The Pact

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/32930518.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Relationship: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Character: Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Evan Hansen, Zoe Murphy,
Cynthia Murphy, Larry Murphy, Jared Kleinman, Alana Beck, Heidi
Hansen, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)
Additional Tags: Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Falling In
Love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Texting,
Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Content Warning for Multiple
Paragraphs of Teenage Self Loathing, discussion of suicide, First Kiss,
Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), parental homophobia, First
Time, Canon typical drug use
Language: English
Collections: ScribeSmith's Fanfic Library
Stats: Published: 2021-07-31 Completed: 2021-09-23 Chapters: 20/20 Words:
72013

The Pact
by wendlaa

Summary

“I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. Let’s face it, would anyone notice if I
disappeared tomorrow? You, you wrote that. You meant that.”

Evan swallows, the motion getting caught in his throat. He lifts one pathetic shoulder in a
half-hearted shrug. “I mean,” he says softly. “Yeah.”

“So why haven’t you done it yet?”

[Complete.]

Notes

content warning for *gestures to the entirety of dear evan hansen* literally all of that.

thanks and have fun.

 Chapter 1

“Excuse me?”

“I said we should kill ourselves. Like, together.”

Evan takes stock of all of his limbs— his right hand, his fingers, the left hand squished by his cast,
his legs and toes —and then he takes stock of how he got here. The school bathroom is muggy
from the awning window propped open so that the smoke from Connor Murphy’s cigarette can slip
outside. It’s been raining for days so the air outside is warm from the last dregs of summer, and
moist from all the storms rolling in from the coast. That’s all Evan can think about as he stands
upright and still at the sink in front of him. That the bathroom is so humid.

Four weeks ago, Connor Murphy had stormed out of the computer lab with Evan’s letter. And ever
since, Evan had been waiting in torturous agony for Connor to, like, do something with it. Make
copies and throw them around the hallways, show it to the principal and accuse him of stalking
Zoe Murphy, send it to his mom. Something. Except there’d been, like, nothing. Radio silence.
And then, after disappearing from school the entire week after the letter incident, Connor had
returned the next Friday with a sickly grey pallor and unwashed hair.

“I’m—” Evan’s fingers twist frantically into the bottom hem of his shirt. It’s not his favorite shirt.
It’s a little too short, so if he lifts his arms above his shoulders, like, maybe to answer a question in
class, the bottom hem pulls up and everyone can see his stomach. And so he’s kept his hands down
all day, twisting and tugging at the hem.

“I’m not really sure what you— I mean, I don’t, I don’t think—”

Connor takes another drag of his cigarette. The smoke curls up out of his mouth, the ash from the
end of it dropping down to the floor. Evan can smell it even from here, even with the window
open, letting all the smoke out and all the humid air in.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says suddenly, in a rush, all the words coming out at once, spliced together.
“About the letter. It’s just a stupid thing my therapist makes me do, and it’s dumb, it’s so dumb,
and I didn’t even see you in the computer lab and it was just, you know, I was having a bad day.
You seem to— you know, bad days, they happen, and so I was just writing to vent and I should
have just deleted it, it was so—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Connor says, scowling. He drops his cigarette to the bathroom tile and
stomps it out with his boot.

“You should probably pick that up,” Evan whispers. Connor doesn’t.

Connor shoves one hand into the ratty messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Evan follows his
pale-knuckled grip as he removes a crumpled and tattered piece of printer paper from the depths of
the bag. Evan’s stomach swoops, then drops, like his guts are turning into water. He reaches out
and grips the edge of the sink with his good hand. The porcelain is wet and cold.

“ I wish everything was different ,” Connor reads.

Evan can’t help but think that Connor’s voice doesn’t really match his body. It’s high and reedy,
like he makes his sounds high up in the back of his mouth instead of from his throat or his chest or
something. Like maybe the sounds get stuck somewhere.
“ I mean, let’s face it: would anyone notice if I disappeared tomorrow? ” Connor looks up from the
letter. He’s gripping it so hard that it’s crinkled around the edges.

“Right,” Evan says, his voice thin. “Right, I did— I did write that.”

“What the fuck is this shit in the middle, about my sister?”

Evan squeezes his eyes shut, so that maybe when Connor decides to punch him he won’t have to
see it coming.

“It was just, it was just something so stupid, I thought, I don’t know, I thought wow, wow,
there’s… there’s Zoe Murphy, and she has all these friends and she’s pretty and nice and maybe if
she, like, maybe if we were… you know, if she looked at me like the way she looks at anyone ,
maybe things would be… Would be okay.” He peels one eye open, shoulders hunched against his
jaw. Connor is looking down at the letter, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to punch him. Evan
exhales shakily.

“Sorry,” Evan says compulsively. “Sorry. It was stupid, it was so stupid—”

“But the rest of it,” Connor says, lifting the paper, giving it a shake. “ I wish that anything I said
mattered to anyone. Let’s face it, would anyone notice if I disappeared tomorrow? You, you wrote
that. You meant that.”

Evan swallows, the motion getting caught in his throat. He lifts one pathetic shoulder in a half-
hearted shrug. “I mean,” he says softly. “Yeah.”

“So why haven’t you done it yet?” Connor asks. The point between his brows pinches together, his
pale lips turning down at the corners. Connor Murphy has a face that, like, actually frowns. Most
people, their faces just sort of look neutral, or they’re so terminally happy that the absence of a
smile could be perceived as a frown. But Connor Murphy’s lips tick down, like that’s their natural
resting spot.

Evan doesn’t think he’s ever seen Connor Murphy smile.

“I, I’m, I don’t—” Evan struggles to get the words out. He doesn’t want to kill himself. It’s not an
active want, a purposeful desire. He doesn’t want to cut his wrists or take a bunch of pills or shoot
himself in the head. He’s not suicidal the way that people with real problems are suicidal. He just
— it’s just true, is the thing. That no one would notice if he disappeared. If he did something like
fall asleep and never wake up, or get swallowed up by the earth, or turn into a tree, no one would
notice or care. His mom might notice, but then she wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore, and
she’d probably be happier and better off.

“I don’t want to,” Evan finally gets out, the words nearly swallowed up by the sound of Connor
crumbling the letter in his fist and shoving it back into his bag.

“Bullshit,” Connor says. He crosses his arms, curling in on himself. He looks small, standing there.
Connor Murphy is so tall, and so skinny, but the way he’s standing makes Evan feel like he would
be a head taller than him if they stood side by side.

“It’s not—”

“Nobody would notice if you disappeared,” Connor snaps. The words lodge themselves right into
Evan’s frontal lobe like a bullet. “And everyone would be better off if I disappeared. So what the
fuck are we waiting for, right?”
The bathroom is so humid. It’s so sticky and damp and warm, and Evan pulls at the hem of his
shirt, twisting his fingers through the fabric.

“You know, it’s harder to kill yourself than people think.” Connor Murphy is looking at the ground
now. All Evan can see is the point of his nose and the top of his head.

“What?”

“I mean it’s like, really hard to kill yourself using fucking pills,” Connor says. He looks up and his
lips are still ticked down at the corners. “I googled it, and everything I read said that it was hard to
do, but I’d just refilled my prescription and I thought, fuck off. What do these losers know? Turns
out you just start throwing everything up.”

The humidity makes it hard for Evan to draw a full breath. Or maybe it’s just the lingering
cigarette smoke. Or maybe it’s Connor’s words, wiggling their way into Evan’s lungs and stopping
the muscles from contracting. Evan pulls at the collar of his shirt.

“You— you tried to, to…”

“And then when they take you to the hospital they pump your fucking stomach,” Connor says.
“And the psych hold is seventy-two hours.”

Evan doesn’t want to hear this. He can’t hear this. His left arm twinges beneath his cast. He didn’t
get his stomach pumped because he hadn’t taken pills, and he didn’t get a psych hold because who
tries to kill themselves from jumping out of a tree? Not that he really— that is, not that he had been
looking to die. It had just been really, really easy to let go and it was so high up and he’d thought,
well, okay, that’s fine.

“And the pills, they make you really fucking dehydrated.” Connor Murphy keeps talking like he
can’t help himself. Like he hasn’t been able to say these exact words in this exact order before, and
now that they’re coming out, spilling at Evan’s feet and in Evan’s lungs, he just can’t help himself.
Evan wishes he would stop, or that he could turn around and leave the bathroom, because it’s so
humid in there.

Evan should tell someone. Right? That’s what they always say. Like, “If you see something, say
something”? There’d been some haphazard mental health unit in their junior year health class, and
Evan is pretty sure that if you think someone is going to kill themselves, you should tell an adult,
or the principal, or a parent or— literally anyone, probably. But he’s just standing there in the
humid bathroom, listening to Connor Murphy talk about how all the pills he swallowed made him
dehydrated.

The bell rings for the passing period.

Connor Murphy blinks, his face going placid.

“Um,” Evan says. “Maybe— ”

Connor’s shoulder collides with his as he shoves past him and out of the bathroom. The door
swings hard on it’s hinges, slamming back into the frame as the swell of students on the other side
swallow Connor whole.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

Evan tries to say things that he should say. He can’t get any of them out.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

At the end of the day, Zoe Murphy is standing close to the doors that face the junior parking lot.
Her backpack is on the ground between her feet, and she’s looking intently down at her phone. Her
hair is maybe a few shades lighter than her brother’s, but they have the same nose, Evan thinks.
She has one thumb nail in her mouth. After a minute she lifts her head, looks around like she’s
waiting for someone, then goes back to her phone. She must not have jazz band today, Evan thinks,
because she doesn’t have her guitar case with her.

He should go over there.

Evan had spent the rest of the day on the brink of hyperventilating. His conversation with Connor
had replayed in his head so loudly that he couldn’t pay attention to anything any of his teachers
said. Mr. Harris had called on him during pre-calc, and he’d been so busy thinking about Connor
Murphy getting dehydrated from taking too many pills that he’d been unable to come up with an
answer.

Hi, Zoe, you don’t know me but I know you, and I think your brother might be planning to try and
kill himself again. Actually I do know that he’s planning to try again because he asked me if I
would do it with him.

“Oh God,” Evan breathes, smoothing his palms against the front of his shirt.

Hi, Zoe, you don’t know me, but Connor told me he wanted to kill himself and he wants me to do it
too. I think you should tell your mom because I think he’s going to try really hard this time.

Thinking about getting the words out makes Evan want to vomit. He can feel sweat beading at the
back of his neck. He rubs his forehead with the back of his cast, then worries that the scratchy
material has left a red mark on his skin.

Evan closes his locker, wipes his hands one last time on his shirt, and makes his way toward Zoe
Murphy. The closer he gets, the more his chest feels like it’s going to either expand beyond the
realm of his ribs or combust inward. He’s a few feet away from Zoe when someone bumps into
him and he skids awkwardly on the linoleum, his tennis shoes squeaking so loud that it echoes.
Zoe looks up at the sound, thumbnail between her teeth, familiar furrow between her brows.

Evan stares at Zoe Murphy staring at him and his stomach starts to cramp.

“H— hi, hi, um—” Evan steps closer, moving his hands to grip the straps of his backpack so they
stop shaking. “Hi— Zoe?” It comes out like a question. Which is stupid, because he knows it’s
Zoe, of course it’s Zoe.

Zoe Murphy smiles in a way that’s tight all around the eyes. “Hi, Evan.” Zoe drops her thumb from
her lips and makes some sort of vague gesture toward him.

Up close, Zoe Murphy has really, really brown eyes. He doesn’t think he even got this close the
first day of school, when she did damage control after Connor shoved him.

“Evan,” he says, then frantically keeps talking: “Right, I mean, yeah, yes. Sorry, you know me.
Sorry, that’s weird, this is weird. I just, I mean… I just think, well, I was— your brother—”

Zoe’s expression drops and her shoulders slump forward a little. “What did Connor do now?”

Evan clears his throat, which is suddenly filled with phlegm. “Um, nothing, he didn’t— Well, I
think, maybe—”

Zoe Murphy’s eyes focus on something over Evan’s shoulder, and then she’s gently steps around
him. Evan spins on the spot, watching as she approaches Connor, who is heading their way down
the hall. His head is down, but it lifts when Zoe reaches him.

“I need you to not cause problems for like, ten fucking minutes, Connor,” Zoe is saying, falling
into step beside him as they head toward the doors.

Evan edges backward, out of the way.

“I literally don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Connor says, frowning down at his
sister.

When they pass by on their way out the door, Connor glances at Evan Not like he’d known Evan
was there, more like he’d looked at him by accident. Which, Evan thinks, is probably how most
people end up looking at him. He’s just like, there, in their unwilling periphery. Evan meets his
eyes, which look very blue, except maybe not all the way blue?

Zoe pushes open the door, and a rush of humid air sucks its way into the hall. She doesn’t stop to
say anything to Evan, doesn’t pause to say bye. It’s like she’s entirely forgotten they were having a
conversation.

“Mom and Dad aren’t going to let me do anything if I have to keep…” But Zoe Murphy’s voice is
swallowed by the sound of the door clanging shut after them.

Evan’s heart scrabbles like a terrified rabbit in his chest. He presses one hand against his sternum,
breathing unevenly. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t get the words out. Connor Murphy wants
to kill himself, wants Evan to kill himself with him and he couldn’t even tell Zoe Murphy.

What if Connor goes home and tries again, like, tonight? What if he finds a better way than pills?
Do the Murphys own guns? Evan thinks he can remember Zoe signing a petition about gun control
that was going around last year, so maybe there are no guns in the house, but who knows? Not
Evan.

Evan is struggling to get more air into his closing throat when he feels a heavy clap on his back.

“Hey,” Jared says. Evan turns to look, vibrantly aware that he is maybe sweatier and more red in
the face than normal. “Wow, you are damp . Are you good?”

Evan struggles around a swallow, his mouth sticky with saliva. “Yeah,” he says after a moment,
then repeats, “yeah.”
Jared’s face scrunches up a little. “You need a ride home?” The words come out strained, like he
really hopes Evan won’t say yes.

Evan does need a ride home, but he also feels like he might actually throw up all over Jared’s car if
he gets in. If he has to sit and think for even one more moment about Connor Murphy and what he
said in the bathroom he might actually have a heart attack.

“I can walk,” Evan says. It’s a long walk, but not one he hasn’t made before. He could catch the
bus, maybe, but then he might throw up in public thinking about whether or not he needs to warn
someone that Connor Murphy might kill himself for real this time, because apparently it didn’t
work the first time.

Jared seems to hesitate. He scowls a little, then shrugs. “Whatever,” he says. “Tell your mom I
offered.”

“Uh-huh,” Evan wheezes, but Jared is already turning and heading for the door.

It takes Evan a good ten minutes before he gathers himself enough to step outside and cross the
parking lot towards his usual route home. The air outside is damp and warm in the most
uncomfortable way, and it clings to his skin as walks. His attention immediately becomes divided
between Connor Murphy and what the people in the passing cars are thinking about him, which
only serves to make his heart jump higher into his throat.

He could call his mom, maybe. She probably kept the packets that all the parents got when he was
in elementary school, with all the parents’ names and phone numbers. Maybe the Murphys are in
there. Maybe she could call Connor’s parents. But then what if Connor tells his parents that he’d
asked Evan to kill himself, too, because he thinks Evan wants to kill himself, and then he shows his
parents the letter, and then the Murphys show his mom the letter, and then she knows that he’s
literally not getting better at all and that all these visits to Dr. Sherman and all his medications and
everything else they couldn’t afford in the first place have been totally worthless?

Evan feels like his head is being squeezed in a vice by the time he gets home. The house is quiet
and empty, all the lights off but the porch light. His mom isn’t home. There’s money on the
kitchen table for dinner, but he bypasses the kitchen and goes straight for his room. He flips open
the box his mom gave him to keep his pills in, and his hands shake so badly that he dumps the
whole bottle out into his palm.

Nobody would notice if you disappeared. So what the fuck are we waiting for?

I think we should kill ourselves. Like, together.

Evan carefully tips the handful of pills back in the bottle, then digs just one out with his fingertips.
He takes a swig from last night’s bottle of water, still collecting dust on his nightstand, and
swallows it. He sits, gripping the edge of his mattress, while he waits for it to kick in. He should
tell someone. He should call his mom.

A tree isn’t a good way to try and kill yourself. There are a lot of things that can go wrong. But
there are a lot of ways to make it look like you actually never tried to kill yourself at all. The
branch gave way, or your foot slipped, or your hand couldn't grasp the next branch, or your
muscles gave out.

As the Xanax coats Evan’s racing heart and straining brain in a calm, hazy film, it’s easier to think
about Connor Murphy. He’s probably at home right now with Zoe and his parents. And like, one
suicide attempt is probably alarming enough that they know what to look for now. They probably
 have it all figured out. Connor Murphy had probably just said that fucked up, mean shit in the
bathroom because he was, like, fresh from the psych ward.

Even flops down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He breathes and tries not to think about easier
ways to die.

Chapter End Notes

Hi :’) thank you for the hits and comments and kudos. hope u have a fun time reading.
<3
 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

Connor and Evan have lunch. Connor keeps a list of ways to die in the notes app on
his phone.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Connor Murphy is in school the next day, which at least means he didn’t go home and kill himself.

Evan feels vibrantly aware of him. In the hallways, in English class. Connor Murphy is wearing
layers, even though the air outside isn’t cold enough for it. A black hoodie over some kind of grey
polo, his heavy boots over dark jeans. He looks like a shadow moving through the otherwise
brightly-lit halls of the school.

At lunch, Evan finds a corner table in the cafeteria and sits down with the meal his mom packed
for him that morning, right after her shift. He feels sluggish from sleeping off the Xanax. The
conversation in the bathroom keeps floating back into his brain like a bad smog. He’s thinking
about what he should say to Zoe Murphy the next time he sees her, and then someone drops into
the chair across from him.

Evan looks up and sees the scowling, pale face of Connor Murphy.

“So,” Connor says, chewing on his thumbnail, the way Zoe does. “Have you thought about it?”

Evan opens his mouth, then shuts it. Have I thought about killing ourselves together, or have I
thought about killing myself? He thinks. Because those are two entirely different scenarios, and
while I will admit to having entertained the thought of the latter for like, maybe a minute, I think
you should probably not try to kill yourself again, because I think your sister would really hate
that.

“No,” Evan says. “Um, no, I— look, should I… I think maybe you should tell someone—”

“Are you going to fucking tell someone?” Connor asks, his shoulders hunching up against his jaw.

“Nononono,” Evan says quickly, throwing his hands out in front of him. “No, I mean— no, I didn’t
say anything, I’m not, I didn’t know if you were— maybe you were kidding, right? ’Cause that’s a
thing, dark humor, people joke about… about that stuff all the time, so, maybe you were just
kidding? Right?”

Connor settles down, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie. When he sets his sharp elbows down on
the table, Evan can see that his forearms and wrists are riddled with scars. Some of them don’t even
look that old. Some of them are scabbed, still, red and raw, like maybe Connor picks at them.
Maybe this isn’t the first time those particular cuts have scabbed over. They stand out on his pale
skin. Evan swallows and looks down at his Sunbutter and jelly sandwich, his fingers picking at the
crust.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Connor says finally.

They’re surrounded by people, but nobody is listening. Evan is used to that. Used to sitting in this
cafeteria and having no one even stand within earshot of him. He thinks the radius might even be
wider, now that Connor is sitting across from him. Still, there’s literally nothing that Evan wants to
discuss less in the middle of the cafeteria than Connor’s suicide pact.

“Connor,” Evan says, peeking up at him. Connor Murphy is watching him from across the table
with an expression that is set and determined. “I— I don’t—”

“You said,” Connor presses. “ You said that no one would notice. And you’re right. Who the fuck
are you, anyway?”

The words feel purposefully viscous, like maybe he doesn’t really mean them, but they sink into
Evan’s psyche anyway. Because, Evan reasons, he’s right . His mom would be happier. She
wouldn’t have to worry about him eating or not eating, or his medication, or whether or not she has
to work overnight shifts just to take care of him, or whether he’s sitting alone at home with no
friends. She wouldn’t look at him with that sad, watery smile every time he managed to do
something pathetically inadequate, like go one day without having a meltdown over something
small.

It’s not that she wouldn’t notice that he was gone. It’s that she would notice. She would notice
every single way in which her life was suddenly better. She would notice not having to tiptoe
around his feelings, she would notice not having to skip work to drive him to the therapist because
he’s too afraid to drive. She would notice having money again, because she wouldn’t have to worry
about taking care of him. She would notice all the free time she had to finish school.

She would notice that things were better with him gone.

Connor keeps staring at him, his expression serious. “It’s easier if there’s two of us,” he says. Evan
notices again that Connor’s voice is reedy, high, stuck up behind his hard palate. “We can make
sure we go through with it. And then neither of us has to do it alone.”

The first few moments after he’d hit the ground because he’d fallen (jumped?) out of the tree, Evan
had been so astutely aware of how alone he was. He’d gone to Ellerson State Park early that day,
wanting to hike one of the trails before the park opened. No one knew he was there. He’d loosened
his grip on that branch for just a moment, just a moment , and ended up on the ground, alone.

And no one had come to get him.

“I don't know,” Evan says, voice weak. It is decidedly not a no , and Connor perks up a little.

“I’ve been researching,” Connor says, digging into the pocket of his hoodie and producing a very
cracked iPhone. “You’ve gotta get kind of creative with search terms, otherwise Google just gives
you a fucking hotline number.”

Evan swallows as Connor unlocks his phone and slides it across the table. It’s open to the Notes
app:

Carbon monoxide - easy u just go to sleep

Jumping - probably scary

Hanging?? - might not work???

No more drugs. U don’t die and sometimes ur liver can fail

Evan stares down at the phone until it goes dark. He’s just… looking at Connor Murphy’s suicide
wishlist. His breath starts coming faster, rattling through his closing throat. Connor’s hand reaches
across the table and snatches his phone back.

“Don’t freak out,” he sulks.

“I am,” Evan gasps. “I am, I’m freaking out, I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t— just stop fucking freaking out, Jesus,” Connor snaps.

“I can’t— not here, okay, I really can’t do this—” Evan fumbles for his school bag. He has a
supply of emergency Xanax that he usually keeps with him, but his hands are shaking so badly that
he spills most of his books out onto the ground as he tries to dig for it. When he finds it and
swallows one of the pills dry, he looks up again to find Connor is watching, blank-faced and dead-
eyed.

“What is wrong with you?” Connor asks, as Evan carefully puts all of his books back in his bag.

Evan laughs. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to, and it comes out slightly hysterical and terrified,
but he laughs all the same. “Um,” he says. “I think a list of what isn’t wrong with me might be
shorter.”

Connor’s lips twitch at that. “Me, too.”

Evan’s appetite has long disappeared, so he packs his Sunbutter and jelly sandwich away and
shoves it back into the bottom of his school bag. The surreality of the moment isn’t lost on him.
Connor Murphy is sitting across from him at lunch, trying to discuss the various ways they could
kill themselves. Together. Evan wills his thoughts away from the finality of such a decision, tries to
ignore what it might mean if he entertained Connor’s plan.

It’s easier if there’s two of us .

The Xanax kicks in, and Evan feels the panic start to drip away. He rubs his palms over his
knuckles, twisting his hands together in his lap. Connor’s plan gets easier to think about the more
the medication starts working.

“Do you want to like…” Connor makes a vague gesture in the air. “Meet up after school or
something?”

Other than Jared, who is obligated to hang out with him for car insurance reasons, nobody has ever
asked Evan to hang out after school. For a moment, he thinks about how his mom would probably
be over the moon if she knew. Except Connor only wants to hang out so they can figure out the best
way to die.

“I— well, okay, yeah,” Evan says, blinking across the table at Connor Murphy. Connor’s hands
are moving restlessly, his knees are jiggling, his shoulders are scrunching and releasing. It’s like
Connor Murphy is made up of television static, always moving. He keeps lifting his hands to tuck
his hair behind his ears, but all his other twitchy movements make it so it just falls around his
shoulders again.

“Cool,” Connor says.

He gets up then, without a goodbye, leaving Evan alone at the table.

Chapter End Notes

hi, i wanted to post chapter 3 early because it's my city and i do what i want. also the
plot moves forward in the next few chapters so... :) thank you for all the nice
comments :')
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

Connor and Evan eat pizza and talk about dying.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Is he bothering you?”

Zoe Murphy’s voice is soft and tight— kind of like Connor’s, but more feminine. Evan looks up
from his locker, shoving his weekend homework into his bag while Connor leans against the
nearby lockers, waiting for him. It’s weird. It’s so weird. Connor is waiting for him so they can
walk to Evan’s house, because his mom won’t be home so it will be easy for them to talk about
how to kill themselves. Evan hasn’t said yes to dying together though, and he’s hoping maybe he
can just talk him out of it.

