The Fort (Aric Davis)

Scott asked. “So what if we think it’s cool that we got to talk to the cops or whatever? It is pretty cool.”
    “Whatever.”
    “Look,” said Tim, trying to bring reasonableness back to a normally very reasonable Luke. “We don’t need to do anything. If we decide we want to go look for clues or whatever, we’ll do it as a group. Just like everything else that we do, and you know that,” he said, pointing at Luke. “But what is it with you lately?”
    “What do you mean?” Luke asked, but he kept his eyes on the floor.
    “I don’t know what I mean, but you’re, like, all…I don’t know, lately. Something’s going on with you. It’s obvious. If you want to tell us what’s really going on, I wish you’d just go for it.”
    “It’s everything, OK?” Luke said hoarsely, his friends thinking that he might actually cry, and how scary that might be. Crying was for skinned knees, not emotional breakdowns. “Everything in my life is getting so fucked up. You want to know something crazy? I made my sisters’ lunch like an hour ago, and you know what they were doing? Smoking. They’re eleven years old and they smoke cigarettes, and apparently my mom is totally fine with it. They don’t have to do anything but sit around and watch TV, and I have to do everything. Plus, my mom doesn’t work, and she’s never home. Even when she’s there, she’s on the phone all the time, just totally forgetting the fact that she has these three kids she’s supposed to take care of. Plus, she’s fucked up all the time. And not like when one of you guys’ dads has too many beers or whatever. I mean she gets really fucked up, like, pisses her pants or throws up on herself.”
    There was a long moment when none of them talked or looked at each other. The sounds of the forest trickled into the fort, and then a lawn mower started up somewhere.
    Finally Scott said, “That sucks, man. Seriously. But if it helps at all, no one has a perfect life. At least you see your dad a few times a year. I never see mine. And don’t tell me how that doesn’t count because Carl’s cool. Carl isn’t my dad, and he never will be—he’s just Carl. So yeah, if I went through all the rotten stuff in my life, I bet I could feel pretty bad for myself too, but I don’t. Not everybody has it easy like Tim.”
    “Hey!”
    “I’m just messing with you,” said Scott, punching Tim lightly on the arm, and then turning back to Luke. “You need to look at things like that counselor lady told us: ‘Your glass needs to be half full.’”
    “That’s fine,” said Luke. “But what do I do if I don’t have a glass?”
    “She didn’t say anything about that.”
    “I figured as much,” said Luke. “They never tell us the stuff we really need to know.”

    After a day basically wasted sitting in the fort, Scott was almost excited to go home for dinner. On the way there, he kept his eyes peeled for some sort of disturbance, something glaringly different, but, of course, he saw nothing. That sort of thing seemed to be reserved for the movies, like digging for dinosaur bones and actually finding them.
    The air was cool as he walked through the woods, and he could smell at least one person barbecuing, the smell of suburban summers that never got old.
    Luke was a wreck, there was no debating it, and Scott had no idea what to do for his friend. He wanted to talk to Tim about it, but the three of them were always together, and there was no good time for it. I could call him later , but that would mean he wouldn’t have any privacy. If his mom heard even half of what was happening at Luke’s house, she’d call the cops in a second.
    Scott had a hard time believing it at first. Why would an adult be so shitty at being an adult? It just didn’t make any sense. His dad’s leaving made no sense, and now Luke’s mom, Emma, made no sense. It almost made him question adulthood in general. What if they’re all just faking it? What if none of them has the slightest idea what they’re doing?
    The sight of smoke billowing up from behind his house made Scott whoop with joy. Whatever else had gone wrong with the day, Carl was grilling, and even the worst of days can still finish well with a good dinner.
    Carl was standing in front of the grill, drinking a can of Miller Lite, and Carl never drank during the week. For a very brief moment, Scott was terrified. Maybe everything was falling apart here too, and the goings-on at Luke’s house could