Chapter Text
The end of September was approaching. Well, speaking of that, there was nothing special about this date. For Max, this meant a growing pile of homework, the most typical for elementary school, and for David, the same old boring job, although the counselor was still thinking of diversifying the days with a fall hike.
"Walking through the woods in the fall is not the same as walking through the woods in the summer," he said with the tone of an expert one day during dinner, or to be more precise, low–budget noodles, the meagerness of which they tried to dilute with vegetables.
Max rolled his eyes, picking up the pasta with a fork into one uneven mound. As the date of their departure from the camp moved away, the man's longing for that place increased exponentially.
"I bet if I wasn't here, you'd have turned on your seventies weather forecast again," he grumbled.
"I would have if you hadn't promised to throw the radio out the window," David retorted without any rancor. “And it's been with me for ages.”
The boy's comment was interrupted by a notification from David's phone, and, to no one’s surprise, two hands reached out for it at once.
"This is for me.” Max stated confidently even before he saw the app icon.
"How do you know that?"
“Neil promised to text after tutoring lessons, and he's never late.”
He checked the phone: indeed, it was Neil, who had sent him some kind of video on the theory of relativity. His friend did not lose his habit of filling the boy's everyday life with an even greater mountain of knowledge, even though he was sure that school was quite enough.
The counselor silently watched as Max diligently typed a message in which he eloquently sent this theory to the places that he and David had agreed not to mention over dinner. The man seemed to be pondering something in his mind and came to a decision as soon as the boy returned to his plate.
"Max, maybe we should buy you your own cell phone after all." He suggested.
Max's fork fell back into the pile of noodles with a faint clink. Honestly, he shouldn't be that surprised, because this is the second time they've had this conversation.
At first, David had hardly acknowledged the fact that his phone contact list was updated with two new numbers, both names beginning with the letter N. Already at that moment, he was faced with the realization that the device, of course, would disappear much more often than usual. Not that there was fundamentally wrong with that; Max finally had a way to reconnect with his friends, albeit from a distance. This had its inconveniences, but not so drastic as to intervene into it. The counselor's intervention, however, was demanded when the boy approached him with a vibrating phone.
"Someone's calling,” he said. The number was unfamiliar to him, so he didn't want to hide the phone again. David, however, recognized the number because his expression instantly became concerned.
The man spent a lot more time talking than usual, Max realized that right away, although it wasn't like anyone called him very often. In the process, the counselor also nervously wandered around the room, every now and then starting to drum his fingers on the table. When he finally left the room, he immediately bumped into the boy, who did not even try to hide that he was eavesdropping on every scrap of the conversation.
"Don't tell me something's wrong,” he inquired. "You had the exact same face when you and Gwen almost screwed up the camp."
David, who has learned from bitter experience, has long since stopped hiding important information from him, so this time he got down to business without any circumlocution.
"One of your parents is trying to get in touch," he replied in as calm a tone as possible, too calm, as if he wasn't going through internal panic attack, as if he hadn't dumped this terrifying news on Max's shoulders, which made the day much worse.
“No fucking way!” The boy shouted.
David didn’t reply, instead worrying his lip.
“But… But what about the documents?” The shock almost made Max stutter uncharacteristically. “I thought we had pulled it off rather well! And this thing… Well, whatever its name is… Fucking ban or something…”
"The restraining order hasn't been issued yet," David informed him apologetically. “This requires the court itself, which can take a long time.”
It was clear from his face that the counselor was just as worried as the boy was; the impotence of the system made his hands itch to hit something. Seriously, why, when everything was finally getting better in his life, did these motherfuckers have to show up to let everything go down the drain again?
"But they can't, can they?" he asked the man. "If they're both behind bars, they physically won't be able to get to me."
“Yeah, about that…” David hesitated. "No worries, it's just a precaution, just in case…”
This was the first time that the counselor offered him his own mobile phone, so that if anything, in case of an emergency, the boy could contact him – certainly not from some godforsaken Laundromat. This is quite logical, David decided to himself, because Max is already independent enough, besides the boy has never really bothered to erase the browser history of his search queries, and, in principle, he will soon enter the age when even the most banal and ordinary things turn out to be hidden under the shadow of privacy. Max, however, is too distracted by the prospect of his parents actually attempting to somehow take him away to even consider David’s proposal.
* * *
The phone got into his hands only after the salary. Gwen seemed to be involved in the process somehow, because it was from her that the first message came, “Sup, loser?”, which is quickly followed by other texts from his friends. Apparently, Nikki has managed to collect the numbers of literally all living (and non–living) addressees this summer, and she is already providing the boy with every scrap of data he might need – of course, he then turns out to have about six times more contacts than he initially expected. Max immediately proceeded to block most of the girls, followed by Preston, because this moron is obsessed enough with Shakespeare to send him quotes on a daily basis.
He even has enough motivation to get the number of Brian, the same deskmate with the lousy drug addict of a father. Ironically, he got the number at about the same time as the name itself – for some reason, everyone in the class stubbornly refused to call him Brian, instead dubbing the boy four-eyes.
"I don't know why my mother insisted on that name," the boy remarked with a shrug. "There's nothing special about it."
“No shit, man, the last Brian I met robbed our camp and disappeared on a chopper. Everyone called him Kimchi, but look at him – already at the age of ten, he set the whole police force on their ears," Max tried to cheer him up.
Brian awkwardly re-adjusted his glasses.
“You know, that's not exactly an example I'd like to look up to,” he said.
* * *
Neil's father was acting like an overzealous jerk again, so Nikki was the one who organized another of their joint calls, which quickly became a regular tradition. Surprisingly, she has entered one of her phases, when she is actually willing to discuss emotions rather than bite anyone in close proximity.
"My teacher has been insisting on mental health conversations," she said into the phone. "Something like treating people fairly, you know; if you like someone, then you are more likely to care on a superficial level, but if you love someone, like your sister or mom, you actually care about their well-being, like, you know, leaving them a way out."
“But doesn’t it lead to cheating or something?” clarified Neil, who was very concerned about the topic.
“Not if you trust them,” added the girl knowledgably.
“Well, with that attitude, no wonder the divorce rates are skyrocketing,” muttered Max.
“No, no! You got it all wrong! Listen, it’s easy enough if you just…” and she was off on another one of her side tangents, while Max was idly finishing off his math homework and Neil kept up the stoical silence of someone, who, to their own irritation, found themselves deeply involved in the issue.
“This is all too confusing,” Max thought to himself. “You either trust the person or you don't. Why complicate everything with some levels?”
Literally, take his coexistence with David as an example. Max didn’t even notice how easily he became absorbed into the routine; after all, the counselor was sometimes terribly predictable, and the boy had managed to get used to his habits since camp. Surely, everyone has a moment of internal awakening when they have already gone through the full list of reasons to suspect their flatmate of murder, kidnapping, fraud, drunken brawls, theft and all the other social misconduct, so even this is not a matter of some urgency. He knew exactly when David needed some time off after wearying shifts and he could predict when David was better off not bothering too much – not because he resisted, but on the contrary, he became more accommodating. When the counselor stops arguing too quickly, it’s usually a bad sign; there are clearly some fucked-up defensive mechanisms at hand, built on hanging limp in someone’s grasp rather than fighting back manipulation. David clearly doesn't like the feeling of being cornered, but he lets himself get into situations like this too easily.
Plus David knows him well enough to keep his mouth shut about some moments. He never presses Max to discuss his nightmares, which have become alarmingly more frequent since that ominous phone call. And although this is clearly a worrying topic, Max still chooses to think that his point stands strong: they both know something’s afoot and that’s probably enough for now.