“Oh,” Evan says to Zoe. He shakes his head, closing his locker. “I mean— no, he’s not. Bothering
me.”

Zoe frowns, and Connor frowns back at her, and Evan picks nervously at the fraying edge of his
cast.

“Tell Mom and Dad I’m going over to a friend’s house,” Connor says.

Zoe stares at him, gripping the straps on her backpack tightly. Her knuckles are warm and pink,
though. Not like Connor, who constantly looks like all the blood has been drained out of him.

“What friend?” Zoe asks, skeptical.

“Evan,” Connor says, jerking his thumb at Evan, who looks up, alert.

“Right,” Evan stammers. “Right, yeah, totally. He’s— we’re um, we’re going to, uh… do…
homework.”

Zoe isn’t looking at him. She’s looking at Connor, her expression mixed with suspicion and
tentative hope. She purses her lips, shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Evan feels a
million years away from when he wrote the letter that Connor found in the computer lab. He’s
looking at Zoe, really looking, uninhibited, and he’s noticing all of these new things. Like how her
ears are pierced both on the lobe and at the top of her cartilage. Her lips have a little bow, but
Connor’s don’t. They still have the same nose, though.

“Do you like… need a ride?” Zoe asks finally, lifting one hand to tuck some loose hair behind her
ear. Her fingernails are painted pink. Evan wonders if that’s her favorite color or if it’s just the only
color she has. Maybe her mom bought it for her. Maybe it was a birthday present. Evan wants to
ask, but now doesn’t seem like the right time.

Connor’s eyes shift away from Zoe.

“No,” Evan says quickly, because the idea of riding in the car with the Murphy siblings is making
his heart rate work really hard against the Xanax he took at lunch. “No, my house isn’t far. So.”

Zoe nods, that slow kind of nod that someone gives when they know they’re being dismissed but
they don’t quite want to walk away. “Okay,” she says, drawing the word out slowly. She turns to
Connor. “So… I’ll pick you up? After? For dinner?”

Connor shrugs. Zoe looks back at Evan. “Write down your address for me?” she asks.

Evan fumbles for his backpack, getting a little flustered as he tries to grab a pen and a notebook,
and then frantically flips through his history notes until he finds a blank page. He stribbles his
address down and rips the page out, the whole page, which is so stupid because now Zoe is holding
a whole sheet of notebook paper and he’s only written his address at the very top. She folds it up
and sticks it in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Okay,” Zoe says again. She glances between Evan and Connor, then back to Evan. “He’s really
going to your house, right?”

“Um,” Evan says. “Yeah, I mean— yeah, why wouldn’t he—?”

“Oh my god, can you fuck off?” Connor snaps, grabbing Zoe by the arm and spinning her away
from them. “I’m not going to go do drugs or whatever the fuck else you and Mom and Dad think
I’m going to do if you let me out of your sight for five fucking minutes.”

“Fuck you,” Zoe snarls. Evan startles. Her voice is vicious and aching, like the words have been
ripped out of her throat. He shrinks back.

“Fuck you,” Connor spits back, but Zoe is already storming down the hall, toward the doors that
lead out to the junior parking lot.

“Come on,” Connor mutters, heading in the opposite direction. Evan hurries to catch up, rushinging
to zip up his backpack so he can put it back around his shoulders. When he falls into step beside
Connor, everything feels dark and moody in a way that Evan doesn’t think he’s ever really
experienced before. He’s used to things being, like, loud and fuzzy and too much— to feeling like
white noise is filling up his chest and lungs and head. But Connor’s misery is dark and seeping and
infectious.

They pass Jared on their way to the front of the school. Evan catches his gaze and watches as
realization, then dawning confusion and horror, pass over his face. Evan glances nervously up at
Connor, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed.

The walk to Evan’s house is quiet. Connor’s mood seems to simmer once they’re outdoors. They
walk side by side, and Evan just sort of gently uses his body to guide them in the correct direction.
Connor follows his cues, turning, stopping, and crossing the street whenever Evan does.

The house is quiet when Evan unlocks the front door. He drops his bag by the couch and kicks off
his shoes on the mat. He watches as Connor leans down, bending at his long waist, and pulls at the
laces on his boots. When he takes them off, his socks don’t match. One is an unimpressed shade of
grey, and the other looks both too small and too pink, with little dots all over it. Evan looks away,
because it feels too much like peeking in on Connor’s life outside of whatever this is they’re doing
together.

There’s a note from his mom on the kitchen table, along with the same twenty dollars that she’s
been leaving all week just in case he gets brave enough to order a pizza. Connor wanders into the
kitchen after him, stopping to pick up the note. Evan watches as he tucks his hair behind his ear,
eyes scanning across the little yellow Post-It.

“Your mom is cute,” he says, putting it back down. Connor picks up the money next. “You gonna
use this?”

“Uh,” Evan says. Then, stupidly: “No.”

Connor pockets it without saying anything else.

They move up to Evan’s bedroom, because it feels weird to talk about this anywhere else in the
house. Like they might poison all the common spaces with their weird suicide talk. Evan sits at his
desk while Connor roams, picking things up and putting them down Not Quite Right, thumbing
through the books on his bookshelf. They’re quiet for a while, not saying anything. It’s surreal.
Evan doesn’t think he’s had anyone in his bedroom since he was seven and he and Jared had their
last sleepover.

“So I think we should do carbon monoxide,” Connor says abruptly.

Evan looks down at his cast, picking at some of the plaster at the edges.

“I think it’ll be the fastest,” Connor says, moving to sit on the edge of Evan’s bed. He’s holding a
book between his hands, thumbing back and forth between the pages without really looking down
at it. “And then there’s no, like, gross clean up. No splattered corpses or shit like that.”

Connor Murphy is talking so calmly about how they should die together that Evan feels like it isn’t
even a real conversation that he’s having.

“It can make you vomit,” Evan points out, voice soft. “I read… I read that somewhere, like… um,
the falling asleep part and dying really quickly, that’s just for pure CO. But the stuff in cars, it’s
like, toxic and mixed with stuff so… so we’d probably, like… we’d probably vomit first.”

Connor’s brows tick together.

“And, and jumping,” Evan moves on, brain churning back to the List of Ways to Die on Conor’s
iPhone. “I would have to be from really high, like high enough… and I don’t— I don’t really know
anywhere in town that’s high enough. And, and arborists— you know, like, the guys who come to
cut your trees in the summer? I mean, you probably have arborists, I don’t, we… we don’t have
arborists, we don’t do that kind of stuff… anyway, they say that most people who fall from a tree,
they don’t make it if it’s over 30 feet and that’s, um, that’s a really tall tree. But you’d have to
probably land right, you know, to… to die.”

Connor’s knee starts to jiggle.

“We could drive out to the train tracks,” Connor suggests.

“That’s… well, I mean, we could, but those tracks are like, for Amtrak? I’ve seen the Amtrak
trains, so, we would probably like, traumatize a bunch of families with kids if we just…” Evan
shrugs, letting his voice drop off.

There’s a silence that spills over the room. They’re watching one another, Evan and Connor
Murphy.

“Do you want to order pizza?” Connor asks.

Evan stares at him, mouth opening for a moment before he snaps it shut again. He nods, a little
frantically. Connor pulls out his cracked phone and, after a brief negotiation— “Dominos or Pizza
Hut?” “Um… Dominos?” “That’s fucking disgusting, I’m getting Pizza Hut.”— orders the food.
When it arrives, Connor goes downstairs to pay with the twenty that he took from the table. Evan
follows him down there, hovering in the kitchen while Connor retrieves the pizza. When he comes
back with the box, Evan watches him pocket the change.

They eat at the kitchen table, which is so small that Connor’s feet bump into Evan’s underneath it.
Evan is more than glad that the conversation is no longer focused on dying or how they should die.
He feels too afraid to tell Connor that all of this is freaking him out, that he wants to back out, that
he never even agreed to all of this in the first place.

Connor eats two slices of pizza, but Evan is suddenly so self conscious about eating in front of
someone else that he only manages to eat one. Connor asks if he can have his crust, and Evan nods
mutely. It’s normal, way more normal than any of his other interactions with Connor have been.

“Where’s your dad?” Connor asks later, after Evan’s cleaned up the pizza and put the rest of the
box in the fridge, balanced on top of some leftovers and the eggs. They’ve moved out onto the
porch so Connor can smoke.

“Colorado,” Evan answers, watching Connor light his cigarette with a book of matches. “He and
my mom got divorced when I was seven.”

“That’s ass,” Connor says. They’re sitting on the steps of the porch and Connor is stretching his
legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, boots back on.

“It’s— it’s whatever,” Evan says, shrugging. He picks at his cast absently. “He like, started a new
family with this cocktail waitress or something. I don’t know, mom hates her. They have a baby
coming.”

“That’s ass ,” Connor repeats.

Evan ducks his face, lips twitching into a smile. He can’t help it. It’s nice to tell someone that his
dad has a baby coming with some other woman and for them to finally respond appropriately. It is
ass.

“Sorry I took up all that real estate on your cast,” Connor says, pointing with his cigarette. Evan
drops his hand to the big, blocky letters. He scratches at the plaster, focusing on the way the
sharpie letters are broken up by the uneven material. He’s been mostly ignoring it, the letters, the
giant CONNOR on his arm.

“It’s— no, it’s okay. I don’t think anyone else… um, I don’t really have any friends.” Saying the
words out loud makes his stomach sink, so he tries to amend it by saying: “Well, Jared, he’s my
friend. Um, he’s a family friend, which he says means it’s different, but I don’t really…”

Evan trails off, staring pointedly at his lap.

“Whatever,” Connor says. “Now you look like you have one asshole friend.”

They’re quiet for a while after that, just sitting side by side on the porch. Evan’s brain is whirring,
wondering if Connor is thinking about carbon monoxide poisoning some more, or if he’s thinking
about a thirty-foot tree somewhere. The not-knowing is making anxiety claw its way back up his
throat, no longer buffeted by his afternoon Xanax. He bounces his foot, shoving his hands hard into
his lap to stop himself from peeling more plaster off of his cast.
 “You’re really jittery,” Connor says, which— okay, yeah, but Evan doesn’t really think that’s fair,
because so is Connor.

“Sorry,” Evan says.

“Well, fuck,” Connor mutters. “Shut up, Jesus.”

Evan shuts up.

They’re quiet together until Connor’s cigarette is finished and he stomps the butt into the ground.
They’re quiet until a car Evan doesn’t recognize rolls slowly down his street, then pulls
haphazardly into his driveway, and Zoe Murphy honks behind the wheel.

“Cool,” Connor says, turning to look at Evan. They’re sitting so close now that Evan can see that
Connor has blue eyes, except there’s a funny little splotch of brown in his right eye. Like a coffee
stain or something. “See you Monday.”

Connor jumps up and reaches the passenger side of the car in three long strides. Zoe and Connor
idle there, in his driveway, long enough for Evan to feel like he’s going to crumble into the ground.
And then Zoe pulls out and turns the car around.

As the light fades, Evan paws around on the ground for the cigarette butt that Connor left, just in
case his mom notices, and heads back inside.

Chapter End Notes

okay, back on schedule! thank you for all your comments and stuff, i am having fun
and i hope you are also having fun.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

Evan has an eventful weekend.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Did you order pizza?”

Evan flinches at the sound of his mother’s voice, softly awed and hopeful. It's late Saturday
morning.

Evan had felt the emptiness of the house more than usual after Connor left last night. He’d
considered throwing the pizza away in the dumpster just to avoid having to explain to his mom that
someone else came over and ordered it for him. He turns the corner into the kitchen. His mom is
sitting at the table, dressed in pajamas with her hands around a cup of coffee. Her hair and clothes
lay a little too neatly, and Evan wonders if maybe she couldn’t sleep when she got in from work
that morning.

“Um, yeah,” Evan says carefully, hovering in the doorway. “Yeah, I did.”

He thinks about telling her about Connor Murphy. Not just about how he came over, but about
how he wants to kill himself. But if she calls Connor’s parents then Connor might snitch on him,
too, and then Evan would have to explain the letter and… then he’s back to where he started,
unable to open his mouth and tell someone, anyone, about Connor.

“Wow, honey,” his mom says, her smile tired but warm. He moves slowly into the kitchen, sitting
at the table with her. “Wow. Just the other day you were talking about how much you hated the
idea of— of having to give back a tip and—”

Evan gets a flash of a memory, Connor’s pale hand pocketing the rest of the change as he carries
the pizza into the kitchen.

“Oh, I actually told them to keep the change. As a tip,” Evan says, his chest tightening up. His
mom’s face tenses just a little, but her smile doesn’t drop. He’s sure she hopes he’d have gotten
over that by now, but it doesn’t matter. As long as she doesn’t find out that he didn’t even order the
stupid thing.

“Oh, honey, that’s— yeah, no, that’s fine,” she says, reaching one hand out and squeezing his
shoulder. Evan smiles back, even though his hands are sweating. He’s pretty sure that keeping
Connor’s secret is going to give him hives.

Later that afternoon, Evan opens his laptop to find seven new Facebook messages from Jared.

Jared Kleinman
hey why did i see u walking with CONNOR MUPHY????
**murphy
like what are u doing ohhh my god
 do u WANT to get school shootered????
is he black mailing u
are u on drugs?
very important evan hansen are u on heroin with connor murphy

Evan scrubs his hands across his face. He doesn’t want to answer these, but he sees the little green
bubble next to Jared’s name and knows that Jared probably sees his, too.

Evan Hansen
No I am not on drugs.
We had an assignment to do together for English.

Jared Kleinman
since when does connor murphy do homework

Evan Hansen
He was helpful. It was fine.

Jared Kleinman
is he weird. does he smell.

Evan Hansen
What? No, he smells fine.
I couldn’t really smell him, I guess.
I think maybe his hoodie smelled like laundry detergent.

Jared Kleinman
alright loverboy calm down
my mom wants me to invite u over for dinner tonight
so show up and tell her im nice to u

Evan Hansen
You’re not exactly nice all the time.

Jared Kleinman
bro do u want to walk home forever or what

Evan’s mom is even more thrilled when he tells her Mrs. Kleinman wants him to come over for
dinner. Ordering pizza and going over to a friend's house, all in the span of twenty-four hours? His
mom reacts like Evan has been miraculously cured of all his mental ailments.

“Don’t worry about coming back too late,” his mom says as she sees him out the front door, her
cheeks pink, her grin looser than Evan has seen it in so long. All her excitement does is remind him
of all the times he must have disappointed her in the past by being a friendless freak. It also
reminds him why he’s even entertaining Connor Murphy’s suggestion in the first place.

He lets her hug him on the porch and she squeezes him tight, her arms warm. It’s nice, actually,
and Evan lets her hold him for a few moments before he steps back.

Evan walks to the Kleinmans’, taking his time. He’s not exactly eager to get there, especially if all
Jared wants to do is grill him about Connor Murphy. The Kleinmans live one neighborhood over,
where the houses are slightly bigger and nicer. The trees lining the streets are well taken care of.
They look like they get their branches trimmed every season. The lawns are all nicely manicured,
in that weird, suburban way.
“Hi, Mrs. Kleinman,” Evan says softly when Jared’s mom opens the door. Jared looks just like her.
She ushers him in kindly, offers him a soda (name brand, not store brand like Evan’s mom buys),
and tells him that Jared is upstairs in his room. Evan takes his Coke and climbs the stairs, his heart
racing harder the closer he gets to the top. By the time he reaches Jared’s half open door, Evan sort
of feels like he’s going to vomit.

Jared is watching YouTube on his desktop computer, but he pauses the video and turns fully in his
chair when Evan raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “Holy shit ,” Jared says, bracing one
hand against the arm of his computer chair as he leans forward. “Okay, Hansen. Debrief about
Connor fucking Murphy.”

Evan perches on the edge of Jared’s bed, gripping his Coke, jiggling his leg. “There’s— I dunno,
Jared, there’s nothing to tell,” he says. He plucks at the tab on the top of the can.

“Bullshit!” Jared shouts. “Bullshit! I have been your only friend— or, you know, like, your only
family friend— since we were in first grade. I have never in my life seen you walking home with
someone else. And Connor Murphy ? He’s like, if there was a senior superlative for Most Likely to
Shoot Up the School, it would be him.”

Evan flinches. Connor wouldn’t shoot up the school. He feels like he knows that implicitly.
Connor Murphy’s anger and pain is all internalized. Evan only needed one conversation with him
to figure that out.

“He’s not… he’s not going to shoot up the school, you shouldn’t— you shouldn’t say stuff like
that. He’s like— he might be having a really hard time, you know, and like, what if he’s going
through something and then on top of that everyone is always saying stuff about him like— like
he’s going to shoot up a school or something? He’s just— you know, you should just not… not say
stuff like that.” Evan exhales shakily, shoulders hunching up against his jaw.

“Oh, like Connor Murphy isn’t constantly terrorizing our entire school,” Jared says, throwing his
hands up. “Remember when he threw that printer in second grade?”

“I mean, yeah, but— but he was a kid, and he hasn’t thrown any printers lately,” Evan stammers.

“He shoved you to the ground on the first day of school.”

“Okay, well that— that was just a misunderstanding. And it’s fine, it wasn’t even— he didn’t even
push me that hard, I just, I have really bad balance, so— so mostly I just fell, is the thing… so.”

Jared blinks at him, then scowls. He changes gears. “What was the English assignment you guys
were doing?” he asks. “Our class was just assigned to read some chapters from As I Lay Dying .”

“Um.” Evan hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Well, we— we were given a worksheet and we were
supposed to do it together so we just, you know, we just came to my house and we did it together.”
It’s not a good lie. Jared stares at him.

“What did you talk about?” Jared asks next, leaning back in his computer chair. “Is he in a satanic
cult? Is that why he wears all black?”

We talked about the pros and cons of poisoning ourselves with carbon monoxide versus jumping
out of a tree. And then we ordered pizza , Evan thinks.

“Nothing really,” Evan says, his foot bouncing harder. “We just— we did our homework and then
we, we just, we ordered pizza and then that’s it. His sister picked him up and then he went home.”
Evan shifts on the edge of the bed, sitting up straighter. “Also there aren’t any real satanic cults—
that, that’s a myth, actually. I read about it.”

“Weird,” Jared says, shrugging off Evan’s correction. Evan exhales, thinking the conversation
might be moving on, until Jared says: “Well, don’t hang out with him too much. With his giant
name written on your arm people might think you’re secretly dating.”

Jared says things like this a lot — he thinks it’s funny, maybe, to insinuate that people are gay. It’s
never struck Evan as funny, and the suggestion that anyone would think he’s dating Connor
Murphy throws him. An uncomfortable feeling stirs low in his stomach, and Evan hunches his
shoulders up against his jaw. “Why would— why would people think that?”

Jared gives him an annoyed look. “Oh, come on,” he says. He does not elaborate.

Instead, Jared gets out of his computer chair and goes to the small entertainment center on the other
side of the room. He grabs two PS4 controllers off of a shelf and drops to sit on the bed next to
Evan. He throws a controller into Evan’s lap and boots up the console. “Play FIFA with me,” he
commands.

“I don’t know what that is—” Evan says, but he takes the controller all the same.

FIFA is a soccer game, apparently, and Evan can barely understand the rules of actual soccer, so
he’s particularly hopeless at this kind. He’s not very coordinated with his fingers, especially with
the cast, and there are so many buttons, and he struggles to get his thumbs where they need to be.
Evan gets confused by the way the character he’s controlling changes each time he accidentally
passes the ball. He’s not good at this, but the more he plays, the less he’s worried about whether or
not he’s good at it, because Jared seems to be having fun, even if he is yelling a lot.

For maybe an hour, Evan doesn’t think about Connor Murphy’s suicide pact.

Eventually, Mrs. Kleinman calls them down for dinner. She serves fish and veggies, and she and
Mr. Kleinman ask polite questions about how Evan is finding his senior year and tells him he
should come around more often. Evan stutters out a few nervous answers and manages to keep
most of the conversation off of him by shoving food into his mouth. He thinks about telling Mrs.
Kleinman, like an adult other than his mom might yield results that don’t implicate him. But all he
can think of is the stupid letter that Connor Murphy is apparently still carrying around in his school
bag.

“I’ll drive you home,” Jared says after dinner, grabbing his keys off the hook. Evan follows him
out of the house, his fingers still cramping a little from trying to play the FIFA game.

It’s a good Saturday. It’s a nicer Saturday than Evan can remember having in a really long time.
When he gets home, he tells his mom that he had a nice night, and her earlier excitement
resurfaces. He sees her try not to make a big deal out of one good day.

Early Sunday morning, Evan’s mom wakes him up with a little rap on the door. “Hey, honey,” she
says softly. She’s dressed in her scrubs, and the sun coming in from Evan’s window illuminates her
in an unearthly orange glow. Evan groans, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey,” he mumbles, slowly sitting up against his pillows. His heart starts racing and his skin grows
damp, as they do nearly every time he wakes up. He does his best to breathe through the dread as it
claws at his throat.

“Erica called in,” his mom hedges, tapping her fingers in a nervous staccato against the door frame.
“I said I would come in to cover. I’ll be gone until maybe six?”
Evan nods. “Okay,” he says. “It’s fine.”

His mom hesitates in the doorway. “I was hoping we could have a nice Sunday together, but…”
she trails off, her voice growing softer. The sound of it makes his pulse accelerate.

“Mom, it’s fine,” Evan says, sitting up straight, his hands planted flat on either side of him. “I— I
have a lot of homework and stuff. It’ll be fine. Maybe next weekend.”

His mom smiles tentatively. He feels like he can pinpoint new wrinkles around her eyes, but he
thinks maybe he’s just making it up.

“Okay, honey,” she says, giving his door frame one last tap before disappearing around the corner.
Evan listens to her footsteps. The stairs creak on her way down.

When he can no longer hear her car through his window, Evan sits up in bed. His anxiety has
dispersed somewhat, and he feels a little off kilter. He does have homework he could be doing, but
it’s so early on Sunday that he decides to put it off. After a shower and a bowl of cereal (eaten over
the sink), Evan climbs back into bed and opens his laptop.

It’s still open to Facebook from the night before, and he sees a little red notification in the corner
by his messages. Evan clicks it, and sees the Message Request section highlighted in blue. He
clicks over to it, expecting to see a spam message, and instead he finds the name Connor Murphy .
Panic begins to rise in Evan’s chest, his hands immediately going damp and shaky. His heart races
in his throat, lodged up under his Adam's apple.

Evan’s knee starts to jiggle as he clicks open the message.

Connor Murphy
Hey...did u know u could kick it by like...asphyxiating urself with helium in a plastic
bag???
Dunno just thought that was interesting
I googled it

Evan stares at the message. The time stamp says that Connor sent it around three that morning. He
tries to talk himself down from the idea that Connor Murphy has actually somehow gotten some
helium and a proper plastic bag and killed himself in the last six hours.

Evan clicks over to Connor’s profile. They’re not friends, so he can’t see much. There are a few
public posts where Connor’s been tagged by his parents or Zoe, old pictures from years ago where
Connor looks so, so small. In one of the pictures, Connor’s hair is shorter and messy, and he’s
grinning at the camera so wide that his jaw looks crooked, his nose wrinkled, his eyes squinty.
He’s standing in front of a row of small trees.

There’s another picture in front of those same trees, this time of Connor and Zoe. They’re the same
height in the picture and they look exactly alike . They have the same nose and the same smile and
the same hair, except Zoe’s is maybe a shade lighter. Connor and Zoe look less alike now because
of Connor’s thin, towering height, the way he curls his shoulders, his messy hair and his scowl.
But Evan looks at that picture, mesmerized, wondering what it must have been like for Connor and
Zoe to look at each other and see a mirror image of themselves.

Evan shakes off the uncanny feeling as he opens Connor’s message up again. He taps out: I don't
think we should message about this here. Hits send. And hopes that that will be the end of it.

He stares at the message window for a while. Connor Murphy is still offline, but now Evan can’t
 focus on anything else. He gets up and opts for a shower. People always talk about taking showers
to calm themselves down, but all taking a shower does is give Evan more quiet time to think about
Connor and dying and what it must be like to asphyxiate by helium.

After his shower, Evan checks his laptop again, but there’s no message from Connor. He has one
from Alana Beck, about whether or not he would like to join debate club, but it looks like she’s just
copied and pasted the same thing to everyone from school. Still, Evan agonizes over a polite
enough refusal.

