"Arson, where are we going?" I asked with a deep sigh, blaming myself for believing him earlier.

He answered with a mischievous smile then started whistling a carefree tune, occasionally drumming on the wheel with his fingers.

I knew he noticed the glares I shot him throughout the trip, but he cleverly ignored them and kept his eyes on the road.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of a modest and beautiful old-fashioned house, almost hidden by the tall pine trees that surrounded it.

"This is your house, isn't it? Why are we at your house, Arson?" I asked, climbing out of the car all the same.

My questions fell on deaf ears as Arson locked his car and joined me on the sidewalk with his shopping bag. As if to help him avoid my question, an old woman across the street sat down in her rocking chair and called out to him.

"Mornin', Mrs. Pillsbury," he said to her, waving. "How's the hip?"

She fixed her rimless glasses onto her nose and stuck out her neck slightly as to better see him.

"As good as new," she replied with a chuckle.

"Do the grandchildren still visit every weekend?"

I smiled at their interaction. Of course, the old ladies loved him!

I looked around, trying to find something to occupy me while they continued their playful conversation.

They lived in a lovely cookie-cutter neighborhood that reminded me of my uncle's in Tennessee. Two years ago, Riley had convinced Dad to let us go alone to his brother's cabin for a weekend. She had a natural aptitude for persuading people, and Dad had been no exception. She even convinced Uncle David, who hated waking up early, to pick us up at 5 in the morning so we could make it in time for the Cleveland Apple Festival.

"Does your mama still make her infamous apple turnover?" I heard Mrs. Pillsbury ask.

"She doesn't bake anymore," Arson said, a hint of nostalgia in the tone of his voice. "She barely gets the time to sit down when she gets home."

The woman nodded in understanding. Arson waved and wished her a lovely afternoon.

I was about to start walking toward the door when Arson held me back. Two bikes zoomed past us on the sidewalk without stopping to make sure we were unharmed.

"Thanks," I said when he let go of my shoulders.

"Saturday is the unofficial bicycle race day," he explained, walking up to the front door, and searching all his pockets. "Oh, man! I forgot my key."

He knocked on the door, and after an awkward pause, he took a few steps back to glimpse at the house number plaque, as to make sure that he was at the right address.

A woman opened the door as he was doing that. She patted down her light green medical scrubs to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Does it look like I just washed this?" she said, pointing at her shirt. "I spilled coffee on it yesterday." She looked down and examined the shirt to make sure the stain had disappeared.

"It looks fine to me," Arson said with a shrug.

"By the way, please learn to use the bell, Arson. We've been over this." She looked up again and finally noticed me. "Oh, hi," she said, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. "Oh man, I'm falling asleep," she mumbled to herself. "Please come in, guys."

She stepped away from the door to let us in. She used an elastic hair tie she had been wearing as a wristband to hold her hair up in a messy ponytail. Her tousled blonde hair was identical to her son's and looked just as disobedient.

I looked around the room, waiting to be spoken to again. Picture frames covered the walls of the living room and depicted the evolution of their small family from the wedding picture to a picture of Arson in his basketball jersey and his official team captain commendation. He wore a smile that could rip apart his face if it got any larger.

"I thought you were off today," I heard Arson say.

She gave him a tired smile. "Me too." She rubbed her eyes again as if she was trying to chase the exhaustion away.

"Mom, sit down," he said, guiding her to the couch after dropping his shopping bag on the floor.

She plopped down on the beige sofa. "I'm sorry about the mess," she told me, pointing to the newspapers piled on the coffee table, even though the room was anything but messy.

"This is Avery from school," Arson said.

Her face lit up in recognition. "Oh yes! Ava, right? I've heard so much about you. So happy to finally meet you," she said. "I'm Holly. Please, make yourself comfortable." She glanced down at her watch and gasped at the time. "I would love to stay and get to know you, but I have to run."

She stood up and grabbed her bag.

"Where did I leave that phone?" she said, looking around the room.

"Right here." Arson picked up the phone from the floor and handed it to her.

