I’d just die if you ever took your love away.
“Damn, nice,” he says, nodding his head along. “I like it. He sounds so desperate.”
“Dude, that’s exactly why I like it!”
“Nice. You have such cool taste in music; I’m so jealous.”
I sit down on my desk chair, and he sits down on the edge of my bed. He kind of lounges, which I really like. It’s as if he’s already super comfortable here.
“What music do you like?” I ask. “Sorry, that’s such a broad question. I’ll narrow it down: What’s your favorite band?”
“I don’t really know. I feel like I haven’t come across any I like that much. I like this, though.”
“That’s exciting,” I say. “That means they’re still out there, for you to find.”
He smiles. “I’ve never thought about it that way. That is pretty exciting.”
“In the meantime, though, what do you listen to?”
I have a moment where I realize this is happening. There he is. Sitting on my bed, like he’s done this a bunch of times. I have a friend over. This is so cool.
“I usually just listen to the playlists Spotify makes for me,” he says. “I’m not really a big music guy.” He shrugs. “Sorry. I know you are.”
“Hey, don’t be sorry. I’m not one of those people who expects people to like everything I like. I hope I don’t seem like I am.”
“No, you don’t. You seem very cool.”
He smiles. God, he’s so cute.
“I’m glad.”
He quirks his head to the side and then pushes up off my bed and goes over to my bookshelf. He scans it.
“Harry Potter, nice,”