Around 2 pm, Evan makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. He thinks about
eating it upstairs, but the idea of crumbs on his bed makes him itchy, so he sits at the kitchen table.
When he wanders back to his room, he cracks open As I Lay Dying to do the actual reading. He’s a
few pages in when his Facebook pings with a message.

Connor Murphy
Right right cool
Here
cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

Evan Hansen
Cordelia?

Connor Murphy
My dad reads my email so i made a different one
Its my cat
Its my moms cat but its my cat
Email me im deleting these msgs bye

Evan scratches nervously at his cast as he opens up his email. He doesn’t know why he’s doing
this. It feels crazy to be doing this. But Connor Murphy did not die last night at three a.m., so Evan
copies and pastes the address into the “To” section of a new email and dutifully deletes the
conversation with Connor from his Facebook inbox. He fusses over what he should say in the first
email, whether he should actually write something or just send a blank message so Connor has his
information. Eventually, he settles on putting “Hi” in the subject line and “It’s Evan” in the body.

There’s no reply, because email is slower, maybe. Evan tries to distract himself by reading the
chapters for English, but he keeps stopping to refresh his inbox. The wait spikes his anxiety, and
eventually he has to get up and walk around his room, and then the rest of the house, trying to do
some of the deep breathing exercises his mom had found for him online forever ago.

Eventually, his mom gets home from work, so Evan sits around downstairs and eats leftover pizza
and watches ABC Family with her. It feels like the rest of the night is quiet around Evan, while a
hoard of wasps are raging inside his nervous system. Before he goes to sleep, he checks his email
one last time. There’s still nothing there.

For the umpteenth time, Evan considers going back downstairs and telling his mom what’s
happening. He even sits up in bed a few times, trying to swallow his panic down long enough to
put one foot in front of the other. But in the end, Evan just settles for getting no sleep at all. He
stares at the ceiling and asks himself, over and over again, why he’s gotten caught up in Connor
Murphy’s hurricane.

Chapter End Notes

hello to my three very dedicated commenters. at this point my upload schedule is a
joke and honestly the chapters will be uploaded as soon as my best friend finishes
editing them. they're going to be getting longer from here on out.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

Evan and Connor skip school.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Come Monday, Connor Murphy is not dead by helium asphyxiation. He looks tired, though. The
kind of tiredness that’s bone deep, etched under his skin. Evan watches him at his locker before
class, in the halls during passing period, out of the corner of his eye in English class, where Connor
sits in the back with his chin in his hand, staring ahead at nothing.

Zoe Murphy approaches Evan during the passing period before lunch, carting her big guitar case
over one shoulder. She’s wearing jeans rolled up at the ankles and a nice white shirt. She looks so
put-together compared to her brother. Evan can’t stop thinking about that picture of the two of
them when they were younger. He finds that he doesn’t even need to look that hard to see Connor
Murphy in Zoe’s face.

“Hey,” she says, her voice turning up at the end like it’s a question.

Evan grips his sack lunch tightly in his hands. “Hi,” he practically squeaks.

Zoe smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “Can I ask you something about my brother?”

Evan sucks in a deep, aching breath. “Um,” he says. What if she knows? What if that’s why
Connor hasn’t emailed him back? What if the Murphys know about the pact and now he’s in
trouble? “I don’t know if I— I mean I just don’t think I’m going to be very… We aren’t, like, best
friends or anything.”

Zoe nods, her brows knitting together. Just like Connor’s. “No, it’s just… My parents have been
really weird about him lately and I know it’s probably… drugs or something.” She sways from side
to side a little when she talks, adjusting her weight. “Like at the beginning of the semester, he did
two weeks at this like, stupid retreat thing? And you’re the only other person I’ve ever seen him
talk to, so…”

Retreat?

Evan stares down at Zoe Murphy as he’s hit with a sudden horrific, dawning realization. All at
once, things slot into place. Zoe’s blasé attitude toward her brother, her irritation, snapping, cursing
at him.

She doesn’t know . She doesn’t know that there was no retreat, that Connor had actually spent
those two weeks in the hospital, because he’d taken a bunch of pills all alone and nearly— but just
nearly —managed to die..

This awful new truth hangs uncomfortably on Evan’s shoulders. Another secret, another lie. Except
this time it’s not his lie. It’s Connor’s, or maybe their parents’. Despite only being a year younger,
Zoe looks impossibly small now. That picture of her and Connor in front of the trees pops into his
head again.

“I just wanted to know if you knew if he was on drugs again,” Zoe keeps going, her shoulders
slumping. “Because he’s been really weird lately, and I need you to know that like, he can’t be on
drugs or my parents are going to—”

“No!” Evan says quickly. “No! I mean, we don’t do drugs. I don’t think he’s on drugs.”

His brain is trying to keep up with this onslaught of information. Zoe chews on her bottom lip,
looking away from him, down the hall at nothing in particular.

“Okay,” she says, her voice wobbly, like she’d been hoping Connor would be on drugs. Like it
would explain everything happening around her.

“But—” Evan says quickly. “I mean, we’re not… me and Connor, we’re not best friends, but um—
I dunno, we’re kinda friends. He um, he sits with me at lunch.” Just that one time. “So I mean…
and I don’t do drugs, so… I’ll make sure he keeps not doing drugs.”

Zoe smiles wanly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Thanks, Evan.” She steps back, turning away
from him. “Well, see you.”

Evan almost calls her back, almost asks her to sign his cast, too. But before he can work up the
courage to get the words out, she’s halfway down the hall.

Evan turns and walks slowly, twisting his hands around the top of his bagged lunch, thinking about
Connor and Zoe and how much she doesn’t know, and why that might be. When he makes it to the
cafeteria, Connor is sitting at an empty table in the corner. Evan looks around and spots Jared
sitting at the end of a long table, not quite with anyone, but close enough that it looks like he’s part
of the group.

Evan lowers himself across from Connor, placing his lunch on top of the table.

“You didn’t email me back,” Evan says, voice wobbling a little.

Connor looks up from where he’s scribbling in the chipped portions of his nail polish with a
Sharpie. “My parents took my laptop away,” he says. “So I’ve been using Zoe’s.”

Oh. It’s a simple enough explanation, but Evan can’t shake the memory of yesterday's anxiety as he
had waited for Connor to respond. The mention of Zoe catches Evan in his chest. He opens his
lunch bag, pulling out his SunButter and jelly sandwich, fiddling absently with the ziplock. His
appetite is poor at the best of times, but now his stomach feels like it’s filled up with rocks.

“I, um… I talked with Zoe just now,” Evan says, glancing up at Connor, who doesn’t react. He
goes on. “She was asking me if we were doing drugs together.”

Connor snorts, inelegant. “She asked if you’re doing drugs with me ?”

“I mean, she was more— she was kind of asking if I knew if you were doing drugs,” Evan says,
opening the ziplock and pulling his sandwich out. He starts to rip it up into little bite-sized pieces,
getting SunButter on his thumb. “Which I said— I mean, I told her we weren’t doing drugs
together, because we’re not. But, um—”

Evan doesn’t know how to bring it up. He doesn’t know the right words to say. He feels like he
might vomit. Connor looks up, brows knitting together, and he looks just like Zoe.
“She— she said something…?” Evan hedges.

Connor blinks at him, face blank.

Evan exhales roughly through his nose. “Um, she said you went to a retreat at the beginning of the
year? Like, um, she made it sound like you went away for, like, drugs. But— so, that… I mean,
does she not know? About… about the…” Evan leans forward, lowers his voice. “The pills? And
the hospital?”

Connor’s face changes, but Evan can’t really place it. His gaze lowers and he seems to draw in on
himself. “No,” he says. “She doesn’t.”

The confirmation roils Evan’s stomach. “Your parents didn’t—?”

“No,” Connor says again, voice sharper. “Larry and Cynthia told me not to say anything, and I
thought maybe they were going to tell her later, but…” He shrugs, recapping his Sharpie and
folding his arms together on top of the table. He gets swallowed up by his hoodie.

“They didn’t tell her,” Evan whispers.

Connor shakes his head, his hair falling out from behind his ears. He doesn’t fix it. “I guess a
second round of rehab is easier for them to shove under the rug than me trying to kill myself,”
Connor snorts. “And they can keep pretending like it didn’t fucking happen if nobody is allowed to
talk about it.”

Evan swallows noisily. “She should— she should know. Right? It’s— that’s crazy, that she
doesn’t know, she’s— like, she’s your sister. You guys… I mean, maybe you used to get along
better when you were young, but—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Connor gripes.

“I just… I saw, um, on your Facebook? There’s pictures of you guys and you look really happy,
and— so maybe things used to be easier—”

“We get along fine.”

“Right,” Evan breathes. Talking to Connor is like edging around a landmine. He doesn’t know the
right things to say. At least this doesn’t happen when they’re talking about the pact, he thinks. He
wishes they could go back to those quiet minutes on his porch.

“Do you want to go off campus for lunch?” Connor asks, suddenly. He stands up from the table,
leaning forward with his palms laid flat. Evan looks down at his SunButter and jelly sandwich,
uneaten and ripped up.

“I don’t have a car,” Evan says. He starts shoving his sandwich back in its paper bag anyway.

“Five Guys is like, ten minutes away,” Connor says.

Evan keeps learning things, almost unwillingly, about the Murphys. Like that Connor likes
pepperoni pizza and will gladly eat someone else’s crusts. And that Zoe Murphy doesn’t know
about Connor’s suicide attempt. And that Zoe and Connor look exactly alike in a way that’s
unnerving and confusing. And now, Evan is learning that Connor Murphy likes Five Guys. Evan
doesn’t like Five Guys, but he doesn’t like much. He’s packed the same SunButter and jelly
sandwich for lunch every single day for a decade.
“Okay,” Evan says, pushing his lunch into the bottom of his backpack as he stands from the table.

When Evan turns to follow Connor Murphy out of the cafeteria, he catches sight of Jared watching
them, his face slack with surprise. Evan catches his eye and shrugs. Connor walks too fast down
the hall, and Evan has to do an embarrassing sort of half-jog thing to keep up with him.

The Five Guys is actually fifteen minutes away, and they only have forty-five minutes for lunch,
and by the time they get there and order, it’s already 12:34. Evan can’t stop thinking about how
he’s definitely not going to make it back to school in time for pre-calc— and he’s already not doing
well in pre-calc, so he really shouldn’t miss any lessons. Connor orders a bacon cheeseburger and
Evan orders nothing, too busy glancing nervously at his watch. They sit on the curb outside while
Connor eats, his long legs stretched out onto the asphalt in front of them.

“We’re going to be late getting back,” Evan says worriedly.

“So let's not go back,” Connor says.

Evan hunches his shoulders. He’s never skipped school a day in his life. “You— you want to skip
the rest of school?”

“You’ve never skipped?” Connor crumples up his hamburger wrapper and throws it at the trash
can outside the door. It misses and falls to the ground. “What does it matter? It’s not like we’re
going to finish.”

Evan wheezes out an uncomfortable breath. “Connor…” He should tell someone. He should stand
up to Connor Murphy and tell him, No. No, actually, I’m not going to kill myself, and maybe you
should go back to the hospital because you shouldn’t be talking about killing yourself as much as
you do . But—

Connor can’t talk about it. With anyone. Not with Zoe, not with his parents. He survived trying to
kill himself, and he can’t say anything to anyone. Evan stares at his hands in his lap. Maybe
Connor keeps talking about it because Evan is the only one listening. And how can he take that
away from him?

Evan looks up, watching the way Connor stares pointedly ahead, the knot of his jaw jumping a
little.

“Oh— okay, um, let’s… let’s skip,” Evan says. His stomach immediately cramps up. “Um—
except I’m pretty sure if you miss more than two periods they call your parents.”

Connor shrugs.

Evan is physically incapable of being so nonchalant when it comes to getting in trouble. But the
way Connor just doesn’t care is almost infectious. Even though Evan’s heart races while they cross
the Five Guys parking lot and head toward the main road, he feels… almost cool. Like he has a
friend. Even though he and Connor are hanging out together under some extremely dubious
circumstances, Evan is getting used to the long, quiet figure at his side. They make their way
further from the school, toward a small cluster of stores separated from the road by a mostly empty
parking lot.

“Where are we—” Evan starts to ask, before Connor starts to cut across the parking lot and walk
toward the book exchange.

Evan had gone here once, a few years ago, when his mom had cleaned out the attic and found a
bunch of his dad’s old books. They’d packed them up and brought them to the book exchange,
where they’d earned a shocking $98 in store credit. Evan’s mom had let him pick something out.
He still remembers how heavy the National Park Guide had felt in his hands as he brought it up to
the counter.

Evan follows Connor into the store. The bell above the door rings, and there’s a tired university
student working the front counter. She glances up at them without much enthusiasm before going
back to the book she has open in front of her.

“My mom and I came here once,” Evan says nervously, following Connor as he weaves absently
through the store. There’s music playing overhead, but the store still feels so quiet. “We took a
bunch of books that my dad left behind and we got, like, almost a hundred dollars. Not— not in
cash, they only do like, a little bit of cash or something, but we got a lot in store credit—”

Connor doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s looking at a shelf, his brow furrowed.

“—Um, so…” Evan exhales shakily.

“What did you get?” Connor asks, not looking at him. He’s pulled a book from the shelf, is
thumbing through the pages.

“Huh?” Evan asks.

“When you came with your mom.”

A strange jolt goes through Evan as he realizes that Connor hadn’t just been ignoring him. He rubs
his hands against the front of his shirt. They’re suddenly so sweaty, and if he touches these books
with his sweaty hands he’ll probably make the pages all wrinkly like when you spill water on
them.

“Um,” Evan says. “I— I got a national park guide. It’s huge, I haven’t even— I haven’t even
finished reading it yet. It probably weighed like, ten pounds or something.”

Connor is looking at him now, his face twisted up in some complicated way. Evan’s stomach drops
and he looks away.

“Can’t you just google everything there is to know about the national parks?” Connor asks.

Evan is still looking elsewhere. He shrugs, feeling a bead of sweat drip under the collar of his shirt.
“I mean— yeah , I guess, but this had like… pictures.”

Connor laughs, but like, really laughs. Not a mean laugh or a sneer or a derisive sound, Connor
Murphy is laughing like Evan told him a joke. The sound is so startling that Evan actually jumps,
his skin pricking all along his spine and his arms. He lifts his head so fast to see what Connor looks
like when he laughs that he almost pulls a muscle, a twinge starting in his neck. Connor’s face is
all screwed up and his lips are pulled into a helpless smile. Normally, Evan would rather eat an
entire wasp's nest than openly encourage someone to laugh at him, but he adds: “You should—
you should really get more books with pictures in them.”

Connor’s laugh, which had died down, starts up again, and he swings his fist into Evan’s shoulder.
“God, shut up,” he says around a spasm. The punch doesn’t hurt. Connor’s cheeks are pink.

They browse the bookstore together. Evan stays close to Connor, mostly because he’s terrified that
maybe today is the day that his mom is going to get off work early and come into the book
exchange for the first time in four years. Connor ends up with an armful of books, all of them
fiction, and Evan picks out Ultimate Acadia: 50 Reasons To Visit Maine’s National Park .
 “What’s Acadia?” Connor asks, tilting his head to read the cover as they walk out of the book
exchange.

“Oh man,” Evan says, then flushes with humiliation at having shown even a miniscule amount of
excitement. “Um— it’s a national park. Acadia. It’s in Maine? The hiking there is— it’s insane.
There’s like, huge mountains and, and islands, and the coast— I would love to work in a park, like,
any park, someday, but if I could work there, that’s like— I mean. Yeah. That’s the big time.”

“The big time,” Connor repeats, swinging his paper bag of books.

“The big time,” Evan assures, and it makes Connor smile.

They make their way back to the school around 2:30, so Connor can catch a ride home with Zoe.
The Murphys live across town, in the suburbs where the houses are huge and sprawling, with long
driveways and big backyards. He’s never seen their specific house, but Evan has taken the bus to
that side of town before, to get to Dr. Sherman’s office. He tries to picture Connor in one of those
big, pristine houses, with an immaculately manicured lawn and perfectly white shutters on all the
windows. He can’t. Every time he tries, all he can picture is Connor slumped across from him in
the cafeteria, or Connor in the book exchange.

They part ways at the front doors of the school. “I’ll email you,” Connor says over his shoulder,
heading toward the junior parking lot as the final bell rings. Evan watches him go. Connor swings
his bag of books as he walks, and Evan latches onto that as he disappears between the cars. Connor
bought new books, so maybe he’s not ready to die just yet.

Evan shoves Acadia into his backpack and hurries off toward his route home, wanting to avoid a
ride with Jared, because Jared will inevitably have more questions. The trip to the book exchange
feels private. Like a piece of Connor no one else has. Evan wants to keep it, and he can’t figure out
why.

When Evan gets home, there’s a message from the school’s front office on the answering machine
about him having missed class that afternoon. Nervous but channeling some of Connor’s
nonchalance, Evan erases the evidence of his walkabout.

Chapter End Notes

my city now i upload whenever i want. thank you for all your kind words and i hope
you're having fun. two this week because i don't have any impulse control.
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

Evan and Connor exchange emails.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

DATE: 9/4/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

dear evan hansen

i couldnt sleep last night so i looked up acadia. u werent fucking kidding about it being the big
time.

me

DATE: 9/4/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Dear Connor Murphy,

Yeah, isn’t it cool? Here are some of the pictures from the book I bought. And also some from the
National Park book I got with my mom. I really want to visit Acadia, but first I’m going to try to go
to the Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. Well, maybe. My dad is having a new baby
with his girlfriend, and every time I call him and ask about flying out to see him he just sort of
doesn’t seem that interested.

Anyway, sorry you couldn’t sleep.

Sincerely, me.

DATE: 9/4/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

dear evan hansen

ur dad sounds like he sucks. welcome to the shitty dad club. u know when i told larry i was going
to off myself the first time his response was to send me to a stupid fucking boarding school in
conneticut. i got kicked out for weed that wasn’t even mine. im so sick of this shit hole house.

sincerely fucking me

DATE: 9/4/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Dear Connor Murphy,

I mean, my mom works a lot, so if you want to ever just come over because you don’t want to be at
home, you can. My mom works overnights at the hospital, except for when she works afternoons
and then goes to night classes, so she’s kind of never home. But she always leaves pizza money.

Sincerely, me.

DATE: 9/6/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

evan

we should do it today. tonite. parents going to dinner with their rich friends n zoe has jazz band

me

DATE: 9/6/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

What? Why tonight? No, I don’t think we should. What happened?

DATE: 9/6/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

it literally does not matter to larry how much i am not on drugs. they have zoe babysitting my
every fucking move w/o telling her why and all we do is argue anymore. i just should have idfk
figured out a better way the first time. i dont even know why im telling u all of this. lol i guess
cause were gonna do it together????

anyway shit just fuckin sucks okay.

me

DATE: 9/6/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Connor Murphy,

Do you think you could tell Zoe about what happened? I don’t think it’s fair that your parents want
to keep that from her. And I don’t think it’s fair that you’re expected to not talk about it with
anyone. Do you have a therapist or anything? I see Dr. Sherman. His office is by your house. Well,
I don’t think by your house specifically, but it’s on that side of town.

You should tell Zoe.

Sincerely, me.

DATE: 9/6/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

evan hansen

being a murphy means that in no way shape or form can u be as fucked up as i am and get away
with it. god they’re so worried about what ppl in town will think as if i don’t already have the entire
school talking every time i take a shit. i cant tell zoe because i dunno. every stupid fight this family
has is about me and whether im on drugs or if weed counts as drugs or me failing school or me
crashing the car or me not being respectful enough to larry and his dumb stupid macho bullshit.
why make zoe stress about another fuckin thing wrong with me???

me

DATE: 9/6/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Connor,

But isn’t her not knowing also stressing her out? She seemed pretty stressed out when she asked me
if I knew whether or not you were on drugs.

You’re not, right? Because I told her you’re not on drugs. I know weed is a drug, but it’s not the
same as something like meth. You’re not on meth, are you?

Sincerely, me.
P.S., Don’t answer that. You’re not on meth.

DATE: 9/7/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

fuck u im not on meth. weed makes me feel halfway normal. the meds the drs switched me to in
the psych ward just make me want to sleep all the time.

so whats your damage. why did u write that letter. why do u want to off yourself.

me

DATE: 9/7/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Dear Connor Murphy,

It was a therapy assignment. “Write a letter to yourself” sort of thing. It’s supposed to help me
reframe my catastrophic thinking. Except I don’t think it’s working, because all I do is write letters
I think Dr. Sherman would want me to write. “Today’s going to be a good day and here’s why!”

Except, the days aren’t good days. Sometimes they’re just nothing. Like, a good day is when I
don’t almost vomit or have a panic attack halfway through Biology.

Officially I’ve been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, but I don’t think that’s really it. I think if
you have an anxiety disorder, the medication should work more than it does for me. I feel like I’m
an alien half the time. All the things that other people can do I just can’t. “Anxiety” doesn’t even
cover it. It’s like I’m paralyzed half the time.

I guess it was worse before I was medicated. I was almost failing out of middle school because I
couldn’t leave the house. It sucked. It still sucks. At least I can go to school now.

I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I want to kill myself. I think everyone sometimes wants to not
exist, or feels like nothing would matter if they disappeared. My mom would probably be better off
if she wasn’t working around the clock to try and take care of me and pay for my appointments
with Dr. Sherman but, I don’t know. Thinking about dying makes me want to vomit. I don’t know.

Sincerely, me.

DATE: 9/7/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

evan hansen
yea...i know how u feel. i mean i think demonstrably my entire fucking family would be better off
without me. except MAYBE the cat.

u wrote the letter tho. u felt those things. u keep saying i dont know but u do. u wanted to like...not
be here anymore. u keep fucking hedging around it like i’ll infect u with Suicide Disease if u talk
about it with me. dont make me feel like the only freak thinking about killing himself. u thought
about it enough to write that stupid fucked up note with my sister in it which by the way i am very
graciously not beating your ass for.

me

DATE: 9/7/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Connor,

That’s not what I meant. Okay, yes. I did write that, and I did feel those things. I do still feel those
things, sometimes.

Over the summer I was working as an apprentice park ranger at Ellison Park. And I went out early
because I was going to hike a trail before the park opened. I rode the first bus all the way out there.

If I’m being honest, that summer was so lonely. It was. It was so lonely, and I was really tired, and
I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe everything would look better or different from up in the trees.
So I climbed a tree, and it wasn’t tall enough, so when I let go (or maybe I slipped? I don’t know) I
didn’t die. I broke my arm and I laid there, on the ground, for a really long time before anybody
found me (so long that I kind of wondered if maybe I really was dead, actually), but I guess I didn’t
die.

So that’s how I know falling out of a tree is a really bad way to kill yourself.

About your sister… It was dumb. It was just a really dumb thing. I don’t know. I thought maybe if
Zoe wanted to be my friend I wouldn’t want to kill myself so much.

Sincerely, me.

DATE: 9/8/2015
TO: evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

evan

guess i get that. zoe is really cool. but i will still beat ur ass if u snitch on me that i said that.

so that’s how u broke ur arm? and i signed my big ugly name right on ur suicide arm?? lol jesus
sorry.

ur mom is spending all this time and money on making sure u are a normal kid and u still jumped
from a tree. i guess we are not all that different considering larry and cynthia have sent me
everywhere from boarding school to yoga rehab and here i am, still, sending u this email. i should
be pissed but its funny. u and me.

sincerely me

DATE: 9/8/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Connor Murphy

I won’t snitch. I’m sorry I even wrote that stupid letter.

I guess when you put it like that, you’re right. We’re kind of stuck in the same boat.

Are you going to the Oktoberfest carnival? Jared’s mom talked to my mom and now they want us
both to go, but I hate crowds so much. And carnivals specifically are incredibly suspect. They
build those rides right on the spot, did you know that? Anything could go wrong.

I just hate disappointing my mom by not being able to do normal things like go to carnivals.

Sincerely, me.

P.S., I don’t know why they bother calling it Oktoberfest when it notably does not take place in
October.

DATE: 9/9/2015
TO:evanhansen@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

evan

zoe is going with her jazz band friends but i dont do carnivals.

what were the chapters for english?

me

DATE: 9/9/2015
TO: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com
SUBJECT: Re: (No Subject)
FROM: evanhansen@gmail.com

Connor,

Chapters 13, 14 and 15. Write a summary too, she collects summaries on Fridays.
 Sincerely, me.

