He looks focused but perplexed. “But then you just get this ice cream-root beer mixture.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

He shrugs and starts stirring his float. I watch him and think about what he told me before in the comics section until I feel like my brain is going to burst, so I go for a new subject.

“So, any boys lined up?”

He sighs. “No, not yet. Still a little sore from the last one, y’know, Catholic boy.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries, it was as much my fault as it was his.” He stares into the swirling float, zoning out. “Honestly, I’m not going to worry about it too much. Love has never really treated me well.”

“How so?”

“I’ve got a thing for boys I can’t have,” he says quietly, never moving.

“Straight boys?”

“Yeah, but…Well, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes meet mine, and I realize this conversation is over. “Can I drink the damn thing already?”

“Sure,” I say, and we both chug.

Casey licks the last of his drink from the end of his straw and looks up at me with amazement in his eyes. “Damn, Locke,” he says in awe, “you’re the man.”

Even with the float, the thought won’t go away. The venom keeps scratching at it like a rash, until I have to ask again. “How’d they die?”

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m serious, man. This is really bad, and I feel pretty fucked-up being the one to tell you. Are you ready for this?”

Obviously not. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and then he monotones, “Renée’s dad stabbed her mother to death, and then he cut his own wrists and died with her. Renée was thirteen.”

Oh Christ.

“Renée’s dad had all sorts of problems with drugs and started getting violent, seeing things, making up conspiracy theories, the whole nine yards. So one day her mom scooped her and Andrew up and left San Francisco, meth, and her husband behind. For a couple of years, everything was fine; Renée was eight when they left, so they’d had a chance to start a new life, until one day out of the blue, Andrew gets a phone call from his dad, who apparently sounded totally coherent and reformed. He doesn’t tell anyone, he just talks to his father, who he hasn’t seen in years. And a week later, Renée’s mom’s boyfriend comes home and finds them there, bled to death.”

Oh God, no.

The blood drains out of my face, and the room swirls purple and green. The air seems suffocating, full of dust or smoke to the point where I can’t see or breathe. Using every ounce of my willpower, I manage to climb out of my chair and stumble through the glass doors, spilling out into St. Mark’s Place. I hold myself up against a wall, trying to catch my breath, to regain my balance, to not throw up. A crew of punks jeers me, but I can barely hear them. It’s too big. Oh God, it’s way too big. It’s unbearable.

Misery magnet, hisses the venom, I told you. It’s not just bad, it’s beyond horrible. It’s the principle of evil. One girl, hurt beyond anything you can imagine, and you found her. Bravo.

Casey comes out and hands me a bottle of water, which I pound down my throat. Standing back up, wiping my face on my coat sleeve, I stare at him in horror. His eyes reflect back an understanding, a grasp of just how terrible the whole thing is. There’s no sense of patronization; neither of us is the bigger or little brother. This is just horrible in the worst possible way, and it happened to someone we both hold dear.

“You gonna be okay?” he says, his voice shaking with worry. “It’s a lot to take at once, I know. That’s why she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Got it… So Andrew…”

“Yeah. Andrew blames himself. Thinks if he’d only just dropped the phone…but yeah. Now you see how bad it is.”

“How do I…What can I do to make this better?”

He shrugs. “You can’t. You’re in no position to save anyone, Locke. Just be there when you can, do what needs to be done. It’s all she’s ever needed.”

We take a moment to stand and feel beaten before moving back down the street.

I come back home wearing a new shirt from a store called Search & Destroy. It depicts a black-and-white drawing of a man standing at the edge of a rooftop in an overcoat, exhaling a puff of smoke that drifts dramatically from his mouth and surrounds his head in a stringy cloud, as though his hair is on fire. Casey had brought it up to me and declared, which seems to be his way of doing things, that he was buying it for me. This was still taking some getting used to-not just being treated to random gifts and excursions, but the self-assured attitude all of these people have about, well, everything. Casey never asks or wonders-he declares or states. It’s both comforting and unnerving, like at the Milkshake Company today. The garment hanging from my torso felt like a bribe to make up for sometimes treating me like an insect, and I don’t like to be bought. The venom despises it. Everything wasn’t what it seemed, and that left me feeling caught in the crossfire.

Lon’s sitting on the couch watching TV as I walk in. He does a double take after glancing at me. “Wow! I like your shirt.”

“Thanks,” I say, running my hand over the plastic printing for the millionth time in the past hour.

“Renée called,” Lon says, going back to Samurai Jack, who is tearing art-deco robots to shreds. “She wants you to call her.”

I’m in my room with the door shut in five seconds, and I’m punching numbers shakily into the phone in eight. For some reason, hearing about her twisted past has only made me want to talk to her more. This girl may not be normal, she may not be “okay,” but she cares for me, and all I want to do is let her know how amazing I think she is.

The venom snorts. Always the superhero, Locke. Go ahead, try to face something this terrible. I can’t wait. Ignoring its voice is impossible, and I shudder. Blurting something out at the wrong time is not an option here. Don’t be toxic, Locke. Careful.

A droplet of sweat forms in the center of my forehead and begins to trickle annoyingly down the bridge of my nose. After two rings, it’s hanging on the tip of my nose, and I’m about to wipe it off when someone picks up the phone, at which point the droplet sails down and spatters onto my pants.

“There’s no excuse for you calling me so late, you know.”

Caller ID. I hope. “Well…actually, there is.”

“Oh, really? And that is?”

“How’ve you been?”

“Ha, yeah, that’s gonna work. Answer my fucking question, Locke, why didn’t you call me?”

As my mouth opens, the venom screeches in the back of my head, louder and louder until it’s all I can hear. Even considering her parents up has sent it into a psychotic tantrum. My throat feels closed up, and I have to clench my eyes as hard as I can just to concentrate. No, no, no, not now. Think of something, Locke, something good and reasonable, something that isn’t the truth.

“Look…Renée, you being Andrew’s sister, that’s a delicate issue for me. You know?”

“Nope. Keep going. How so?”

Fantastic. “Look, Renée, why didn’t you mention that your brother was Andrew Tomas?”

“Hmm, what about him?”

Oh boy. This isn’t easy. “Well, I mean, I don’t want to sound like a wuss or a jerk, but the kid threatened me with physical violence because I wanted to date you! And I-”

“Waitwaitwait. Stop. You want to date me? You never mentioned this.”

“Y’know, my mom actually brought this same thing up-”

“Oh, wow, you discussed me with your mom?” She chuckles. “This is some serious shit. I guess you really do want to date me.”

“Well, I only curled up with you in my lap and made out with you for about an hour.”

“I’ve done similar with boys who I’ve had no intention of dating.”

Suddenly my head is filled with a picture of me force-feeding these faceless boys glass. Glass mixed with wasps. I tell it to shut up. Venom talking. “So the idea never crossed your mind?”