She grimaced when the phone blipped with incoming notifications. "I trust that you'll be a gentleman," she said to her son, emphasizing her sentence with a pointed look. "Nice meeting you, Avery."

She jogged to the door and left with one last wave.

Arson fell onto the couch and motioned for me to do the same. He was still wearing the hint of a smile on his face, but I could see that his enthusiasm had been slightly dulled.

"Yeah, it looks like a good day," he said out of the blue and stood up to pull on the window blinds to let the light in.

Then he paced back and forth, stopping by the windows each time as if whatever he was looking for outside could calm him down.

"Are you okay?" I asked, watching him wear out his legs.

All of a sudden, he stopped by the couch and glanced my way. "Should I get a job?"

I did not know how to respond, so I waited for him to go on.

"I should, right? That would make things easier for everyone," he added. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

"You lost me again. I don't understand," I said, taking my sandals off to pull my feet up onto the couch.

He sat next to me and leaned towards me as if to escape eavesdropping ears.

"Mom has been overworking since she and Dad separated, two months ago. She pretends it's to make ends meet, but I can see that she's trying to avoid truly dealing with it. They've both been having a hard time facing the reality of it. But if I get a job," he said, nodding to himself, "she won't be able to run away anymore."

As he spoke, I watched his face display a series of foreign expressions I had never seen on his face before.

Heaviness weighed down on my heart when my brain finally registered and processed his words. Separated? I couldn't even recall ever hearing about his dad. What did I even know, besides what all eyes could see, about this guy I called my friend?

How had I tricked myself into only noticing his smiles?

"Or you could just talk to her about it," I said, clearing the lump in my throat before he could ask for its cause. "If basketball practice starts again, you will have started a job just in time to get fired."

"We have our second game in three days. We barely survived the first one with Luke gone. Our new team didn't get the chance to bond before Coach called off practice."

He lay down and stared up at the ceiling intently like it held all the answers he needed.

"Who's supposed to take responsibility for the team if the coach's not here?" I asked.

"We count on the captain," he answered automatically. Only then did it dawn on him. "I'm the captain. The guys are counting on me to do something. I can't get a job now. I need to focus on my team."

He crumpled a newspaper page in a ball and tossed it up towards the ceiling. He sighed and continued. "I want to help Mom as well. But it would be so much easier to talk to her if she wasn't dodging the conversation. It's not like I can't see she's struggling."

"What about you?"

"Huh?" he asked, sitting up to see me better. "What do you mean?"

I was impressed by his apparent lack of concern for his own problems. "How are you handling all of this?"

"Oh." He appeared to think about it for a few seconds then shrugged. "I'm fine. This has nothing to do with me. I just need to find a way to help them. If only they stopped wearing themselves out as a defense mechanism... "

"Focusing on other people's problems to avoid dealing with your own is a defense mechanism too," I pointed out.

He had never once mentioned his family to me. He pushed me to be transparent with my feelings and my problems because it helped him conceal his own.

The confused look he now wore on his face convinced me that it hadn't been intentional. He didn't try to be secretive, it just never occurred to him to discuss his problems.

"I'm not running away from my problems; I just don't want to linger on them. I'd much rather focus on others," he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair, thus sending the blond strands into a frenzy.

"Arson, your family is changing," I told him, only now noticing that I was much better at helping others confront their problems than at confronting mine. "Not processing it now will only build resentment towards your parents later."

He nodded to indicate that he understood all I said but the bright smile plastered on his face never wore off. "I'm okay, Avery. I'm the last person you should be worried about." He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "I'll go get snacks," he said, heading toward the kitchen and humming. "Do you want to watch a movie?" he called out from the kitchen.

I smiled to myself, knowing he wasn't expecting a response.

I was glad he hadn't driven me to my house. I was grateful for the glimpse into his home and his life. Only now did I realize that he had left the door wide open all along; I had simply zoomed past it too fast to see it.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

The picture is Arson. The actor is Bradley James and I sort of have an obsessive crush on him.

I am grateful for all the hilarious, sweet comments, and constructive criticism you guys have left. I enjoyed reading all of them.

Vote if you liked this chapter and comment if you have any thoughts!

-D.T. ➷