Chapter End Notes

:) thank you for your nice comments!! here's another early chapter.
 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

The Oktoberfest carnival comes to town. Connor doesn't do carnivals. Evan

accidentally makes friends.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Connor responds to Evan’s emails less as the weeks go on. For a while, Connor sits with him at
lunch, but eventually he goes back to disappearing from the cafeteria, leaving Evan to eat alone
again. They see each other in the halls, and in English. They don’t talk about the suicide pact, or
dying, or not dying. When they pass each other in the halls, Connor looks at Evan and nods at him,
but that’s it. For the most part, Connor seems like he’s withdrawing.

Evan doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not. Maybe it means his parents finally got him a
professional to talk to. Maybe it means Connor doesn’t want to die as much, and so maybe Evan no
longer serves a purpose. Twice, Evan has seen Connor and Zoe walking together toward the
parking lot after school. Both times they’ve looked relatively at ease, like maybe there’s been a
tentative ceasefire.

Every once in a while, Evan will send Connor an email with some pictures of Acadia from his
national parks book. More often than not, he doesn’t get a reply.

It’s hard to tell if he’s being ignored, or replaced, or if Connor has finally decided to hate him
because of what he wrote about Zoe. Thinking about that letter in Connor’s school bag makes
Evan want to throw up, but sometimes he can trick himself into forgetting about it.

The Oktoberfest carnival opens on a Thursday, and there’s a weird air of excitement at school all
day that carries over into Friday. For Evan, it feels more like an air of impending doom, as he
thinks about having to spend a few hours feeling uncomfortable and sweaty and crowded in front of
Jared. But his mom had seemed so excited when he’d accepted Mrs. Kleinman’s invitation. Evan
thinks about seeing her face fall again, again, again, and that forces him to think about his letter,
and the tree, and everything wrong with him— which makes him think about Connor, and the
psych ward, and a seventy-two hour hold.

When school is out on Friday, Evan loiters by his locker as long as he possibly can, absently
rearranging his textbooks.

“Are we going or what?” Jared booms from the other side of Evan’s locker. Evan jumps, closing it,
the door rattling.

Jared is standing there, arms crossed, wearing a big pair of headphones around his neck that aren’t
even plugged in to anything. Evan can practically feel the displeasure rolling off of him like hot
steam. He won’t look at Evan directly, his shoulders taut, fists jammed up underneath his arms.

Evan hasn’t seen much of Jared in the last couple of weeks, because he’s been focused on Connor,
and he realizes that that’s maybe a little bit weird. Still, Evan can’t think of anything he’s done
recently that might make Jared pissed at him. Sometimes he just doesn't know when he’s done
something wrong, which has always been a major factor in his anxiety. How is he supposed to
know what social rules he’s breaking if he doesn’t even know he’s breaking them?

“Um,” Evan says, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. “I… You don’t have to take me.
Really. I could just walk home, and I can tell my mom we hung out so she can tell your mom—”

“Why, you have someone else to hang out with?” Jared asks. His brows slam together, his jaw
setting.

Evan’s stomach lurches. “No? No!” he says, probably a little too loudly. “What? No, I just—”

“You sure? ’Cause you seemed to be hanging out with Connor Murphy a lot ,” Jared snaps.
“Eating together at lunch, going off campus and skipping the rest of the day…”

Evan swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to talk about Connor, because every minute that he does is
a minute when he might tell someone something that he shouldn’t.

“No,” Evan says, shaking his head. “No, we’re not… I don’t know. It’s nothing? I think?”

Jared stares at him. They’re just standing there in the hall while the rest of the school flows around
them, excited voices rising and falling amid bursts of laughter as everyone makes plans to meet at
the fairgrounds. It takes Evan longer than it should for him to realize that Jared is… jealous?
Maybe? He’s still trying to parse it when he catches sight of Connor and Zoe Murphy passing by.

“No, you’re not coming!” Zoe says, loudly. Evan can see her over Jared’s shoulder. “I’m already
driving my friends. There’s no room for you.”

“I’ll ride in the trunk.”

“Shut up .”

Connor’s reply gets swallowed up as they pass.

“So you’re not Connor Murphy’s new best friend forever?” Jared asks, sourly.

Evan looks at Jared’s face again, for just a second. To that, he can resoundly say, “Definitely not.”

The fairground is teeming with high schoolers and families by the time Evan and Jared pull up.
Evan is already sweating, his hands clenching and releasing in the hem of his hoodie. They sit in
the car for a while before they get out, and Jared fiddles around on his phone while he waits for
Evan to stop breathing so hard. Which is kind of the nicest thing Jared has ever done, other than
teach Evan how to play FIFA.

Evan walks a few steps behind Jared, because Jared isn’t afraid of shouldering through the crowd.
There’s a brief debate over whether they should get tickets or wristbands— “I’m not going to ride
any rides, they look like death traps.” “Not everything is a death trap, Jesus.” —before Jared buys
them both two bright yellow wristbands. Jared fixes Evan’s around his cast for him, despite Evan’s
protests that he has a perfectly uninjured right hand. It looks stupid, but Jared laughs so hard that it
triggers some sort of sympathetic laugh reflex in Evan, and soon they’re both giggling stupidly as
they head through the fairgrounds.

Evan doesn’t like the crowds, or the noise. But he and Jared sort of walk around the outer edges,
and Jared leads him through the less congested areas. Eventually they get to the food stalls, and
Evan sits on a nearby metal bench while Jared waits in line for vinegar fries. Evan people-watches,
and the ever-compounding anxiety that usually weighs down on his chest begins to loosen. He
touches his stupid yellow wrist band, stretched as far as it can go to close around his cast.

When Evan looks up to see if Jared has gotten any closer to the front of the line, he catches sight of
Zoe Murphy. She’s standing with a small group of people, probably her jazz band friends. She’s
laughing at something that one of them said, looking carefree. Evan is so busy watching her that he
doesn’t notice the dark figure approaching him. And then Connor Murphy drops to sit on the bench
beside him.

“Hey.”

Evan startles, looking at Connor. He’s dressed in his customary dark hoodie and distressed jeans,
his hair unkempt. His eyes drop to his wrists, where Connor is wearing one of the bright yellow
bands, too.

“Hi,” Evan says, breathless. “I thought you didn’t do carnivals.”

“Yeah, well,” Connor says, kicking his heavy combat boots against the dirt. “What kind of loser
sits at home during Oktoberfest?”

Evan exhales a high, nervous laugh. “I— I mean, I did, the last three years.”

“Me too,” Connor says, leaning back against the metal bench, propping his elbows up against the
backrest. His knees swing back and forth. “I want to ride the Zipper.”

“Is that the one that swings upside down?” Evan frets.

Before Connor can confirm or deny the upside down-ness of the ride, Jared returns, carrying a
huge cup of fries, and draws to a slow stop in front of the bench, his eyes flickering between Evan
and Connor. Evan’s nose stings at the sharp smell of the vinegar. He remembers Jared’s earlier
outburst over Connor, and his stomach starts to twist up in knots. He’s left his emergency Xanax in
his backpack, which he left in the back of Jared’s car. Evan looks down at his cast instead. He
picks at a fraying edge just over the second O in CONNOR .

“Hey,” Connor says, looking up at Jared and brushing the hair out of his face.

“Hey…” Jared replies, dragging out the exhale on the H . “Connor.”

“Jared, right?” Connor asks. He starts jiggling both his knees. “We have physics together.”

“I have literally never seen you in physics,” Jared answers.

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, and that’s that.

“Well…” Jared sits on the opposite side of Evan and holds out the fries over his lap. “Want
some?”

Connor and Jared share the fries while Evan holds the cup for them. He doesn’t like vinegar fries,
but he’s not really all that hungry anyway. He’s too focused on Jared and Connor and whether this
whole thing is about to explode in his face. Jared’s earlier jealousy seems to have abated, maybe
because once you actually sit down and talk to Connor, it’s easy to see that he’s just … a boy. He’s
intense, and sometimes Evan is terrified of him, but as he watches him suck vinegar off of his
thumb, Evan is vibrantly aware that Connor is just a boy.

When they’re done with the fries, they toss the sticky, empty cup in a nearby garbage can and start
walking through the fairgrounds again. This time Connor leads the way, with his long legs and
intimidating height. Jared gets kind of jumpy and eager as he talks, and Evan wonders if he thinks
that Connor is cool, or something.

“This one,” Connor says, wheeling to a stop in front of the Zipper, which does, in fact, go upside
down.

“I’ll vomit,” Evan says.

“I’ll go,” Jared offers. So Evan stands by the exit, resting his hands on the fence as he watches
them get loaded into the ride.

When the ride starts, Evan looks around. The fairgrounds are busy, packed with families and
couples and friends. And Evan realizes that tonight, he is a part of that. He’s here with his…
friends? Jared is arguably his friend— at least, most of the time —but Evan doesn’t really know
what Connor is. Connor is maybe his friend?

Evan shakes his head, dropping his gaze down to his fingers. He wiggles the ones stuck in the
cast.

“Hi, Evan.”

Evan looks up to see Alana Beck standing at his elbow. He hasn’t really talked to her since the first
day of school, but he’s fielded a lot of emails and messages from her about joining some club or
another. She’s got her braids pulled back into a really high ponytail, and every movement makes
them swing back and forth behind her shoulders.

“Hi, Alana,” Evan says, raising his brows.

“Are you here alone?” Alana asks. She takes a slight step forward. “I’m not. I’m here with my
cousins, but they’re all a few years older, so they went into the beer tent…”

“Oh,” Evan says. He turns toward her a little more. “No, I’m— I’m with Jared. And…” Evan
glances up toward the Zipper. He can hear Jared yelling. “And Connor Murphy.”

Alana blinks at him. “Connor Murphy?”

Evan nods. Says, “We’re uh… I think we’re friends?” because it’s not like he can tell her why
they’ve really been hanging out. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, watching Alana
watch him. She frowns a little as she mentally sorts the information that Evan has given her.

“Oh,” Alana says. “I didn’t know Connor had any friends. I just mean… He’s always so… solitary.
We were lab partners in sophomore year for biology, and he wasn’t very interested in the class.”
She perks up a little, adding: “Oh, and he joined my English class last year, after he came back
from boarding school. Do you remember that? He was gone the first half of junior year.”

Evan doesn’t remember that, because junior year was when he saw Zoe Murphy at the jazz band
concert and stopped noticing everybody else. But now that he thinks about it, Alana’s recollection
of events sounds right. He thinks he has a memory of seeing Connor Murphy last spring, but not in
the fall. That must be the same boarding school Connor had mentioned in his emails.

“Anyway,” Alana keeps going. “I think it’s nice that you’re hanging out with Connor.”

Evan nods. “Um, yeah. Yeah, he, uh… He’s not as scary as everyone thinks.”
“I don’t think he’s scary,” Alana says, lifting her chin.

The ride churns to a stop, and Jared and Connor stumble off. Jared is laughing loudly, and
Connor’s hair is all mussed up. Evan watches as he pushes it back out of his face, tucks it behind
his ears.

“That was crazy,” Jared says, pushing through the exit turnstile. “Oh. Hi, Alana.”

“Hey,” Alana says. “My cousins are in the beer tent.”

“You can hang out with us,” Evan offers softly, because it seems like she wants to ask but won’t.

“Yeah, we need adult supervision,” Jared says, and Alana smiles.

Evan doesn’t want to ride any of the rides, but when they get to the Tilt-A-Whirl, even Alana wants
to get on. It doesn’t go upside down, but Evan’s not sure if being swung around in tilting circles is
much better. His hands are shaking as he climbs up the steps onto the platform. Each bucket seats
three, but Connor stops Jared before he can climb in with them.

“You go with Alana,” Connor says, shoving Jared away. “So she doesn’t have to ride by herself.”

Evan grips the metal bar across his chest as Connor climbs into the seat beside him. The bucket
swings a little as their weight settles, and Evan’s stomach swoops through his toes. “I don’t like
this,” he wheezes.

“It’s fun,” Connor assures. He’s not holding onto the bar.

“Are you going to go flying out?” Evan asks, panicked.

“I dunno,” Connor says, laughing loudly as the ride lurches to life. He lifts his hands up in the air
as their seats swing freely. Evan yells, reaching across the space between them to grab at Connor’s
arms.

“Stop, stop that—”

The ride doesn’t really go all that fast, but Evan squeezes his eyes shut for the majority of it
anyway. Their buckets swing back and forth over the platform, which rises and falls in a series of
hills. Sometimes they go spinning in entire circles. Beside him, Connor whoops and yells, and a
few feet away Evan can hear Alana shrieking with laughter. The whole thing lasts maybe three
minutes, but it feels like a full hour before the ride comes to a slow, clunky stop. Their bucket
keeps swinging a little as they climb out, and Evan almost face-plants right onto the metal
platform. Connor grabs him by the arm, yanking him upright just in time.

When Evan gets back onto solid ground he’s a little dizzy, but the adrenaline rush actually feels
kind of good. Maybe it’s because Alana and Jared are laughing and grinning from ear to ear, or
because Connor looks pleased, or maybe it’s because tonight, he’ll get to tell his mom that he
really, genuinely had a good time at the carnival. Tonight, he’s not thinking about the suicide pact,
or about how to keep Connor Murphy alive.

“I want ice cream,” Connor says. This derails their beeline for the next ride, which Evan is
thankful for. They check each of the food vendors, but none of them are selling ice cream.

“What kind of fucking carnival is this?” Jared gripes.

“There’s a Baskin Robbins up the road,” Alana says.

Evan is carefully encouraging, mostly keen to avoid more rides. “Baskin Robbins sounds fun,” he
says.

They make their way back through the fairgrounds, Connor once more leading the charge. The sun
has started to sink below the horizon, making the sky glow orange and the shadows grow long.
Evan has a moment of weird clarity, almost like he’s looking at himself from the outside: He is at a
carnival with friends, and they are going to get ice cream. This is a thing that has never once
happened to him.

Just before they exit the fairgrounds, Connor stops, swings left, and runs toward one of the game
booths. Evan watches, confused, until he sees what Connor has spotted. Zoe Murphy is at the ring
toss, but the friends that she’d been with before are nowhere in sight.

“Oh, it’s Zoe,” Alana says, watching them, too.

Even from a distance, Evan is still struck by how much Zoe and Connor look alike. They have a
brief conversation, and Zoe glances back toward the rest of them. She hands Connor the last of her
little plastic rings, and he overhand throws them all at once, flinging them toward the lined up
bottles in a flurry of neon plastic. Evan can’t quite see, but he thinks they all miss.

Zoe follows Connor back to join them. Her arms are crossed and her smile is tight, closed off.

“Hi, Zoe,” Alana says, waving. “We’re going to get ice cream.”

“Hey,” Zoe says. Evan’s heart kicks up. It’s not quite the same as when he’d seen her last year at
the jazz band concert. He’s not thinking of what to say to her, or how his hands are getting sweaty.
He’s not thinking that, unless he can just get Zoe Murphy to talk to him, he doesn’t have a reason
to be alive. Because if he’d died when he jumped from that tree, he wouldn’t have had this really
nice night at the carnival. And maybe that’s good. Maybe that’s enough, for now.

They make their way across the main road, toward the lonesome Baskin Robbins that sits across
from an abandoned KMart. Evan still feels out of his body, like this is something happening to
someone else. Jared does most of the talking, about how one of his cousins worked with a traveling
carnival for a summer after high school, and all the games are rigged.

There’s a brief, awkward shuffle at the register. Evan doesn’t have any money, so Jared buys his
ice cream. Connor buys both Zoe’s strawberry scoop and Alana’s vanilla soft serve with extra
sprinkles, and Alana looks embarrassed and pleased at the same time. They pile into a large,
circular booth in the corner, and Evan sits on the outside, squeezed up against Jared. Connor sits on
the opposite outside seat, leaving Alana and Zoe tucked into the middle of the booth together.

“So you guys are Connor’s friends?” Zoe asks, biting at her cone.

“Oh,” Alana says, then, “Of course.”

Connor flings a spoonful of Superman ice cream at Zoe. “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” Zoe snaps. She kicks him under the table.

“I think she can take you,” Jared says around a mouthful of double chocolate chunk.

“I can,” Zoe agrees. She reaches across the booth and hits her brother in the shoulder with one tiny,
ineffectual fist. Connor shrugs it off.

Evan shoves his spoon into his mouth.

 He doesn’t want to think about how Zoe doesn’t know that Connor tried to kill himself, but it’s all
that churns through his head as he watches them. Evan is just sitting there, eating mint chocolate
chip ice cream, surrounded by people who don’t know that he and Connor are sharing this huge,
horrible, ugly secret. The warm glow of the evening starts to fade, and Evan focuses on not
hyperventilating as he listens to Zoe and Alana talk about a book they both read. Jared interjects
that the movie was better.

“Do you want us to drive you home?” Connor asks Evan, after they’re all full of ice cream and
standing in a loose circle in the Baskin Robbins parking lot.

“Jared drove me,” Evan says. “My bag is in his car.”

Connor’s brows tick together, but he says nothing else.

“Do you need a ride?” Zoe asks Alana, leaning toward her.

“Oh,” Alana says, like she’s surprised. “Thank you. I’d like that very much.”

When they get back to the fairgrounds, Zoe, Connor and Alana veer off in one direction, and Evan
follows Jared in the other.

The drive home is quiet but for the low hum of the radio. When Jared pulls into Evan’s driveway,
he says: “Connor Murphy is kind of cool.”

“Yeah,” Evan says. “I mean— he’s different? I think everyone expects him to be one way, but he’s
not.”

“Yeah,” Jared scoffs. “I think everyone expects him to shoot up the school.”

Evan pulls a face. “Don’t—”

“But he’s kind of cool,” Jared says again. He reaches over and pats Evan heavily on the shoulder.
“See you Monday.”

Chapter End Notes

this fic is getting more traction which is super exciting and i'm glad everyone likes it
and is having fun. it's technically friday so here, pls enjoy an update that is,
technically, on a friday. all your comments are so nice and thank you. hehe.
 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

Connor tells a secret.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When Evan walks into school on Monday, Alana and Jared are leaning up against his locker,
having a heated discussion about chapter nineteen of As I Lay Dying .

“It means nothing !” Jared says, throwing his hands up in the air.

“It means that Vardaman is processing the grief of his mothers passing,” Alana insists, charitably
not raising her voice. She has the book open in her hand, one finger on the offending page.
“There’s going to be a test on this stuff.”

“Evan,” Jared says when he approaches. “Did you do the reading?”

“It was just a sentence, so…” Evan fiddles with his padlock. “Yeah.”

“ My mother is a fish ,” Jared recites, rolling his eyes.

Evan doesn’t really get it either, but Alana goes back to explaining it to Jared, and he keeps his
mouth shut. As he closes his locker, Evan looks up to see Connor and Zoe approaching them from
down the hall. Connor looks tired, and he has his hood up over his head and his hands shoved deep
into his pockets. Zoe smiles, mostly at Alana, but Evan still reels from the fact that he is now
someone that Zoe Murphy approaches at all.

“We told our parents that we hung out on Friday,” Zoe says. “And now my mom is insisting that I
invite you guys over to dinner. She wants to meet Connor’s friends.”

Connor scoffs. “She wants to make sure you’re not all ruffians and drug dealers, because God
forbid she believes that I can have actual fucking friends,” he says. His sour mood immediately
makes sense.

Evan wants to ask, Are we friends? Because he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know . Friends do
things like email, and have lunch together, and go to the book exchange, and hang out at the
carnival. Friends get ice cream together and sit together on the Tilt-A-Whirl. But are they friends,
or is Connor just keeping Evan around in the hope that he’ll eventually agree to kill himself with
him?

“Can you please be normal?” Zoe bites back. “Not everything is about you .”

Connor glares at her. “This is demonstrably about me!”

“We would love to!” Alana says, breaking up the spat. “Absolutely. Right, Jared? Evan? We
would love to.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jared says, somehow managing to sound both sarcastic and sincere. “I’ll clear my
schedule.”

Connor is looking at Evan— past the others, right at him, and Evan has a feeling he’s waiting for
him to say yes. Evan nods, swallowing thickly. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, we’ll go. It’ll be,
um… fun.”

“Don’t count on it,” Zoe says wryly, her lips quirking up at one corner. “Mom is on a vegan kick.
Tomorrow?”

Evan has no idea how this has become his life. He doesn’t tell his mom he’s going over to the
Murphys’, because she’s still riding the high from his outing at the carnival. He doesn’t want to
give her too much hope. His new life, this life with friends, feels so infinitely fragile. Evan is afraid
that if there are too many eyes on it, the whole thing will come crashing down around him.

Connor has started to reply to the backlog of Evan’s emails. He doesn’t talk about suicide. He
doesn’t bring up carbon monoxide or hanging or any other way they might feasibly kill
themselves. Evan doesn’t know if that means he’s not thinking about it anymore, or what. He
hopes so.

After school on Tuesday, Evan rides with Jared to the Murphys’ house. Alana goes with Zoe and
Connor. The Murphys’ neighborhood is extravagant, and when they pull up to the house, Evan has
a difficult time picturing Connor behind its walls. Even Zoe looks like she would be entirely out of
place here. Jared lets out a low whistle as he cuts the engine, stepping out of the car.

“Oh, wow,” Alana says softly as they all approach the front door. It’s a double-door, with fancy
frosted glass and two huge windows on either side. “Your house is beautiful.”

“It’s a fucking nightmare,” Connor says, pushing open one of the doors.

The front door opens into a foyer. Like, an actual foyer, like Evan has seen in movies. There’s a
small pile of shoes by the door, which look to be mostly Connor and Zoe’s. Connor reaches down
to unlace his boots and kick them off. His socks are matching this time. Evan follows his lead,
toeing his sneakers off of his feet.

“Kids?” A soft, cautious voice calls from somewhere deep in the house.

“Who the fuck else would it be,” Connor mutters under his breath, while Zoe calls, “Hi, Mom.”

Evan already feels tense as he follows Connor and the others into the dining room, where Mrs.
Murphy is standing at the table. It’s already set with enough places for everyone. The Murphys
have an actual, separate dining room dedicated entirely to eating. Evan is used to eating dinner at
the cramped table in his kitchen, or on the couch.

Mrs. Murphy is a small, slight woman with blond hair and a nervous smile. She’s older than Evan
pictured her, maybe in her mid-fifties. She has greying wisps of hair at her temples that look more
like an intentional styling choice than a nod to natural aging.

“Wow,” Mrs. Murphy sighs, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wow, hi. It’s so nice to meet all of
you.”

“Mom, this is Evan, Alana and Jared,” Zoe says, pointing to each of them in turn. “Connor’s
friends.”

Connor hunches his shoulders up against his jaw.

Mrs. Murphy is absolutely over the moon. Evan recognizes her expression. He’s seen it on his own
mom’s face. It’s the look of a mother who had all but given up on fixing her broken son, and then
the skies had opened up and offered her a miracle. But in Evan and Connor’s case, the miracle was
just a carnival.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Murphy says. “I made gluten-free vegan alfredo and roasted brussel
sprouts.”

“That sounds so lovely, thank you Mrs. Murphy,” Alana says kindly. Evan thinks it sounds like a
textural nightmare.

“Please, call me Cynthia,” Mrs. Murphy says with a smile. “Connor, why don’t you give your
friends a tour of the house?” she adds, and Connor pulls a face, glancing between the three of them
and his mother.

“What for?” Connor asks.

“Oh my God, just come on,” Zoe says, pushing Connor around and gesturing for Evan, Alana, and
Jared to follow her.

The Murphy house is enormous . It’d looked big from the outside, but Connor and Zoe take them
by a truly insane amount of rooms on their awkward little tour. Evan has no idea what rich people
even do with all of these rooms. They pass a few on the ground floor that seem to exist solely to
hold ornate furniture. Their living room looks a little more modern and lived-in, but still.

Now that Evan is seeing Connor’s house, he’s retroactively embarrassed that Connor has set foot
in his own. Evan’s house has papers all over the counters: junk mail and credit card offers, past-due
bills. There are always clothes in the laundry room that need folding, and he and his mom often
leave things where they finish using them— books on the arm of the couch, cups on the coffee
table. Connor lives in a house that is pristine.

Connor and Zoe stiffly show them around the ground floor, then climb a pair of stairs just off the
kitchen— the second set of stairs, Evan notes, since there’s another staircase in the foyer —and
show them their bedrooms.

Zoe is a little awkward about it, and Evan, Jared and Connor hover outside the door while Alana
steps in. It feels like a girl’s space, but also Zoe’s space. Evan has spent many a long night thinking
about what it might look like in Zoe Murphy’s bedroom.

It looks like a teenager’s room. The white walls are covered with posters of bands that Evan has
never heard of, and fliers from local shows that have been painstakingly taped together. Her
bedspread is white, with blue and yellow flowers. There are textbooks all over the floor, clothes
spilling from a tipped-over hamper.

When they move down the hall to Connor’s room, Evan notes that his doorknob has been
removed. His stomach swoops a little, thinking of all the reasons why that might be.

Connor opens his door with one firm kick and says, “Ta-da,” in a caustic tone. Jared pokes his head
in eagerly. The first thing Evan sees is Connor’s blue-checkered bedspread. The second thing he
sees is a fat, squat, grey cat stretched out on Connor’s pillows. It’s a Persian cat, its face pinched
around the nose.
“That’s Cordelia,” Zoe supplies. Evan already knows that. It’s Connor’s mom’s cat, the one that
likes Connor best, the one that Connor thinks of when he thinks about reasons not to kill himself.
“She only likes Connor.” Zoe adds, her voice a perfect soundbite of sibling jealousy.

“Yeah,” Connor says, proudly.

They end the tour back downstairs, and by the time Evan is shuffled back through to the dining
room, dinner is ready.

They’re all seated around the long dining room table when the sound of the front door opening and
closing echoes from the foyer. Connor visibly straightens up in his seat, his elbows off the table,
his gaze angled down at his plate. Evan watches as Mr. Murphy enters the dining room, still
dressed in a suit, loosening his tie. Connor’s dad is older than Evan had imagined, too. He’s almost
entirely grey.

Evan is sitting across from Connor— all the Murphys are on one side of the table, while Evan,
Alana and Jared are lined up on the other. There’s one seat left, at the head of the table.

“Ah!” Mr. Murphy says, leaning down to press a kiss to Mrs. Murphy’s cheek before taking the
empty seat. “You must be Connor’s friends.” He unfolds his napkin, places it in his lap. “I’ll be
honest,” he chuckles, like it’s a joke. “We didn’t know Connor had any friends.”

It’s a weird thing to say, Evan thinks. He watches Connor’s jaw twitch. Zoe has this sort of blank
look on her face, like she’s determined not to listen.

“Larry,” Mrs. Murphy chides, before saying: “We’re just so happy that you all decided to come to
dinner.”

The conversation awkwardly commences, and Evan is relieved when Alana fields most of the
Murphys’ questions. Alana is perfectly designed for parents to love her. She knows where she
wants to go to college, where she’s applied to, what impressive things she did over the summer.
Alana is kind and polite, and the more Evan listens to her talk, the more he realizes that she’s
actually kind of interesting.

Jared is not perfectly designed for parents to love him, but Mr. Murphy really seems to take to him
anyway, because Jared likes soccer. They get on a roll discussing the poor performance from the
men’s national team.

“Connor was never into sports,” Mr. Murphy says, waving one hand absently. “That height is
wasted potential.”

“Why would I want to play sports?” Connor says, pushing his food around on his plate but not
eating. “It’s literally just, like, a game. You might as well pay a bunch of grown men to play, like,
fucking hopscotch or something.”

“Watch your language,” Mr. Murphy says.

“What, fucking ?” Connor says, leaning back in his chair.

“Connor, please,” Mrs. Murphy says.

“Knock it off,” Zoe hisses.

“I don’t like sports either!” Evan rushes to say, because Connor is glowering at his dad like he
might leap across the table at him. The tension in the air is so unbearable that Evan feels like he
might collapse under the weight of it. Connor’s eyes flicker to him, his hard stare changing to
something like confusion. Evan shrinks back in his chair a bit.

“I’m—” Evan stammers. “I mean, they’re fine. Sports are fine. But I’m, um, really bad at them.”

“Me, too,” Jared says quickly. “I just like watching.”

“I was on the volleyball team for one semester in freshman year,” Alana offers. “I was not asked to
come back.”

“I’m sorry, does he just get to make fucking digs at me in front of my friends , and I’m the one who
gets in trouble for swearing?” Connor snaps, turning to his mother.

“ Connor ,” Mrs. Murphy pleads. “Not now.”

Zoe reaches one hand over to grip Connor’s wrist. Evan’s breathing starts to pick up. He’s going to
die right here at this table, probably. He’s going to have a heart attack. He left his backpack in
Jared’s car again, so he can’t even excuse himself to take a Xanax. He glances down at his plate.
Jared is very interested in his brussel sprouts, and Alana is looking resolutely at a whorl in the
grain on the wood table.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Connor mutters. He leans back in his chair so far that the front two legs tip
off the ground. Zoe doesn’t let go of his wrist.

Mr. and Mrs. Murphy don’t act like parents who just saw their son through a suicide attempt
almost two months ago, Evan thinks. And maybe that’s because they aren’t. They’ve buried it
away, hiding the evidence, hoping that a short stay in the hospital and new medication can make
whatever happened go away. And they’re sitting here, eating dinner, pretending that nothing is
wrong.

Evan feels like he’s going to burst, so he can’t imagine how Connor feels. The Murphys are
holding him to a vow of silence, and that silence is like a slow-burning flame under a pot, and
Connor is the frog in the water.

“I’m joining the tech team for the school play,” Zoe says after the quiet becomes too awkward.
She’s taken her hand off her brother’s wrist. “They put up the sign-up sheets today.”

“Oh,” Jared says, looking up. “Me, too. I’m helping with sound and lights.”

“That sounds like a great extracurricular,” Alana pipes up.

“You should do it with me,” Zoe offers. Alana smiles back at her, cautiously.

“Tech?” Mr. Murphy presses. “You’re not going to try out for a spot in the play?”

“I’m already doing jazz band, so…” Zoe shrugs. “Tech is less commitment.”

“You should try out,” Mr. Murphy says. “You’re talented. You’ve got a good voice. You could
really do something with that. Nobody ever remembers the tech crew.”

Zoe shrugs again, her shoulders dropping. Evan wants to tell her that tech is really cool, and that
she’s probably going to have a lot of fun, but he can’t get the words out.

“God, can you just be fucking nice to her for five minutes?” Connor interjects.

“How is telling her she’s talented ‘not nice’?” Mr. Murphy asks. His tone of voice feels like a trap.
He’s put his fork down and has his fingers steepled together under his chin.

“ Connor ,” Mrs. Murphy says. “Larry, please. Just drop it, you two.”

“Connor, don’t,” Zoe mutters.

“No, no, go on,” Mr. Murphy says calmly.

Connor looks like he’s boiling over. Evan wants to die. He hates this. He wants the earth to
swallow him up. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

“She fucking told you something she was excited about!” Connor is yelling now, his voice high
and reedy and almost shrill. “She wants to do tech! I bet she’s gonna be good at it! So just say,
‘Wow, Zoe, that’s so cool, hope you have fun doing tech!’ Jesus fucking Christ.”

The silence following Connor’s outburst is like a vacuum. Evan’s vision tunnels, his breath coming
quick and hard.

“Mrs. Murphy, it was so— it was so nice of you to make us dinner,” Alana says, maybe a little too
fast, her voice too small to fill the quiet. “It was so nice. But we have homework, right, Evan,
Jared? So we should really be going. It was just so nice of you—”

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Murphy says softly as she stands.

“No, it’s okay— Jared, can you—?”

“Yeah.” Jared and Alana stand, their chairs scraping on the floor. Evan feels trapped, glued to his
seat, swallowed up by knowing too much and not being able to say anything. He should say
something.

“Evan,” Jared says, shaking his shoulder. “Come on.”

“I’ll take him,” Connor says, suddenly. “Alana lives in the other direction.”

“You’re not driving anywhere,” Mr. Murphy says. His voice rises, loud and open. It fills up the
room.

“Zoe, give me your keys,” Connor says, ignoring him. “Give me your fucking keys.”

“Stop, shut up,” Zoe says, scrubbing her hands across her face. “I’ll go, I’ll take him, let’s just—
let’s just go, please.”

Mrs. Murphy follows them to the door, apologizing quietly to Evan and Jared and Alana but not at
all to her own children. Evan feels like he might cry, his throat tight, his heart racing. He’s so
overwhelmed that he forgets to grab his backpack from Jared’s car before getting into Zoe’s. The
tension feels like piano wire around Evan’s neck as he sits stiffly in the back seat, trying to
remember one of the million breathing exercises he’s learned over the years. Is it in for a count of
seven, or out for a count of seven? Evan’s lungs hurt after a count of five.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Zoe says fiercely as she pulls out of the driveway. “Why do you
have to antagonize him?”

Evan is sitting behind the driver’s side. He can see Connor in profile as Zoe recklessly whips the
car around in the direction of Evan’s neighborhood. His pale face looks almost grey now, all the
blood drained from his cheeks. Evan lurches from side to side, pressing his hands into his lap. His
head feels like it’s full of wasps, his stomach churning. He could vomit. Or shit himself. Both are
equally likely.

“He’s a piece of shit,” Connor says fiercely. Neither of the Murphys seem to be aware that Evan is
wheezing in the back seat.

“Everything is always about you !” Zoe rages, her voice filled with tears. “God, we can’t even have
a nice dinner because of you. Every fight this family has is about you , why do you have to ruin
everything ?”

Evan is watching even though he doesn’t want to— he’s watching Connor watch Zoe, the way his
face is scrunching up, crumbling, like he’s just dying to say something real. Evan squeezes his eyes
shut, leaning forward, his head in his hands.

“They’re lying to you,” Connor says, finally, like he’s ripping open a wound.

“Oh, God,” Evan gasps.

“Is he okay?” Zoe asks, finally remembering Evan. Her voice is confused and wobbly, like she’s
about to cry.

Connor pushes forward: “They’re fucking lying to you and they’re making me lie, too. I didn’t go
to a stupid retreat, I took all my pills and tried to—” Pause. Raspy, watery breath. Evan squeezes
his palms against his temples. “I was in the fucking hospital and they told me not to tell you. That's
why they won’t let me drive the car or go places, and that's why they’re making you babysit me all
the time. Because I tried to fucking kill myself, and they want to pretend that it didn’t happen.”

The car jerks to a stop so hard and fast that Evan’s seatbelt digs into his sternum.

“I’m going to throw up,” Evan whispers. His hands scrabble for his seatbelt, fingers shaking as he
pushes open the car door. They’re still in the Murphys’ neighborhood, and Evan crouches to the
ground in the middle of the nice, quiet, residential street. He puts his head between his knees and
breathes and breathes, and he’s going to die right here, he thinks. He’s going to die because he
somehow got mixed up with Connor Murphy and he kept this secret, he was a part of this, and
Connor is probably going to try and kill himself again, except this time he’s going to take Evan
with him and—

“Hey.”

Connor’s hands are surprisingly cool on Evan’s face. Evan looks up, and Connor is squatting on
the ground in front of him, and his face is red, and so are his eyes. They’re wet. Suddenly Evan is
all too aware that he’s causing even more problems, that the Murphy siblings don’t need him to be
like this on top of everything else tonight. And then Connor’s pale face is blurry because Evan is
crying , which only compounds his shame and humiliation. It eats away at him like rot.

Connor drops his hands to Evan’s arms and squeezes with his cool palms, his long fingers. Evan
looks down at them, those fingers, their chipped nail polish and mismatched metal rings. There’s a
persistent ding ding ding ding coming from the car, from Connor’s open door.

“Are you gonna die on me?” Connor asks. Evan stares at him, feeling hysterical.

“Possibly,” Evan wheezes.

“Is he okay?” Zoe calls from the car, her voice waterlogged. He can hear her sniffling.
 “Yeah!” Connor shouts over his shoulder. He stands and pulls Evan up. Evan’s legs are wobbly,
and he struggles to breathe evenly as Connor guides him back to the car. “Look, he’s fine. He’s
fine.”

Evan is not fine, but he gets in the backseat. Zoe is crying on the driver’s side, a kind of aching,
quiet crying that she is clearly powerless to stop. Connor gets back in the car and they just sit there
for a while, Connor staring ahead and Zoe crying and Evan mentally trying to decide if he’s having
a heart attack.

“Hey, Evan,” Zoe finally says. She turns around in her seat, looking at him. Her face is red and
splotchy. “Can we come over?”

Evan stares. He sucks in a wobbly breath. “Yeah,” he replies.

Zoe’s smile is crooked, not reaching her eyes. “Cool.”

She turns back around, throws the car into drive and steps on the gas so hard that the car struggles
and lurches before ripping down the quiet, luxurious street. They drive too fast as they leave the
neighborhood, whipping by facade after facade, falsehood after falsehood.

Chapter End Notes

hey was that a fun time? are we feeling nervous? are we having fun? :~) there will be
two chapters this week. Thank you for all your comments and support!! also if you
want to follow me on tumblr or instagram (i post art) my username is clytemenestras
on both. hehe.
 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

Connor, Zoe and Evan have a sleepover. Heidi is a super mom.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Evan can hear Connor and Zoe talking downstairs in the kitchen as he sits on the edge of his bed,
holding onto a bottle of water, a Xanax working its way through his system. Connor and Zoe
Murphy are in his house. Both of them, at the same time. If someone had told Evan, a year ago,
that Zoe Murphy would be sitting at his kitchen table, he probably would have thrown up in his
mouth.

Evan rubs his face, wiping away sweat and tears and snot. His panic attack is receding, and he’s
glad— not just because panic isn’t fun, but because Connor and Zoe don’t need to worry about him
right now. They’re on the precipice of something huge. The fact that they’re having this life-
changing moment in his dinky little kitchen feels more than surreal.

“I can’t believe they would do this,” Zoe is saying, her voice rising louder with each word. She’s
been saying it since they got into the house. Evan squeezes his water bottle, his gaze focusing
absently on his retro Shenandoah poster.

“Really?” Connor replies, not for the first time. “I can.”

After taking stock of all his limbs— he still has them all, even if they feel like they’re floating
away from him —Evan stands and edges carefully out of his room. He makes his way back
downstairs, calmer now, breathing successfully in through his nose and out through his mouth.
When he passes into the kitchen, he sees that Connor has dug two store-brand colas out from the
fridge, and he and Zoe are sitting with them sweating in their hands.

“Evan!” Zoe breathes, sitting up a little straighter. Her face is damp with tears, her eyes red-
rimmed. Connor’s face is blank, focused on the grain of the table. “Are you okay? Jesus, I’m
sorry, this is all so—”

“No!” Evan says quickly. He sits at the table with them, his knee knocking against Connor’s. He’s
solid, and Evan focuses on that. “No, don’t— don’t apologize, that was… that was crazy, but
you’re… I mean, you’re so welcome to be here. You can stay as long as you want.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell me?” Zoe anguishes, pressing the heels of her hands against the hollows
of her eyes. She grinds her hands from side to side, fingers digging into her hair. “What the fuck
were they thinking? What if you had—”

She drops her hands and looks up at Connor, and Evan watches the way they watch each other. He
suddenly wishes he had stayed upstairs longer.

“I’ll go call my mom,” Evan offers quickly, anything to give them more time to process this
without him there. “And, um— I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“We’re not going home,” Zoe says fiercely, not looking away from Connor, who isn’t looking
away from her, either.

“Yeah,” Connor says after a moment, turning to Evan. “Can you ask your mom if it’s okay if we
spend the night?”

“Yeah,” Evan says softly. He feels like he might say yes to anything that Connor asks him at that
moment.

He gets up from the kitchen table and goes into the living room, grabbing the landline off the
charger. He takes it out to the porch and dials his mom’s cell phone number by heart. He sits down
on the steps, holding the receiver against his ear.

It only takes two rings before she picks up.

“Evan?” His mom’s voice is tinny through the speaker. She sounds worried. “Are you okay,
honey?”

He’s not. He’s not okay, and for a moment, Evan almost tells her everything. He almost falls apart
and tells her all of the secrets that aren't his to tell, but that he’s been entrusted to keep anyway. All
he wants is for his mom to come home and fix everything that’s been broken at his feet. Evan rubs
his nose and just focuses on breathing.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, even though his voice is wobbly and tight. “I’m okay.”

“What’s going on?” His mom asks.

Evan scrubs one hand over his face, pressing his palm into his eyes as he tries to think clearly.
“Um,” he says slowly. “My friends… my friends, that I went to the carnival with? They’re, um…
things are really weird, I think? At home?”

“Oh, honey,” his mom says softly. He can hear a quiet click, and then her voice echoes a little
when she speaks, like maybe she’s stepped into an empty room. “What’s going on? Do you need
me to come home?”

Evan hesitates just a second too long. “No, I don’t think—”

“I’ll come home,” his mom says firmly. “They don’t need me here tonight.”

“Can they stay the night?” Evan asks quickly. “I know it’s a school night, but— but things are—
they’re weird, they’re really weird for them right now, and I think— I told them, I told them they
could stay? Is it… can they stay here tonight?”

“Evan,” his mom says, her voice deliberate and soothing in a way that Evan usually resents. Now,
though, he clings to it. He can’t do this by himself. He needs his mom. “It’s okay, honey. Alright?
I’ll be home in an hour, okay?”

Evan sucks in a little breath. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I love you,” his mom says, her voice fierce.

“You, too,” Evan says.

Evan sits out on the porch for a few minutes after his mom hangs up, just holding the phone in his
lap and doing that thing that Dr. Sherman suggested, the one where he couns things he can see and
hear and smell. Eventually, he gathers himself back up and goes into the house. He can hear
Connor and Zoe talking, and he loiters in the living room, not wanting to interrupt, and not really
meaning to eavesdrop.

“—I thought they were going to tell you, like, eventually. I didn’t know they were just going to just
fucking… ignore that it happened,” Connor is ranting. They’re retreading the same ground over
and over again, trying to make it make sense.

“You almost died ,” Zoe says, choking out the last word. “Why? Why would they—”

“I mean, the same reason Larry fucking… gets on my ass about the hair and the nails and, you
know…” There’s a little whump , the sound of fabric against wood, and Evan imagines Connor
slumping over the table, his long arms folding in front of him. He deepens his voice mockingly and
says, “It’s not good for the Murphy family image.”

There’s a moment of quiet, punctuated by Zoe’s sniffles, and then Connor sharply adds: “Even
though he’d probably rather have a dead son than a gay son.”

He huffs a little after he says it— a nasally half-laugh, like maybe that will make it into a joke.

“ Connor ,” Zoe’s voice is rasping and pained. Evan’s heart picks up, racing wildly in his chest.
“Don’t— don’t. Don’t say that.”

There’s a beat of silence from the kitchen.

“That’s why I get so fucking crazy when he digs at me,” Connor says, softly this time. “It’s like he
can’t even fucking try to hide the fact that he wishes he didn’t have a sissy for a son.”

Zoe inhales wetly. “I didn’t think of it like that,” she whispers, her words careful, considered. “I— I
mean… thanks for telling me, I think?”

“I thought you knew.”

“I mean, I wasn’t sure , but, I don’t know,” Zoe says. “The nails.”

Connor snorts. “Fuck.”

Zoe laughs a little, too, and just says, “Yeah.”

Evan makes sure to step more loudly than usual to alert them of his approach. When he makes his
way back to the kitchen, Connor and Zoe look less weepy, though Zoe’s eyes are still red-rimmed
and wet.

Evan’s thinking about what Connor said— about being gay, and about Larry hating that he’s gay.
The thing is, Evan is pretty sure he’s never actually met a gay person before. Or at least, someone
that he knew was gay. Gay people don’t always announce themselves, or whatever, Evan knows
that, but still. This is maybe the first time he’s known someone gay.

“She’s coming home,” Evan says, twisting his hands in the front of his shirt. “My mom. Um, but
she’ll probably let you stay. She’s kind of— I mean, she’s cool? As far as moms go, so…”

“Thank you,” Zoe says, taking a big breath in, releasing it slowly through her mouth.

They eventually move out into the living room, and Evan turns the TV on. He sits on the couch
next to Connor, and Zoe curls up on the love seat, in control of the remote. Evan’s brain whirls
with thoughts— about Mr. Murphy, and Connor, and Zoe, and everything that happened at dinner
and everything that’s happened since dinner. Despite the absolute agony of the revelation, of
seeing Connor tell Zoe, Evan feels a weight start to lift from his chest. It’s one less secret that he
has to keep.

Zoe knows. Connor doesn’t have to keep it locked up inside of himself anymore— that he tried to
take his own life, that he felt those things, that he still feels those things. Maybe that means it’s not
something he even wants to do anymore. At least, maybe not something he wants to actively do.
Evan wants to ask him about the suicide pact, but he keeps his mouth shut, just jiggles his knee
next to Connor’s while Zoe puts on reruns of Friends .

Evan tenses up when he hears his mom’s car pulling into the driveway. Zoe and Connor look up—
at each other, then toward the door —as Evan’s mom comes up the porch steps and enters the
house. Evan is pretty sure he’s never been as relieved to see his mom as he is right now: her rubber
duck scrubs, her businesslike ponytail, the way she pauses in the doorway to assess the situation.

“Well,” his mom says. “Hi.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hansen,” Zoe says softly, uncurling herself and sitting up on the love seat.

“Oh, no, please, call me Heidi,” his mom says, because that’s apparently something that all moms
are programmed to say.

“Um, Mom,” Evan says, voice wobbling. “This is Connor and Zoe Murphy.”

“Hi, guys,” his mom says, voice warm. She hangs her jacket up by the door, her hands going into
the pockets of her scrubs as she perches delicately on the arm of the loveseat. “What’s going on,
huh?”

Zoe sniffles, but puts on a brave face as she explains. “Our parents suck,” she says, frankly. “They
suck so much. They— they like, lied about something really important. So…”

“They didn’t tell Zoe that I tried to kill myself,” Connor clarifies, so plainly that it makes Evan
flinch. “And they told me not to tell her, either.”

Evan’s mom raises her brows and purses her lips, taking in the information. “Okay…” She says
slowly. “Okay.”

The Xanax keeps Evan’s immediate anxiety tamped down. He’s glad that he gets to give this over
to his mom, that he doesn’t have to try and fix it. His mom listens as Zoe carefully explains the
situation, with expletive-ridden asides from Connor. They tell her about how Connor took his pills
at the beginning of the semester, about how Zoe was told he went to rehab, about how Zoe was
made to babysit Connor without being told why— that Larry Murphy won’t let Connor take the
car anywhere on his own, and Zoe has to come straight home with Connor every day. They tell
Evan’s mom things that even he hadn’t known. They unspool their home life, trusting that Evan’s
mom can fix it, maybe because Evan trusts that she can fix it, too. He feels six years old again, like
his mom can do anything.

His mom listens, her expression careful and contemplative. Evan relaxes more and more, and he
watches as Connor and Zoe relax, too. Connor’s jiggling knee eventually stills, knocking against
Evan’s. Evan knocks his knee back.

“Let me call your parents,” his mom says eventually, after Zoe has stopped crying again. “So I can
tell them you’re here, and you’re safe.”
“Do we have to go back?” Zoe asks, chewing on her thumbnail.

“I can’t stop your parents from coming to get you, but…” Evan’s mom places her hand softly on
Zoe’s shoulder. “I’ll see if I can explain that you two just need a night away.”

His mom takes the landline off the charger, and Connor punches his parents’ number into the
keypad. She takes the phone out onto the porch, her voice going muffled as she closes the door
behind her.

“Jesus,” Zoe whispers, getting up off the couch and disappearing down the short hallway. The
bathroom door clicks shut.

Evan sits, knocking his knee against Connor’s, and just listens to the sink running; his mom’s faint
voice outside; the low, wet sound of Connor’s breathing.

“Thanks for this,” Connor says, quietly. “I mean, like… sorry that we’re like, invading your house
and fucking everything up—”

“You’re really not,” Evan says, as earnestly as he possibly can. “This is— this sucks.” He looks
right at Connor. “This is ass .”

Connor’s breath exhales in a sharp, small laugh.

“It’s ass ,” Evan repeats firmly. “But I’m— I’m really glad you told her. About… you know,
everything.” He twists his fingers into the hem of his shirt and tries to keep looking at Connor. He
ends up just staring at his right shoulder instead. “I think… I think you both needed that?”

Connor shrugs, but he knocks his knee against Evan’s, maybe a little harder than before. “Yeah,”
he says. “I dunno, it’s fucking… stupid, it’s so stupid ,” he sighs. “I don’t even know why I even
kept their fucking secrets anyway.”

Evan pushes his knee into Connor’s and leaves it there. Connor presses back.

“’Cause they’re your parents,” Evan says. “They’re supposed to, like… take care of you.”

“Fuck that,” Connor mutters.

Zoe returns from the bathroom, face clear and dry, just as Evan’s mom comes back in from the
porch. “Well,” his mom says. “Your parents said it was alright if you stayed here for the night. I
told them you’d call them in the morning before school.” She grabs her jacket off the hook. “I’m
going to go out and get some pizza, okay?”

A look of determination has settled over his mom’s face, and Evan has maybe never felt so
reassured in his life.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hansen,” Zoe says. “I mean, Heidi.”

Evan hasn’t had a slumber party since he and Jared stopped having weekly sleepovers, arranged
entirely by their moms, at seven years old. It’s a little weird to have Connor and Zoe in his house,
but the tension of the evening starts to leak away. His mom returns with a box of pizza and a
Walmart bag carrying two new toothbrushes and a pair of pajamas with little flowers on them for
Zoe.

“You’re a little tall,” she tells Connor, having to look up at him while they stand in the kitchen.
“But you can fit into something of Evan’s.”
They eat pizza in the living room in front of the television, and nobody talks about Connor’s
suicide attempt or the Murphys’ lies for the rest of the evening. They watch three episodes of
Family Feud , and Zoe and Evan’s mom form a team against Connor and Evan and try to guess the
most answers that end up on the board. His mom and Zoe win by a mile, but it doesn’t even matter
because Evan’s never been good at Family Feud anyway, and Connor keeps saying answers that
make Evan’s mom laugh and say, “ No , stop that.”

When it gets late, Evan digs out the old air mattress from the hall closet while his mom makes up
the couch for Zoe. It doesn’t really feel like a sleepover, maybe because it’s a school night, or
maybe because Connor and Zoe aren’t here because they, like, want to be here. But Evan still feels
weird and jittery as he gets ready for bed, vibrantly aware of Zoe Murphy on his living room
couch.

Zoe raps her knuckles gently on the open bathroom door as Evan brushes his teeth. She smiles
tiredly, holding up the yellow toothbrush his mom bought her. “Can I come in?” She asks. Evan
nods around a mouthful of toothpaste.

They brush their teeth side by side, silent but for the trickle of the sink. Evan feels like maybe he
should be, like, excited, or nervous, or other things you’re supposed to feel when the girl you’ve
had a crush on for the last year is standing right next to you, so close that Evan can feel the warmth
of her shoulder as they crowd together at the sink. But mostly he’s just kind of… happy? That
she’s here. Not because she’s Zoe Murphy and she’s in his house, but because she’s here , where
Evan knows she’s safe. At least for the night. If the Murphy siblings were going to run away, Evan
reasons, at least they ran away to his house.

Zoe spits into the sink, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Can I ask you something?” she says,
wiping her mouth.

“Yeah?” Evan says, focusing very hard on rinsing his toothbrush.

“Did Connor tell you?” Zoe asks. “That my parents were keeping this from me?”

Evan’s stomach starts to bubble unpleasantly. “Yeah,” he says, after a beat. He shuts off the sink
and puts his toothbrush back in its holder.

“So you knew,” Zoe says. Her voice wobbles. Evan lifts his gaze, looking at her in the mirror.
She’s wearing the flowery Walmart pajamas. She must have washed the makeup off of her face
earlier, because he can see smudges under her eyes where her mascara had been. “This whole time,
you were just— what, keeping my parents’ secret?”

“No!” Evan says. He swallows, gripping the edge of the sink with his good hand. “No, Zoe… I
wasn’t. I mean, I was keeping Connor’s secret, I guess.”

Zoe frowns. She turns her head, and Evan turns his, and they’re looking at each other. They’re so
close and Evan is struck, once more, by how much of Connor he can see in her face. “Well,” she
says. “Don’t. No more secrets.”

“No more,” Evan breathes out, and it’s a lie. It’s just another lie, because he's still keeping the
secret that Connor wants to die, still. Is planning on it. Has been planning on it. Evan swallows that
secret down again. It settles in his stomach like a stone.

Suddenly Connor is standing in the doorway of the small bathroom, trying to edge his way in
around Zoe. “Move,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes and elbows Connor in his ribs as she
squeezes past him out of the bathroom.
Connor huffs, turning the sink on and smearing toothpaste onto the toothbrush that Evan’s mom
bought him. It’s orange. He’s wearing one of Evan’s old summer camp T-shirts (so small that it
rides up on Connor’s stomach when he lifts his toothbrush to his mouth) and a pair of athletic
shorts that Evan bought for phys ed last year. Evan feels weird all over. He’s never shared his
clothes with someone before.

The shirt shows the full extent of Connor’s arms. The scars there are mostly fading, no longer
scabbed over. Some are old and white. Others are pink, newly healed. Evan tries not to look at
them, but they trail up Connor’s forearms, past the inside of his elbow, to his upper arms. It’s just
so much— so much something that Evan’s never felt, on display.

Evan forces his attention up to Connor’s face, the shape of his nose and the way his ears stick out
just a little under his hair.

“Has anyone ever told you that you and your sister look, like… eerily alike?” Evan asks, leaning
his hip against the sink while Connor brushes his teeth.

Connor spits out a glob of toothpaste. “Yeah, ’cause we’re twins.”

There’s a moment where Evan isn’t sure that he heard Connor correctly, and his brain whirls
through every word he knows that rhymes with or sounds like twins . “Huh?” he says, finally.

“We’re twins,” Connor says again, an edge to his voice like maybe he’s just joking; maybe he just
wants to see what Evan will say. He’s looking at Evan in the mirror, scrubbing at his molars.

“She’s a year younger than you,” Evan says, unable to stop his confused, incredulous smile.
“She’s— That’s not how twins work. I know that’s not how twins work.”

“She’s thirteen months younger than me,” Connor says after he spits again. “Cause we were test
tube babies or whatever. Cynthia got her implanted, like, four months after I was born.” He tosses
the toothbrush down on the counter. “We were supposed to be twins, but Zoe’s egg got frozen.”

Evan keeps staring. “I— that’s… what?”

“You should see pictures of us when we were younger,” Connor says, flashing a grin. “Everyone
thought we were twin girls.”

Something about this piece of information about Connor Murphy is so ridiculous and endearing
that Evan feels like his chest is going to collapse in on itself, but in a good way.

“You’re a twin,” he says, laughing.

“I guess not technically,” Connor says with a shrug. “But, like, spiritually.”

“Metaphorically,” Evan suggests.

“Emotionally,” Connor agrees.

Later, Evan is in bed, unable to sleep because he’s thinking too much about Connor and Zoe in his
house, when he hears a quiet creak on the stairs. His mom has already gone up to bed, so it must be
one of the— Evan pauses as he thinks, deliriously, one of the twins . He sits up as his door pushes
slowly inward. Connor’s shape, even in the dark, is distinctive, long and thin.
“Hey,” Evan says, voice quiet.

Connor closes the door behind him. “Hey,” he replies. Evan crosses his legs under the blankets as
Connor shuffles further into the room. He sits on the edge of Evan’s bed, tucking one long leg up
underneath him. They’re both quiet, and Evan listens to Connor breathe. He’s exhaling slowly, like
he has to remind himself to do it.

“Are you… hey, are you okay?” Evan asks. He scoots closer to Connor’s shadowy figure. He can
just make out the angle of his features from the light that bleeds into his room from the street
lamps below.

Connor lifts one hand, combing his fingers through his hair. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t sleep.”

“Oh,” Evan says. “I— yeah, I mean, I always… I hate sleeping in hotels, like, I always have a hard
time sleeping somewhere new. So, that’s… that’s normal, I think.”

There’s quiet from the Connor-shape at the edge of his bed. Then, “Do you still want to kill
yourself?”

The question strikes Evan in the chest, so hard he can barely breathe. His heart rabbits to life, and
he twists his fingers in his bedsheets. After everything that’s happened tonight, Connor still wants
to keep going with the pact.

“I mean—” Evan swallows thickly. It’s not that he wants to kill himself. That’s something that
other people feel, people who have it worse. Evan would just rather not have to think or feel or deal
with anything at all, ever again. If he could just not exist , that would be ideal. If he’d accidentally
died falling from that tree, well… then that would’ve been that. “Not… not tonight. Or, or… I
don’t know, Connor, maybe—”

“I’m just—” Connor’s voice is rough. “Shut up for a minute, God.”

Evan does, letting Connor get his thoughts together. Finally, he says, “Let’s just… I don’t know,
hold off for a minute, or something.”

Why tell Zoe if you still want to die? Why even bother? Why buy those books at the book exchange?
Why blow up at your dad if none of it matters anyway? There are a million things that Evan wants
to ask, but he can’t make himself do so. Instead he lifts one hand, chewing on his thumbnail as he
let’s the suggestion simmer between them.

“Yeah,” Evan says, after a moment. “We can do that.”

Connor’s shoulders slump in the low light. “Cool,” he says. Then he turns to Evan, his face backlit
by the street lights, and asks, “Can I see your national park book?”

Evan blinks, then scrambles to click on the lamp on his night stand. It illuminates the room in a
swath of orange light, and Connor blinks and squints. “Yeah,” Evan says, throwing his blankets
back and nearly tripping out of bed. “Of course.” He pulls the heavy volume from his bookshelf,
handing it to Connor as he sits beside him on the bed. “I’ve, um… I’ve bookmarked the really cool
chapters.”

“The cool chapters,” Connor repeats, taking the book in his lap. Evan can’t pinpoint why his heart
is racing, but it is.

“Um, yeah,” Evan says, gently reaching across Connor’s lap and opening the book up to one of the
page markers. “This one is about Denali National Park. It’s… it’s, like, six million acres, or
 something like that. Which— which is really cool, so. And…” Evan flips to another section of the
book. Connor lets him, just holding it open. “And here, this one, um, I mean, that’s obviously the
Grand Canyon, but there’s like, a lot of really cool history…”

When Evan looks up, Connor is staring at him. It makes the back of his neck feel sweaty.

“Or, you know, you could just… like, look at the pictures,” Evan whispers.

Connor is quiet for a beat, just holding the book in his lap. His thumbs move restlessly back and
forth over the edges of the page.

“Can I stay up here?” Connor asks. “Zoe snores.”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees. “I can leave the light on. I, like… I sometimes fall asleep with it on, anyway,
so…”

They arrange themselves comfortably— Evan settles back down in the sheets, and Connor sits up
at the end of the bed, back against the wall, legs stretched out. His feet hang off the edge of Evan’s
twin mattress. Evan falls asleep to the sound of Connor reading, the gentle swish of each thin page
slow and deliberate.

When Evan wakes in the morning, he’s alone. He lays there a moment, watching the space where
Connor had been the night before, and feels an odd, new emptiness in his chest.

Chapter End Notes

hi yay it's technically friday so here is the update. the most amazing @c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a
on tumblr drew fanart of the pact and i am simply still reeling over it!!! anyway hope
you're enjoying this story with me!!! as you can see the ? has changed to an actual
number... halfway there!!
 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

Connor and Zoe write a letter. Evan doesn't think about killing himself.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“What happened last night?” Jared asks, cornering Evan at his locker before the first bell rings. He
has Evan’s backpack. “Why didn’t you answer your messages? I was trying to get a hold of you all
night! That dinner was fucking crazy . Who knew the entire Murphy family was full of psychos?
What did they say when they took you home?”

“Jared,” Alana scolds, standing at Evan’s other elbow. “The Murphys aren’t psychos . That’s a
horrible thing to say.”

That morning, Evan’s mom had come up to his room to tell him that she had called Connor and
Zoe out of school. He’d felt a little jealous but ultimately relieved. As much as he would have liked
to stay home from school (on pretty much any given day), Evan is glad he doesn’t have to sit
around the house all day while his mom helps Connor and Zoe figure out what they’re going to do
about their whole… situation.

Although, Evan thinks, fielding questions from Jared is probably just as bad.

“They stayed at my house,” Evan says. “Um, it’s just, like… weird at their house right now? So
they stayed the night.”

“ Zoe Murphy slept in your house?” Jared crows. “Isn’t that like, your ultimate wet dream?”

“ Jared! ” Alana hits him with the heavy textbook she’s holding. She has good aim, and the blow
lands on his arm with a solid thunk .

“Ow, ow , fuck!”

“That was really nice of you, Evan,” Alana says evenly, tucking the textbook under her arm. “Are
they okay? Did they come to school?”

“No, they, uh… they’re staying out today,” Evan says.

“Mr. Murphy was something awful, wasn’t he?” Alana asks, leaning in further as if she’s worried
that the other students milling about by the lockers might hear. “We shouldn’t gossip about our
friends if they aren't here. Still, no wonder Connor is so…” She makes a vague gesture with one
hand.

“Crazy,” Jared suggests solemnly.

“He’s not crazy,” Evan says, annoyed. “He’s really nice.”

“He bought my ice cream at the carnival,” Alana points out.

“He’s not that nice,” Jared says.

“ You’re not that nice,” Evan counters. “Like— you’re really mean, actually.” But Jared scoffs and
shrugs it off.

The rest of the day feels weird, like Evan’s not really at school even though he sits through all of
his classes. He hangs around after English and asks Mrs. Donahue if he can have an extra copy of
the assignment to bring home to Connor. Then he thinks about the rest of the classes Connor is
missing— and Zoe, too. So he goes to the office during lunch and asks the receptionist if he can
have Connor and Zoe’s class schedules to get their homework for them, but apparently they’re not
allowed to just hand out schedules, so Evan has to wait awkwardly while the receptionist at the
front office emails Connor and Zoe’s teachers. After a while, she tells him that he can pick up their
homework at the end of the day, and Evan returns to the cafeteria, feeling a little less useless.

Jared and Alana have a table in the corner, and Alana waves for him to come sit. It’s nice. Nicer
than most of his lunches have been for the past four years of high school.

“I signed up for tech crew,” Alana says. “For the play. They’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. I hope Zoe still wants to join, after the whole commotion yesterday.”

“Didn’t they do that our freshman year?” Jared asks.

“This is why it’s important to support funding for the arts,” Alana sighs. “I don’t think they could
afford the scripts and costuming for something new.”

Evan doesn’t particularly want to sign up for tech crew, but when he passes by the sign-up sheet on
his way to pre-calc, he thinks about Alana and Jared and Zoe, and then he makes an impulsive bee-
line for the cork board. There’s a pen hanging from a piece of string taped to the sheet. Evan picks
it up and puts it down at least three times before he takes a big breath and scribbles his name
underneath Alana’s.

Evan picks up Connor and Zoe’s homework at the front office at the end of the day. Jared offers
him a ride home, and for once he doesn’t tell Evan to tell his mom that he was nice to him, which
Evan thinks is probably progress. When they pull up to Evan’s house, Connor is out on the porch
barefoot, smoking a cigarette. Evan briefly panics, worried that his mom will see, before he notices
that her car is gone.

Connor waves one hand, and Jared turns the car off. They both get out.

“I brought your homework,” Evan says, lifting his heavy backpack.

“Ew,” Connor says. “Why would you do that?”

“Moved into the Hansen house, huh?” Jared says. “Did you find Evan’s stash of tree porn yet?”

Evan flushes red, annoyed but also, like, unable to stop himself from smiling a bit at the absurd
idea of tree porn. Connor laughs, the sound big and high in his throat. He stubs out his cigarette
and flicks it down the driveway.

“Jared,” Evan says, pushing him a little with his backpack. “Shut up.”

“How do you know about his tree porn?” Connor says. “Are you also looking at tree porn?”

“My porn is like, so normal,” Jared insists.

“I don’t look at porn,” Evan says. “I mean, I don’t look at tree porn— or other porn, really, but—”

Jared and Connor are both laughing now, but maybe not at him, so Evan laughs nervously, too.
Connor gets up off the porch steps, and they stand in the driveway together, the three of them.
Evan has never had two friends who want to just stand around and talk about nothing. It quickly
devolves into Jared and Connor arguing about music that Evan has never even heard of, until
Connor has Jared in a headlock and they’re both yelling and laughing and shoving each other. Evan
isn’t a particularly rowdy boy. He edges away from the scuffle until he’s standing on the porch,
watching, his stomach doing weird flips as he watches Connor wrestle Jared to the ground.

The door behind him opens, and Zoe steps out onto the porch. Her hair is damp, and she crosses
her arms as she stands with Evan, watching Jared and Connor goof off. She smells like his mom’s
shampoo. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Evan says. He can’t help looking at her. For the past year, a good quarter of Evan’s brain
space has been taken up by Zoe Murphy— or at least, the idea of her that he’d built in his head, a
collage of little pieces of her that he’d gathered and cobbled into some fantasy girl who might love
him. To him, Zoe Murphy had just been a pretty girl who played guitar in the jazz band, who took
quizzes in Seventeen , who drew on her jeans in pen, who smiled like she had a secret that no one
else knew about. He’d thought she was a normal girl, and if she loved him, then maybe Evan could
be normal, too. Looking at her now, Evan realizes he knows nothing about her. She’s a person, a
real person, with an internal life that has never had anything to do with him.

“I picked up your homework,” Evan says, finally, hitching up his backpack a little.

Zoe looks at him, her face clean and free of makeup. She smiles, and for once, Evan doesn’t
ascribe some special meaning to it. “Thanks,” she says, nudging her shoulder against his. “Your
mom is really great.”

“Oh, yeah… she’s, like, top five moms, easily,” Evan says, which makes Zoe laugh.

“She’s helping us, like… write a letter to our parents?” Zoe chews on her thumbnail, swaying from
side to side. “That’s what we did all morning, anyway.”

“Oh,” Evan says. His heart squeezes. “How’s it going?”

“Connor isn’t taking it seriously,” Zoe says.

“Yeah, that, uh… that tracks,” Evan agrees.

Jared stays for a while. They move into the house and watch TV for an hour before Jared gets a
call from his mom, and he still hovers in the doorway and on the porch for another ten minutes
before he gets in his SUV.

The house feels strangely quiet with just Evan and Connor and Zoe. Zoe sets up at the kitchen table
to do homework, and Connor follows Evan up to his room, where Evan does his best to push
through his pre-calc assignments and Connor just lays on his bed and flips through his national
park guide.

Connor and Zoe don’t leave that night, or the next. They stay until Friday. Wednesday morning,
after Evan left for school, his mom had driven over to the Murphys, apparently after a long talk on
the phone, and picked up some clothes for Connor and Zoe. Evan has no idea how she pulled it off
— maybe it’s because she’s a mom, and moms speak a totally different language.

Whenever his mom is home, Evan tries to stay out of the way as she sits with Connor and Zoe at
the kitchen table with her old laptop, working on the letter to the Murphys. By nature of how small
the house is, though, Evan does end up getting a pretty good gist of the demands that Connor and
Zoe are making of their parents before they come home: Family therapy. Private counseling for
both Connor and Zoe. No more lying . Holding space for Connor and Zoe’s feelings individually.
Zoe is not Connor’s babysitter.

“Put that Connor has to stop being a piece of shit to me,” Zoe says from the kitchen on Thursday
evening, after his mom has come home from class. It’s late, and Evan is sitting up in the living
room, mostly pretending to read As I Lay Dying while he tries his best not to eavesdrop.

“Okay,” Evan’s mom says. “How can we phrase that to be a little less inflammatory?”

“I mean,” Connor says, slowly. “I have been kind of a piece of shit.”

Evan hears his mom typing for a moment before she says, “There. How’s that?”

“ Connor will be kinder to Zoe ,” Connor reads. “Charitable.”

The rest of the time that the Murphy siblings spend at Evan’s house is like… so normal. They do
homework, or avoid doing homework, and watch TV, and eat dinner, and lounge around the house.
Evan gets used to them in his space. He learns that Zoe really likes horror movies, but can’t handle
when someone on screen breaks a bone. She has an entire shelf in her room filled with old horror
DVDs, and she can list all of her favorites and name their directors from memory. Evan learns that
Connor is a voracious reader. He blows through Evan’s national park guide and three other books
on his shelf, none of which are fiction or all that interesting to people who aren’t, like, obsessed
with nature and trees.

“So why don’t you ever have your English homework done?” Evan asks after Connor returns the
third book to his bedroom. “It’s just reading.”

Connor grimaces. “Faulkner is a hack.”

“I— I don't know enough about William Faulkner to dispute that,” Evan says, laughing.

Connor picks a small blue book up from Evan’s desk, flipping through it. “What’s this?” he asks.

Evan clears his throat, embarrassed. “Uh, it’s a passport book for national parks,” he says. “When
you visit one, you go to the welcome center and put a stamp in it.”

“It’s empty,” Connor notes, wrinkling his nose.

“Uh, yeah,” Evan says, hunching his shoulders a little. “I haven’t, uh… Haven’t gotten to go to any
yet.”

Connor tosses it back on his desk and turns away, back to Evan’s bookshelf. He pulls out a book on
deciduous trees of North America and disappears back downstairs.

Friday morning, Zoe prints the letter and folds it up carefully in her backpack. They don’t come
home with him after school. Evan is expecting the house to be quiet and empty, but as he crosses
onto his street, he sees his mom’s car in the driveway. Right away, Evan is certain that something
is terribly wrong, and he drags his feet, too anxious to cross the threshold and be met with horrific
news.

But his mom is just sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch. “Hi, honey,” she says.
“You’re not at work,” Evan says.

His mom pats the space on the couch beside her. Evan lowers his school bag to the floor by the
door before sitting beside her.

“I just… I know I spent a lot of time with Connor and Zoe this week,” his mom says gently. “You
did a really good thing helping them. I had no idea…” His mom pauses, pulling the sleeves of her
sweater over her hands; a nervous tic that Evan has watched her do since he was little. “I had no
idea you were dealing with something big like that. Your friend, feeling like that…”

Evan thinks about his letter, and the emails, and the conversations about the best way to die.
Painless, quick, clean corpse, those are Connor’s criteria. Evan looks at his cast.

“You know you can talk to me,” his mom says. She’s said it a million times. “If… if you’re ever
feeling like that. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Evan whispers.

I jumped from a tree. I broke my arm because I jumped from a tree. I wanted it to be over and I
tried, I tried really hard, but you can’t die from less than thirty feet, apparently.

Connor wanting to put a hold on their plans had been a relief, at first. But now Evan’s just waiting
for the other shoe to drop. He’s not sure if all the progress from the last few months— him and
Connor becoming friends, Connor telling Zoe, the list of demands for their parents —can cure
Connor of all the things in his head that tell him he should kill himself.

He’s not sure because, even as great as these months have been for Evan, comparatively, he still
has bad thoughts all the time.

“I know I’m not here a lot,” his mom continues—

Because you have to take care of me, and if I wasn’t so broken and fucked up you wouldn’t have to
work so hard to pay for all these medications and treatments that aren’t working.

The thoughts aren’t new. They’re not even particularly vicious. They’re just facts that Evan has
had to come to grips with over the years. The older he gets, the more he sees the reality of
everything his mom has gone through to take care of him. The divorce, working two jobs for most
of his childhood until she got the position she has now at the hospital. Night school, to try and get a
job slightly less soul-crushing and slightly higher-paying than an overnight nurse’s aide. Usually,
Evan tries to reframe the idea of him disappearing into thin air (not killing himself, because killing
yourself is something that other people do) as a kindness. A favor to her.

“But I want to be here , when I am, you know?” His mom squeezes his knee. “And when I’m at
work, I’m just a call or email away, okay? I’ll always answer.”

You would be happier if I wasn’t here .

“I know, mom,” Evan says, covering her hand with his own. He squeezes back. “I, um… I’ve got a
lot of homework, so…”

“Well, it’s Friday,” his mom says gently. “Let’s watch a movie or something. I can go to the store,
we can get stuff for tacos.”

He could tell her. He could tell her that Connor asked him to make a suicide pact. But the words
don’t come out. The desperate loathing stays lodged in his chest, making his stomach hurt for the
 rest of the evening. Maybe this is just how he’s supposed to feel for the rest of his life, he thinks.
Maybe the cost of having friends is keeping their secrets and stomach aches.

Except, when Evan is most honest with himself, when his mom has gone up to bed and he’s left
alone with his thoughts and the dark expanse of his ceiling, he understands that it’s not just
Connor’s secret anymore.

It’s his, too.

Chapter End Notes

some changes: story ends at chapter 20! update schedule is lawless! this fic will be
completed by september 24th, which means you guys have an absolutely insane
update schedule coming at you in the next two weeks.

this story would be nothing without my best friend and editor lee, so round of applause
in the comments, she edits every single chapter twice and we workshop so much of the
scenes that you guys specifically love together.

i'm so excited to share the rest of this story with you!! find me on tumblr or instagram
@clytemenestras and lets talk DEH.
 Chapter 12
Chapter Summary

For Evan, everything is the same and different all at once.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Evan paces outside of the auditorium. He doesn’t want to go in, because he’s never done theater
tech before. He’s never even been to a school play.

He’s heard a lot of jokes about theater kids being loud and obnoxious, and to Evan, the only thing
worse than being surrounded by loud and obnoxious people is the idea that other people might
perceive him as loud and obnoxious just because he’s out here, standing near the auditorium doors.
He considers just not going. He’d signed up, sure, but people sign up for things and then don’t
show up for them all the time. He doesn’t think Jared, Alana or Zoe would really miss him if he
just… bailed. Maybe he could walk home right now. He could leave.

But then a terrifying thought occurs to him: What if they do miss him, and so later they confront
him about not showing up, and then everyone thinks he’s a flake?

“What are you doing?” Connor asks, skidding to a stop as he passes by the auditorium on his way
out the front doors.

Things have been a little weird since Connor and Zoe left his house, but maybe weird in a good
way, because Zoe seems happier and Connor seems less like he’s going to self-destruct at any
given moment. Zoe has a different lunch period because of jazz band, so she doesn’t sit with them,
but their lunch table has expanded to include Alana and Jared.

Evan has friends. A group of friends. A friend group , even. They do things like eat lunch together
and loiter in the hall during passing periods. Every morning Connor shows up at Evan’s locker,
squinty-eyed and sleepy, with his hood over his damp hair. And sometimes he’s in, like, the worst
mood ever, but most of the time he seems… okay.

Evan clutches at the front of his shirt nervously. “I signed up for tech crew.”

Connor frowns. He shifts his feet from side to side. “Why?”

“I— I don’t know,” Evan says. “Alana and Jared are doing it, and Zoe is, and you weren't at school
that day, so I just—” He exhales shakily, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck. “I
signed up.”

Connor steps towards him, lifting one hand to tuck his hair behind his ears. “So you’re standing
out here because…?”

Evan wheezes out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Because I’m— I’m really bad with, like, people, and
doing things, and I’m having trouble, like… breathing.” He takes a moment, looking at Connor.
“Um— if Zoe’s in there, then, are you still…?”
“Yeah, I have to wait for her to drive me home,” Connor says dully. “My parents promised to give
me some of my freedom back, but that doesn’t un-total my car.”

“Oh,” Evan says.

“I crashed it into a tree over the summer,” Connor says, picking at the cracked nail polish on his
ring finger.

“On… on purpose?” Evan asks.

Connor shrugs. “Kind of.” He glances between Evan and the auditorium doors, then heaves a sigh.
“Well, come on, then.”

Connor hooks one arm around Evan’s shoulders and wheels them both around. He reaches forward,
opening one of the heavy doors, and ushers them into the cool, red-carpeted auditorium. It’s not
particularly large, but the aisle leading down to the stage seems miles long to Evan. There’s a
group of students in the first few rows, the rising din of their voices and laughter echoing around
the otherwise empty theater.

Zoe is right in the front row with Alana and Jared, so Connor shoos Evan down the middle aisle
and all the way to the seats near the stage. Evan drops beside Jared, hunkering low in his seat, still
clinging to his backpack.

“What are you doing here?” Zoe asks Connor, frowning as he settles into the seat on Evan’s other
side.

“I’m joining tech crew,” Connor says. “It’s good for my college transcripts.”

“ Connor ,” Zoe sighs, exasperated. “Please don’t screw this up for me.”

“Scouts fuckin’ honor,” Connor says, raising two fingers, before slouching all the way in his seat.

The first practice isn’t so bad. Mr. West, one of the theater teachers, spends the majority of the
time wrangling the student actors into their first read-through of the script. After that, he gathers
the tech crew and they go up onto the stage. It’s open and wide and echoey, even when Evan steps
as carefully as he can. There are old sets and backdrops from last year's play, which they’ll
repurpose for A Midsummer Night’s Dream . The rest of the tech crew is made up of two freshman
girls, a few juniors, and two other seniors that Evan thinks are named Josh and Jacob, but he isn’t
entirely sure.

“See?” Connor says, after five o’clock rolls around and they file from the auditorium. “You lived.”

“Barely,” Evan says, still tugging uselessly at the collar of his shirt.

Tech crew becomes a normal part of Evan’s week, like therapy, or when his mom has class.
Connor and Zoe miss every Thursday, because that’s when they have family therapy after school.
Evan can’t really tell if it's helping, but Connor and Zoe go, dedicated, every Thursday.

Alana somehow appoints herself stage manager and no one contests the promotion. Jared spends
most practices in the booth near the back of the auditorium, working with Josh or Jacob to program
the lights. Evan likes painting the backdrops. It’s easy and mindless, the kind of repetitive task that
puts his brain on autopilot and lets him not think too hard about anything at all. Zoe paints with
him, which is nice, and they get to just sit in silence together, painting two coats of white over the
old backdrops so that they can make new ones.
Connor shows up to every practice, but spends most of his time lying on the floor backstage and
reading the script. This arrangement seems perfectly agreeable to everyone involved, because
Connor is quiet and not causing problems.

Evan still thinks about the pact, sometimes. He mostly wonders whether or not Connor is still
thinking about it. Evan doesn’t know what holding off is supposed to mean, and his initial relief at
the suggestion has been replaced by a buzzing anxiety. The secret, the lie that has been the
foundation of their friendship— and they are friends, now, they have to be —is still there, hovering
over him. Evan can’t stop thinking of Zoe in his bathroom, small, brow furrowed, saying: No more
secrets.

Connor doesn’t bring it up, so neither does Evan.

As September cools its way into October, the set building becomes more intricate, the painting
more detailed. One of the shop teachers stops by during practice to show them how to build set
pieces with leftover wood, dug out from deep backstage. Evan is very bad with his hands, so he
avoids actually building pieces of the set. Instead, he focuses on painting weeping willows on the
backdrops, zoning out as he renders each careful, individual leaf.

The second week of October, Evan gets his cast off, and they pile into Zoe’s Volvo and go to the
Baskin Robbins to celebrate. Connor digs a Sharpie out of his bag and re-writes his name in big,
bold letters right onto Evan’s pale skin. Jared pretends that Evan still has his cast, and Connor
plays along, and it’s a bit that lasts through the next day, until Evan has scrubbed the Sharpie off
his arm. Jared makes masturbation jokes for the rest of the week, much to Alana and Zoe’s
chagrin. Evan keeps the halved cast, the skeleton of it, even though he can’t really pinpoint why.

One Friday, mid-October, Connor catches Evan outside of the auditorium before he can go in.
Evan’s been thinking about painting trees all day, and he’s eager to get back to it.

“Skip with me,” Connor says.

Evan hesitates, glancing toward the auditorium, then back to Connor. “Are we going to get in
trouble?” He asks, tugging nervously on his backpack strap.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Who cares?”

“I care,” Evan points out. “Very much.” Connor grabs his arm and pivots him around, giving him a
push toward the front doors.

“Okay, well, stop caring,” Connor suggests. Evan goes, helplessly pulled into Connor’s orbit.

Evan starts to ask where Connor wants them to go, but then he catches sight of Connor’s face: He
looks twitchy and tired, with deep, purple grooves under his eyes. His skin is paler than usual. He
looks almost sick. Evan swallows his protests.

They exit the school, and Evan follows Connor’s long, impulsive strides away from the building,
across the senior parking lot, toward some quiet side streets. They seem like they’re going
nowhere, really. Just walking, breathing in the cool, sharp air. Evan’s nerves are burning. He feels
like his fingers are going numb, even though it’s not that cold outside.

They’re quiet together, which is usually Evan’s favorite way to spend time with anyone, but now it
feels like the silence is stealing all the oxygen between them.

Connor’s weaving trail slows. He’s led them to a sprawling playground with big wooden castle
structures, rows of swings, jungle gyms, and winding slides. It’s mostly empty; a few parents are
pushing their children on the swings. Evan can’t remember the last time he played on a playground
— he was probably too little to remember, whenever it was. All he can conjure up now are
memories of crying in the car whenever his mom brought him to a park to play. Evan wonders if
Connor knows this park, or if they just ended up here. Did he ever play here with Zoe when he was
little, when things were less terrible? Evan tries to imagine tiny Connor climbing on the wooden
castle, swinging on the monkey bars, flinging himself off the swing at its highest point.

“Are… are you okay?” Evan asks quietly, following Connor as he climbs up the wooden castle
structure. They settle into a small nook, hidden away, their shoulders pressed together.

Connor stares ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw jumps.

“I just—” Connor exhales sharply, lifting one hand, scrubbing his palm against his face. “Just
needed to be somewhere else.”

Evan can understand that desire more than anyone, he thinks.

“Family therapy sucks,” Connor says, stretching his legs out in front of him. The toes of his boots
knock together. “Like, it’s… good, I think, but it fucking sucks.”

“Oh,” Evan says. He’s only ever had one-on-one therapy appointments with Dr. Sherman.

Connor fiddles with one of the rings on his left hand, looking down.

“I always used to think that, like… it was me, you know?” he says, his voice high and soft. “Like, I
thought that I was the poison in the pond, that I was spoiling everything in this family.” Connor’s
voice cracks, and Evan feels a sympathetic ache in the back of his throat. “Like maybe if I wasn’t
so fucked up, then we could be, like, the Brady Bunch or something.”

Evan doesn’t get angry a lot, but he feels warmth rise in his face and realizes that he’s angry now.
The feeling builds in his chest, making his face hot and pink as he squeezes his hands together in
his lap. It’s anger on Connor’s behalf, anger that anyone would make him feel like he was the sole
reason for all of the Murphys’ problems.

“That’s—” Evan shifts a little, turning to face Connor more fully. “That’s bullshit. You know that,
right?”

Connor laughs, the sound wet as he rubs his face. “Yeah, I know that now ,” he mutters. “Larry
went off about how everything I do is just to get attention and Dr. Wilson was like, ‘Well, have
you tried giving him attention?’” Connor exhales a rough, stilted laugh. “He looked like he was
going to fucking explode.”

Evan smiles wanly. “Are you?” he asks. “Trying to get attention, I mean?”

Connor shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe.” He looks at Evan now, and their faces are so close. Evan can see
the coffee stain in his eye, the veins in his eyelids. Evan has gotten used to Connor’s face, to the
point where now he can’t imagine not having him there all the time, at his locker, in the halls,
during English. The realization that this— their friendship, these conversations, Connor — could
have not been a part of Evan’s life at all sends a terrible, unnerved panic pulsing low in his gut.

Connor looks away when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out and Evan notices that it’s
no longer the old, cracked iPhone that he’d had at the beginning of the year. It looks brand new,
with a heavy duty case. A text from Zoe lights up the screen: where are you?

Come 2 myrick park after tech , Connor taps back. Coolin with evan.
Coolin with Evan. Evan doesn't even know what that means. But they’re doing it, apparently.

Connor’s mood seems to lighten a little, and they crawl out from their little nook to climb over the
rest of the castle. Evan isn’t very coordinated, and Connor is way too gangly, but Evan follows him
through the structure dutifully. Around 5:30, Evan spots Zoe’s blue Volvo pulling into the parking
lot, followed closely by Jared’s SUV.

Alana and Zoe step out of the Volvo, and Evan feels a smile pull at his face as his friends make
their way to the wooden castle. Connor is perched on one of the ledges, swinging his legs.

“What are you doing?” Zoe asks, watching as Connor drops from the structure, into the wood
chips below. Evan climbs down carefully.

“Just needed to get away,” Connor says. Zoe and Connor stand toe to toe, nearly identical. “You’re
not my babysitter anymore, remember?”

Zoe purses her lips and crosses her arms, but she eventually gives into a reluctant smile. “Thank
God,” she says, and gives her brother a punch in the arm. Connor laughs and dives for her, but
misses, and Evan watches as Zoe climbs up onto the castle. Connor follows her, swinging up onto
the structure.

“You shouldn’t skip,” Alana says to Evan sternly. “You made a commitment. We had to have one
of the freshmen work on the trees and they do not look good. You’re going to have to fix it.”

“Sorry,” Evan says, compulsively.

“It’s fine,” Jared says, slapping his back, jostling him. “The trees look fine.”

“They’re crooked,” Alana insists.

“Come on !” Zoe yells from up above them.

The October light fades quickly, the evening swallowing them in darkness as they climb and run
and jostle each other on the castle. They halfheartedly play a game of tag, more interested in seeing
who can wedge through the smaller spaces of the castle than they are in following any actual
rules.

Evan is very bad at all games, even ones that are mostly made up, but he feels a big warm patch
start to spread in his chest. He’s here, with friends. With people who look at him not just because
he happens to be in the way of their gaze, but because they want to be looking at him. People who
seek him out, who talk to him, who notice when he’s not somewhere he ought to be.

When it gets too dark to see where they’re climbing, they hover around Zoe and Jared’s cars,
talking, laughing. Evan doesn’t want the evening to end. He’s not sure he’s ever had an evening
that he didn’t want to end.

Connor ignores two calls from Mrs. Murphy, which means Zoe has to answer a call from Mr.
Murphy, and she rolls her eyes and shoves Connor as she holds her phone to her ear, saying:
“Yeah. Yeah. We’re fine. We’re with some friends. No. Yes. No . Okay. Bye.”

“Want a ride home?” Connor asks Evan as the group starts to pack it in. They’re leaning up against
Zoe’s car, shoulder to shoulder. Connor knocks his foot against Evan’s. Evan knocks his foot
back.

“I live closer to Jared,” Evan says, smiling. “You should take Alana home.”
 Connor’s face is half-illuminated by one of the street lamps that outline the parking lot. He doesn’t
say anything in response, just ducks his head a little, brows furrowing. Connor always makes these
faces that Evan can’t decipher. Like he’s saying things that Evan can’t hear.

Jared takes Evan home. There’s money on the kitchen table for pizza. Everything is the same and
different all at once.

Chapter End Notes

i finished writing the complete story today, and i'm very emotional about it. i can't
wait to get the remaining chapters out to you guys. which, again, would be impossible
without my bestfriend/editor lee, so round of applause in the comments.
 Chapter 13
Chapter Summary

The Murphys have a Halloween party. Evan loves Zoe.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Mom and dad are letting us have a Halloween party,” Zoe says on Friday, the day before
Halloween. They’re all sitting together backstage, taking a break while Mr. West helps the actors
with blocking, waiting for the paint on one of the trees to dry. “It took, like, three hours of
negotiating, and we’re only allowed to invite five people.”

“So it’s not a Halloween party,” Jared says, not looking up from where he’s copying his physics
homework down for Connor. “It’s a Halloween get-together.”

“Our parents won’t be home,” Zoe insists. “So it’s kind of like a party.”

“Cynthia and Larry will be getting sloshed at the Harris’ all night,” Connor says. He’s scribbling
all over the margins of his script, chewing on the cap of a pen. “In turn, I propose we also get
sloshed.”

“We are not getting sloshed,” Zoe says firmly. “Dad has a lock on the liquor cabinet anyway.”

“But not on the wine cellar,” Connor points out.

“You have a wine cellar ?” Jared gapes. “How rich are you?”

“There is a lot of research on the detrimental effects of alcohol on the adolescent brain,” Alana
says. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Zoe.

“Eh, alcohol isn’t my favorite high anyway,” Connor mutters.

“ Anyway, ” Zoe says. “You should all come. I’m going to invite some of my jazz band friends,
too.”

“I don’t have a costume,” Evan says.

“Teenagers don’t dress up for Halloween anymore,” Jared scoffs.

“Oh, costumes are required ,” Zoe says, hands flat in front of her, voice grave. “It’s my party, so I
say so.”

Evan ends up digging his junior park ranger uniform out from the back of his closet later that
evening. He washes it and hangs it up so that it doesn’t get any wrinkles. It’s not a very good
costume, but it’s the only thing he can think of that won’t make him feel like everyone is staring at
him— even if that is kind of the point of Halloween.

His mom wakes up around noon on Saturday, and Evan knows that he can’t actually avoid telling
her about the party. She’s going to say yes, because she wants him to have friends, and the more he
has friends, the less she has to worry about him. The more he does normal things, the less he looks
broken.

When he asks her if he can go, her eyes light up, her smile deepening the wrinkles at the corners of
her eyes. Evan used to think that his mom was a young mom. She’d had him in her early twenties.
He can’t help but think that all of the things that she’s had to sacrifice for him have aged her
beyond her years.

“Of course you can go,” his mom says, sitting up straighter. “Do you need help with your
costume?”

Evan flushes. “No, I’m just gonna… I’m gonna wear my park apprentice uniform? It’s all I have,
so…”

Around six, after Evan has thoroughly convinced his mom that he doesn’t need her to drive him to
the Spirit Halloween at the strip mall, Jared pulls up to his house. When Evan gets in the car, he
feels a little less silly in his park ranger uniform, because Jared is dressed up as a really, really bad
vampire. Like, polyester cape, really bad plastic fangs, a fluffy white shirt. Evan purses his lips
together so he doesn’t laugh.

“What are you supposed to be?” Jared asks, frowning.

“Oh. Um, I’m a park ranger,” Evan says. He turns a little in his seat, so Jared can see the badge
sewn into the arm of his uniform.

“It’s not a costume if it’s your job ,” Jared complains. “Look at me. This is a costume.”

“It’s not my job anymore,” Evan points out, and Jared just scowls as he pulls out of Evan’s
driveway and makes his way towards the Murphys’.

There are already several cars crammed into the horseshoe driveway when they pull up, so Jared
has to park his SUV on the street, wedged up beside the mailbox. Evan recognizes Zoe’s blue
Volvo, but he’s never seen the other two cars. They walk up the drive, and Evan agonizes over
whether or not to knock, or try the handle, or ring the doorbell. When they reach the door, Jared
doesn’t seem to have the same dilemma. He grabs the handle and pushes. The front door swings
open easily.

Evan follows him inside. Music is playing somewhere further in the house, a steady beat over the
faraway sounds of laughter and voices overlapping. Evan feels a familiar pulse of panic in his
stomach. He doesn’t do parties. He doesn’t do people . His chest aches a little as he follows Jared,
who is fearless and doesn’t overthink walking into someone else’s house, toward the voices.

Everyone is in one of the sitting rooms on the first floor. Evan immediately spots Alana, who is
dressed smartly but doesn’t really look like she’s wearing a costume, per se. She’s talking with
someone Evan doesn’t know, a handsome black boy who looks even taller than Connor, dressed in
some kind of sports jersey that Evan doesn’t recognize.

Aside from the guy in the jersey, there are two other people that Evan can’t place. He assumes
these are Zoe’s friends from jazz band. The first, a pretty Asian girl with short hair and pink
cheeks, is wearing one of those store-bought pirate costumes and chatting enthusiastically with
Zoe. The second is a short, blond boy who is not wearing a costume. All in all, including Evan and
Jared, there are six guests.
Zoe wears a striped black and white shirt and a pair of black jeans. Evan can’t figure out what
she’s supposed to be.. And then he spots Connor, being talked at by the blond boy, on her other
side.

Connor is… Evan stares. He feels bad for staring, maybe, but he also can't help it. Connor has his
hair in loose, low pigtail braids, and he’s wearing a dress. It’s a black dress with a white collar,
worn over black tights. Zoe and Connor are dressed as Pugsley and Wednesday Addams.

“Evan!” Zoe calls when she spots them in the doorway. “Jared!”

Connor lifts his head when he hears Evan’s name, and Evan can’t place the look he gives him.

Zoe introduces her friends— George, the boy in the jersey; Alicia the pirate; and Benji the blond
—and then introduces Evan and Jared in return. Her face is pink and warm and she looks like she’s
having a lot of fun already, just sitting here with people that she likes.

Evan has never been to a party before. He doesn’t really know what to do, or how to hold himself.
He’s a little distracted by Connor, and his long legs that look even skinnier in tights.

“Nice costume,” Connor says, after he’s extracted himself from his conversation with Benji to sidle
up next to Evan. He’s wearing his normal boots, which Evan doesn’t really think are part of the
Wednesday look. “Who are you supposed to be?

“It’s my work uniform,” Evan says with a nervous laugh. He pulls at the hem of his shirt. It should
be tucked into his pants, but he’s anxiously pulled it out already. “I’m a park ranger.” He turns his
arm like he did for Jared, showing off the state park badge.

Connor’s brows furrow over his two-toned eyes, and he purses his lips, like he’s maybe trying not
to laugh. “Jesus,” he says.

“You’re Wednesday Addams,” Evan points out, trying to smooth over whatever that reaction was.
“That’s— I mean, that’s funny, you know. You being Wednesday and, um… and Zoe being
Pugsley.”

Connor shifts his weight, brushing down the edges of the dress. “Zoe thought it would be funny if
we switched,” he says.

“Are you sure we can’t get into the wine cellar?” Jared asks loudly.

There are a lot of snacks on a glass coffee table in the sitting room, but they look like rich, healthy-
people snacks. There’s some weird, flat pretzel things; dried fruit; mixed nuts; something that Evan
thinks looks like kale chips. The snacks sit entirely untouched.

Evan sits on one of the couches next to George, who, it turns out, is actually really cool. He tells
Evan that he plays saxophone, and Evan knows very little about jazz band— or jazz in general—
but he does know that saxophonists are supposed to be, like, the cool ones. Evan tries to pay
attention, but he gets a little distracted by Connor again. Benji is still trying to chat him up. Connor
is leaning as far as he can against the back of one of the couches.

“Um, what’s your costume?” Evan asks George, twisting his fingers up in the hem of his park
ranger uniform. George looks down at this jersey.

“Oh, uh, I’m Sidney Crosby,” George says with a laugh.

“Oh, cool.” Evan replies, and makes a mental note to look up Sidney Crosby on his phone later.
“What about you?” George asks, like he’s actually interested in the answer. Evan tugs at his
uniform.

“Oh, um— I’m a park ranger?” Evan starts. “But I guess it’s not a real costume, ’cause it’s just my
work uniform from last summer. I was an apprentice park ranger at Ellison State Park. I, um. I
broke my arm. But—” Evan exhales nervously. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s cool,” George says earnestly. “What does an apprentice park ranger do?”

Evan ends up explaining his entire job to George, in detail, for the next twenty minutes. George
sits and listens to him, nodding and asking follow-up questions. George is nice , and Evan feels like
he’s glowing as he talks to him. George is a senior, Evan learns, and he’s already got acceptance
letters to both the Manhattan School of Music and Stanford. Talking with George distracts Evan
from how bad he is at social situations, because George makes it seem easy.

Evan’s attention is drawn away again when Connor excuses himself from the room. He really is
just wearing a dress. It makes Evan’s stomach flip, and he’s not sure why. He worries for a
moment that he feels so weird about the dress because he has a problem with it, like maybe he’s
secretly homophobic or something, but he tries his best to just scrub the thought away.

Connor returns a few minutes later, shaking a little tin box in his hand.

“Party favors?” Connor says, opening the box and pulling out what Evan recognizes from his
elementary school D.A.R.E classes as a joint.

Evan’s face burns. For a minute he’s terrified that he’s about to get in trouble, somehow. He’d told
Zoe that Connor wasn't doing drugs, except now he knows that that isn't true. He knows that
Connor still uses weed, because it offsets how weird his medication makes him feel.

Benji, George, Alicia, and Jared all cheer, throwing their arms up— except Evan is pretty sure
Jared has never smoked weed before.

“ Connor ,” Zoe sighs, scrubbing one hand over her face. Connor squeezes himself into the
armchair that she’s sitting in.

“Come on,” Connor says, grinning. “Who’s going to tell Larry and Cynthia? Not me.”

Zoe looks at her brother, her expression all twisted up and worried and miserable. After a moment,
she sighs, looks down at the joint, and takes it out of Connor’s hand. The room erupts into cheers
again, everyone ecstatic except for Evan and Alana.

“Outside, though,” Zoe insists.

They all move through the house: into the kitchen, through the sliding glass doors and onto a back
porch that overlooks a huge backyard. The house sits atop a small incline, so most of the backyard
is a little hill. Evan’s heart is racing so hard it almost hurts. Everyone stands in a circle. Evan sticks
next to Alana, because he feels like he needs an ally in the not doing drugs department.

“Did you know studies have linked marijuana with negative psychological effects?” Alana frets,
while Connor lights the joint. “Hallucinations, paranoia… inhaling smoke of any kind is dangerous
for your lungs, too.”

“You don’t have to smoke it, Alana,” Connor says, handing the joint to Zoe. “No one’s going to
think you’re any less cool.”
Alana smiles, nervous. “You think I’m cool?”

“Duh,” Zoe says. Beside him, Alana sways proudly from side to side.

Evan watches as Connor shows Zoe how to smoke the joint. She coughs and laughs, her face going
pink, eyes watery. They pass it around the circle. When Jared takes a hit, he hacks and wheezes.
Jared passes it to Alana, who politely passes it to Evan without taking a hit. Evan holds the joint
carefully between his fingers, looking up at Connor. He finds Connor watching him, face
unreadable.

“Um,” Evan wheezes. “I’m, I— I have asthma, so…”

He passes the joint, and Alicia, George, and Benji smoke some. When it reaches Connor, Evan
watches as he holds it effortlessly between two fingers, taking a hit. The joint gets passed around
the circle once more, Zoe and Jared having an easier time on the second pass. Alana and Evan both
pass again, and Evan learns that Alana is wearing a pantsuit because she's dressed as Anita Hill. He
makes another mental note to google Anita Hill. When the joint makes it back to Connor, he
smokes the last of it before stubbing it out on the wooden railing that runs around the porch.

The mood is lighter when they move back inside and fling themselves onto the expensive, ornate-
looking couches in the sitting room. Connor tries to squeeze himself between Jared and Alana, but
there’s not enough room on the love seat, so he ends up on one end of the long couch with Benji,
who keeps leaning in and talking too quietly for Evan to hear, like he’s sharing secrets.

“Zoe, your snacks suck,” Jared says, even as he shovels a fistful of flat pretzels in his mouth.

“Cynthia sucks,” Connor points out. “And Cynthia buys the snacks.”

“I’ve got ten bucks,” George says, digging into his front pocket. “Anyone else have cash? We can
get pizza.”

“We’re gluten free,” Zoe complains. “If my mom finds a pizza box in the trash, she’ll lose it.”

“I’ve got ten,” Jared says, and soon everyone is fishing out whatever cash they have in their
pockets and wallets and dumping it on the coffee table. Evan doesn’t have any cash, but neither
does Alana, so he tries not to feel too embarrassed about it. After a lot of shouting, mostly from
Connor, Alana calls Pizza Hut and orders two large pizzas and a liter of Coke.

The evening drags into night, with pizza and music and revelry. Most of the party guests are some
degree of high. Evan watches Benji bug Connor for a majority of the night, and Alicia and Alana
get into a debate about the major themes in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening , and Zoe and Jared
dance on the couches with their shoes on. George makes his way back to Evan and asks him more
questions about national parks and, even though Evan is entirely sober, he feels his own kind of
high as he spouts off, uninhibited, about trees and hiking and Acadia. It’s fun. He’s a seventeen-
year-old boy at a party with friends and he’s having fun, and he’s entirely normal.

Eventually, Connor disappears again, only to return with a bottle of wine. Zoe yells disapprovingly
while once more the rest of the group, minus Alana and Evan, cheers loudly.

“Dad is going to kill you!” Zoe laugh-yells.

“ Fuck Larry!” Connor says.

There’s an approving chorus of Fuck Larry! From most of the group. The bottle is more than half-
empty, so when Connor pours it out, there’s barely enough for everyone. Evan is stressed again,
because he does not want to drink wine, but when Connor gets to him, he pours Evan a cup of
Coke without Evan even having to ask. As everyone arranges themselves in another circle, Connor
drops to sit between Evan and the arm of the couch, which, Evan notes, leaves Benji to sit
somewhere else.

“Never have I ever,” Alicia says, raising her glass of wine. The dark red liquid pools at the bottom.
Evan doesn’t think they’ve got a full glass between all of them. “Never have I ever stolen wine
from my dad’s wine cellar .”

Connor rolls his eyes and drinks. Evan doesn’t understand the rules of this particular game, but
after a few rounds in which everyone targets Connor for something he’s supposedly done, he
thinks he gets it. When George says, “Never have I ever broken a bone,” Evan is the only one who
takes a sip.

“I— you’ve all never broken a bone?” Evan asks, incredulous. “None of you?”

“Sorry we’ve got superior bones,” Jared says.

Connor knocks his tight-covered knee against Evan’s. He’s laughing.

It’s good. All of it, the whole night. It’s good, and weird, and something that Evan has never
experienced before.

“Never have I ever…” Alana hesitates, swishing her wine around. She hasn’t drunk any of it. “Um,
never have I ever… kissed a boy?”

Zoe, Alicia, Benji, and Connor drink. Evan watches Connor lift his cup to his lips and take the
smallest of sips, nursing the wine so he can keep playing the game.

“Who have you kissed?!” Alicia shouts, pointing at Zoe. “No way , who?”

“It was last summer,” Zoe says, laughing, cheeks pink.

“Ew,” Connor announces loudly.

Evan’s face burns, and he clenches his fingers around his cup. Connor is gay, Evan reasons, so of
course Connor has kissed boys. How else would he know that he’s gay?

“Never have I ever kissed a girl,” Benji says with a snort.

Alicia, George, Jared and Connor drink. Evan doesn’t know if he believes Jared, because he’s only
ever talked about a girl from his summer camp who Evan apparently can’t meet because she went
back to Israel. He gets distracted again by Connor drinking. Of course he’s kissed girls too, Evan
thinks, because how else would he know that he doesn’t like kissing girls?

Evan can’t drink, because the only girl he’s ever actually liked is Zoe. Looking at her now, across
from him, Evan isn’t even sure if he ever actually wanted to kiss her, or if he just, like… liked the
idea of kissing her.

Either way, it leaves him never having kissed anyone.

They go a few more rounds. Evan drinks when Alicia says she’s never been out of the state. (He
went on vacation with his parents to Vermont when he was five.) For the most part, Evan hasn’t
done a majority of the things that other people drink for. Connor drinks for weed, and for alcohol,
and for crashing a car, and, strangely, for camping— though Zoe doesn’t drink for that one, which
Evan is still trying to figure out when Alana says, “Um, never have I ever… had sex?”

Connor is the only one who drinks, and the rest of the group erupts.

“Stop trying to be shocking!” Zoe shouts.

“I’m not ,” Connor insists. He jiggles his leg, pressed up against Evan’s. “Last year, at boarding
school.”

“You went to Hanover ,” Alicia yelps.

“That’s an all boys boarding school ,” Jared shouts.

Suddenly there’s a lot happening all at once, and Evan feels kind of dizzy. And warm. He feels
way too warm. He pulls at the collar of his uniform. Everyone is shouting, talking over one
another, and the cacophony of voices makes Evan’s heart rate ramp up.

He pushes himself up off the couch, stammering about having to pee, but he doesn’t think anyone
hears him over Jared saying, “Wait, wait, hold on, let me get the whole picture here—” while
Alicia screams with laughter. Evan thinks maybe he sees Connor looking back at him as he leaves
the room, but he doesn’t slow down to make sure.

He can still hear the din of voices from the kitchen, but there’s a vent right over the island, which
kicks on and blows cool air at him while he sits and breathes and tries not to lose it. He’s bad with
people, he knows that. Groups are even worse. He hadn’t even thought to bring a Xanax with him,
so all he can do is press his forehead against the cool granite countertop and count to ten. And then
to ten again, because the first time doesn’t calm him down at all.

“Hey.” Zoe’s voice floats in from the kitchen doorway. Evan lifts his head and looks at her in her
too-big, striped shirt.

“Hey,” he wheezes.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sliding into a stool beside him.

Evan nods, scratching his nails over the smooth countertop. “Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not
sure if he’s okay. Maybe he could be okay, in a little bit. “I just— I get, um, like… really
overwhelmed, sometimes? And everyone was like… shouting and stuff.”

Zoe nods, slowly rotating on her stool from side to side. “Sorry about that,” she says, and stretches
her arms over the counter. “My brother is an idiot.”

“He’s not,” Evan says quickly, shaking his head. Connor is really smart, actually, but he’s not sure
if that’s what Zoe meant. He thinks that Zoe is probably obligated to say that her brother is an
idiot, because he’s her brother, and that’s the kind of things that siblings say about one another. But
still.

Zoe looks at him, and Evan can see Connor’s face in her own. She’s giving him her own
unreadable look, and Evan is starting to wonder if that’s just, like, a Murphy thing.

“I just mean,” Evan stammers. “Like, it was… it was just a dumb game, so.”

Zoe nods slowly. “Right,” she says, drawing out the i sound.

“Sorry,” Evan says. It feels compulsive, like the awkward lull between them is somehow his fault.
“You apologize a lot,” she points out, and Evan nods, swallowing down another Sorry . She goes
on: “I get overwhelmed, too. Sometimes this house is, like, a nightmare. When I was little,
whenever everything was all, just… so much , I used to go outside and roll down the hill in the
backyard.” She smiles a little at the memory. “I got so dizzy, I didn’t know what was up or down. I
just felt like I was somewhere else for a while. Laying out there, looking straight up at the sky.”

Evan hates being dizzy, but when Zoe talks about it, it doesn’t sound so bad.

“Should we be worried about— I mean, should Connor be, like… smoking?” Evan asks, thinking
about rehab, and all the worry on Zoe’s face when she’d asked about drugs that one time. But she
shakes her head, rolling her chin forward a little so her hair sweeps in front of her face.

“No, he’s fine,” she says. “He got kicked out of Hanover because it’s a zero-tolerance policy, but
he told me what happened. Two joints, and they weren’t even his.” She grimaces, searching for the
right words before she goes on. “He was trying to stop the administration from coming down on
his— friend, or boyfriend, or whatever. And my parents thought, you know… maybe rehab would
finally fix all his problems.”

Zoe exhales a short, derisive laugh. She lifts her head, shaking her hair back off her face, and turns
an eye to Evan. “They didn’t even know. He couldn’t even tell them.”

Evan lets the story wash over him. Connor had chosen rehab over watching someone he cared
about get kicked out of school. He stares at his hands, trying to digest that.

Connor isn’t an idiot, Evan thinks. He’s thoughtful and kind, and it’s unfair that no one ever gets to
see that side of him. It’s unfair that when he’d shown that side of himself, he’d been tucked away
somewhere, where everyone had hoped someone else would fix him.

Evan is feeling angry on Connor’s behalf again, maybe. He’s also trying not to think too hard about
the word boyfriend.

Zoe gets up off her stool and holds her hand out. “Come on,” she says.

Evan looks at her hand. He rubs his own against the front of his shirt, worried for a moment that
he’s sweaty, because he’s always worried that he’s sweaty. There was a time when holding Zoe
Murphy’s hand had been one of Evan’s top five daydream scenarios. He grabs it, and she pulls him
along toward the sliding glass doors.

“Won’t they wonder where we are?” Evan asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Probably not,” Zoe says. “Jared was way too interested in hearing a play-by-play of my brother’s
boarding school romance.”

She pulls him out onto the porch. The air is markedly chillier and he shivers, letting Zoe lead him
down the back steps and onto the cool, damp grass of their hilly backyard.

Zoe lets go of his hand and they drop into the grass together, lying face-to-face on their stomachs.
She doesn’t mention whether or not he’s sweaty. Her face is so close, with her brown eyes and her
pink cheeks, still flushed from weed and a little bit of wine.

“Ready?” Zoe says, stretching her arms out in front of her. Evan does the same. His heart is
pounding. A year ago, he would have given anything for this. For this moment, here, with Zoe, he
would have given up anything.

Zoe counts to three and pushes off the ground. Evan pushes with her and they go, spinning, the
 grass and the dark sky and the lights from the house all blending together. Everything unites to
color this one moment, Evan and Zoe rolling down the hill.

Zoe’s laughter is a screech, and Evan feels sound bubbling up from his chest, echoing as they
tumble. They come to a natural stop at the bottom of the incline, thunking onto their backs,
breathing so hard it sounds like gasping. Evan tilts his head back and looks at Zoe, framed by the
grass and the sprawling, dark sky up above.

Evan’s heart aches. If Connor hadn’t cornered him in the bathroom that day at school, Evan would
have never known this real version of Zoe, far better than the cobbled-together caricature he’d
created. He would have never known what she sounds like when she laughs, or the way she
chooses her words, carefully but firmly. That she says what she means, and means what she says.
He would have never known the subtle differences in her smiles, in her moods.

Zoe reaches for him, once more clasping his hand in hers, and Evan squeezes their palms together.
The real Zoe Murphy smiles at him in the dark, illuminated only by the light pouring out from the
kitchen doors.

He loves her, finally, the way she deserves to be loved— as a fully realized creation. As a friend.

Chapter End Notes

the next few chapters are, as lee and i call them, absolute doozies. so have fun and
enjoy the ride!! check out the brat pack's halloween looks here

round of applause for lee for two rounds of edits on each chapter of this fic. round of
applause for cool george.

follow me on tumblr / instagram @clytemenestras at both!

 Chapter 14
Chapter Summary

Connor can't skip rocks. Two friends have a perfect day.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Connor is waiting in the drop-off lane outside of school on the first Thursday in November, leaning
up against a Subaru that Evan has never seen before.

Like every Thursday, Connor and Zoe had been absent from play practice. Opening night draws
nearer, scheduled just before the winter break. Evan has far fewer trees to paint, which means he’s
had to learn a whole host of other duties backstage— changing the sets, putting the props where
they need to be, helping the actors change costumes. It’s not quite as mindless as painting had been,
but for once Evan’s anxiety works with him instead of against him, helping him keep pace with the
frenetic intervals between set changes.

Evan approaches the Subaru, Jared and Alana on either side of him. It’s the edge of winter: The air
is bitter and the first inklings of snow are appearing late in the evenings, gone by morning.

“Hey,” Connor says, voice dull. His face is pink, maybe because of the cold, his lips pressing into
a thin line. “Wanna hang out?”

“I have to go see my grandmother,” Jared says apologetically.

“AP Biology exam tomorrow,” Alana replies, her smile contrite. “I haven’t studied at all.”

Evan is positive that Alana has already studied quite a lot, but he doesn’t contradict her.

“I can,” he tells Connor, shrugging. His mom isn’t home, and what is he going to do other than go
home and stare at the walls, or the television, or his computer, waiting for Connor to email him?

Evan climbs into the passenger seat. Connor sits behind the wheel, gripping at it, his knuckles
white.

“Nice car,” Evan offers.

There’s a beat of silence between them, and Evan struggles not to try to fill it with stammered
commentary. Connor looks exhausted, and a little bit like he’s been crying. Evan tries to think
about what might have happened to make Connor look like that, but it just hurts his feelings, so he
stops.

“It’s Larry’s version of an apology for being such a shit dad,” Connor replies, finally. He throws
the car into gear and peels out onto the main road.

“Oh,” Evan says. “That's… nice?”

“It’s fucking stupid,” Connor says.

Evan doesn’t mention that he doesn’t know anyone else who would get a car as an apology. He
sort of wishes he still had his cast, so he could have something to fiddle with. He ends up pulling at
a loose thread on his jeans instead, where a little hole has begun to rip below his pocket. They
drive in silence, making loops around the same three or four streets.

“Maybe we should, like… make a real plan,” Connor says, after they’ve been silent for a while.

Cold shoots down Evan’s neck and spine. Sweat breaks out under his arms, on his palms. He
presses his hands against his thighs, breathing quick and hard. This was exactly what he’d been
worried about, that Connor would eventually circle back around to the pact, and he’d still be
caught up in it.

“Um,” Evan rasps. “I thought— I thought you wanted to wait?”

Connor shrugs. His left foot, the one not on the gas pedal, begins to jiggle.

Evan thinks about Zoe, and rolling down the hill, and how when everything felt like too much, that
had actually helped. He swallows down his nerves and sits forward in the passenger seat a little.

“Turn up here,” he says.

“Huh?” Connor swerves into the right hand lane without signaling. Evan clutches at the handle
above his seat.

“Here,” Evan says, pointing ahead. “Okay. Now just go straight for like, five minutes.”

Somewhere between the ages of seven and ten, Evan remembers having an easier time just…
existing. Like his anxiety hadn't fully formed yet. Back then, his mom would drive him out to the
lake and they would spend early Saturday mornings skipping rocks and drinking Big Gulps from
the 7/11. It’s a small lake, with tall grass surrounding it instead of a wide dirt shore, and there are a
few bike trails that connect it to a nearby residential neighborhood. Still, it feels like it’s far outside
of town, even if it’s only a few turns away from the nearest house.

It’s a little dumb, but Evan remembers it vividly now— there is nothing quite like chucking a big
rock into the water.

The park that surrounds the lake is tiny, with only a few parking spaces. Connor pulls into one of
the spots crookedly.

“What are we doing here?” he asks, lips turned down at the corners. His expression looks so
heavy. Evan opens the door and climbs out, heading right for the tall grass at the edge of the lake.
He hears Connor’s door slamming behind him, and the sound of his long legs beating through the
weeds. “Hey! Evan!”

Evan turns only when they’ve reached the narrow shore. He looks down, kicking at the grass and
dirt. He finds what he’s looking for and bends down to pick up a hefty rock. He doesn’t even care
about getting dirt on his thick jacket as he holds it up. Connor is staring at him, incredulous, but at
the very least confusion has overtaken his dour expression.

Connor exhales a half-laugh. “What—?”

“Here,” Evan says, heaving the rock at Connor. He grabs it, holding it in both hands. “Throw it.”

“What?” Connor looks down at the rock, turning it over in his hands.
Evan digs around a little and finds another rock, not as big as Connor’s. He turns toward the lake
and overhand throws it right into the water. The rock hits with a splash, sending a spray into the
air.

Connor just stares at him. Evan grabs his arm, jostling him. “Throw the rock, Connor.”

Connor turns forward, his expression twisting up into an almost smile— like he’s trying to fight it,
or like he thinks Evan is crazy. He uses both hands to launch the rock away from him, into the
lake. It splashes a little closer to shore, sprinkling them with water.

“Is this supposed to help?” Connor asks, dropping his hands.

“Yeah,” Evan breathes. He digs around in the dirt, pulling up another rock. He passes it to Connor,
who takes it more enthusiastically this time. He wheels his arm back and chucks it, the lake
swallowing it with a distinctive plop!

They dig in the mud until their hands are grimy and freezing. Evan tries to show Connor how to
skip rocks, but Connor’s so bad at it that he gets frustrated and just ends up throwing them as far as
he can.

They pick their way along the edge of the lake, walking further from the parking lot and deeper
into the weeds. Connor finds a rock the size of his head, and Evan watches as he swings it around
and throws it like a shot put.

When the last of the winter sun inches beneath the horizon, they make their way back to the
Subaru, panting and shivering. Connor turns the heat all the way up as they sit in the dark car.

“That was so stupid,” he says, rubbing his hands together.

“Yeah,” Evan says, breathless. “But it worked.”

Connor purses his lips. Shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.”

They’re quiet together, the only sound between them the rush of air from the vents. Evan sort of
wishes that they were sitting somewhere else other than a car, so he could push his knee against
Connor’s, and feel him push back.

Eventually, Evan asks, “Was family therapy bad today?”

“Everything was bad today,” Connor says softly. He turns the air down a little so Evan can hear
him. “I can like, fucking see Larry getting tired of sitting around for two hours every week while
Zoe and I cry.” He scratches absently at the steering wheel cover. “Mom is a little better about it,
but… God, I know she just wants all of this— wants me —to be fixed, you know?”

Evan does know. He’s seen his own mom’s anxious hope every time he comes home from Dr.
Sherman’s office, like each new session might be the one that gives her a normal son.

Evan suddenly wonders if maybe he should hold Connor’s hand. He shoves both palms against his
thighs instead, bewildered by the errant thought. It’d probably just come to him because he’d
thought of Zoe, and the hill, and holding her hand in the dark, dewy grass. Evan had thought of all
that, he reasons, and then he’d brought Connor here.

“I don’t…” Evan swallows, clears his throat, tries again. “I don’t think you need to be fixed?”

Connor is quiet on the other side of the car. Evan wonders if anyone has ever told him that he’s
not, like… broken, before. That he’s not some machine or toy with a defective part that needs
replacing.

“Tell that to Cynthia and Larry,” Connor mutters, finally. Evan exhales a laugh.

“God—” Evan says, shaking his head. “Who… who cares? I think you’re… great. I think you’re
really great, actually. You’re really smart, and… and nice, sometimes. You’re nice to me, which—
I think that’s the important part.” The words seem to come, for once, without Evan overthinking
them. “And Jared is, he’s… Jared is, like, obsessed with you, I think. He doesn’t even let me copy
his homework, and I’ve only ever asked, like, once? And you ask every week, and he just does it.
’Cause he thinks you’re so cool. And Alana— I mean, she’s probably the nicest to you out of all of
us.” He sucks in a breath, and adds: “And Cordelia thinks— she thinks you’re the best person in
the world, probably. So who freaking cares about what your parents think? I don’t think you’re
broken. None of us do.”

Evan clutches the hem of his jacket after he gets it all out. He stares forward instead of looking at
Connor's shadowy figure beside him. Everything is so quiet , and Evan goes back over what he
said, frantic, terrified that he’d said something stupid or embarrassing or maybe rude, he’s not
entirely sure.

Then Evan hears it— a wet little breath, followed by a sniffle.

“Oh my God,” Evan breathes. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Oh my God, I’m so— I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut up,” Connor says, rubbing his face. “Shut up.”

“Okay, right. Sorry.”

“Shut up.”

Evan does. Quiet fills the car again until, eventually, Connor shifts into reverse and backs out of
the parking space. He drives Evan home— no radio, just the two of them breathing together in the
front of the Subaru. They pull up to Evan’s dark house, and Connor parks crooked in the driveway.

“Thanks,” Evan whispers. He gathers his backpack off the floor mat, pawing in the dark for the
door handle.

“For the record,” Connor says, lolling his head in Evan’s direction. “I don’t think you need fixing
either.”

The words hit some raw nerve in Evan’s chest, and he stops moving. He thinks he understands why
Connor had started crying, before.

Evan swallows a lump in his throat. “Okay,” he says.

“I mean it,” Connor adds, fiercely. Evan looks at him, his face blueish in the glow of the dashboard
lights. Connor’s lips part, like he’s going to say something else. But then they close again, and he
looks away.

Evan climbs out of the car. His limbs are heavy, his stomach bubbling, his chest tight. He goes
right into the house and sits on the cool bathroom floor, pressing his head between his knees and
just trying to breathe through whatever this is.
On Friday night, Evan’s computer dings with a new email. He’s in the middle of watching a
YouTube playlist of vintage appliance restoration videos. It’s late, past eleven at least, and his heart
thrums in his chest as he opens his inbox. A new message from Connor sits unread at the top, with
its customary (No Subject).

DATE: 11/6/2015

TO: evanhansen@gmail.com

SUBJECT: (No Subject)

FROM: cordeliamurphy@gmail.com

dear evan hansen

be outside ur house tomorrow morning at 5am. so in like 6 hrs. very important do not
be late.

sincerely me

Evan stares at the email with a sour taste in his mouth. He clicks back through the last few
messages they’d sent, which were about nothing in particular. He opens the newest message again,
rereading it over and over. Be outside. Five a.m. A time when the rest of the world is still soundly
asleep. Evan chews on his thumbnail, his stomach churning as if it’s suddenly become home to a
hive of very angry wasps.

This is it, isn’t it? Connor has made a plan. He’s decided how they should die. Evan knows that it
doesn’t make sense that Connor has decided it’s time to die, but his fearful brain is like an animal
in a cage. He’s unable to see beyond the panic that grips at his throat.

Not for the first time, Evan thinks of calling his mom. She’s at work, so she might not answer, but
maybe he could leave a message. Maybe he could call the hospital directly and have someone find
her. Evan paces his room, hands clenching and unclenching. He twists his fingers together. Connor
is coming to his house in six hours, possibly because he’s found the way he wants to die and he
needs Evan to help him do it. It’ll be easier with the two of us , Connor had said.

Evan picks up his phone. He hovers his finger over his mom’s contact, but fear and shame make it
impossible for him to press down. He tucks his phone under his pillow instead, flopping heavily
onto the mattress. He can’t do this: not the pact, not taking responsibility for stopping Connor.
He’s not strong or brave enough for any of it.

Evan doesn’t sleep. He tries, but whenever he lays down to close his eyes, he’s plagued by worry
and nausea and fear. Every time he checks the time, thinking that another hour has passed, it’s only
been ten minutes. He comes up with Reasons Why Connor Murphy Should Not Kill Himself. He
taps them out onto a note on his phone, fingers shaking and slick with sweat. Eventually around
four a.m., as the hour approaches and the fear and anxiety become too much to handle, Evan pops
a Xanax and swallows it down with a gulp of stale water from his bedside table.

At five on the dot, Evan hears Connor pull into his driveway. He slips on his shoes and heads
downstairs. The Xanax coats most of his panic in a thin film of calm, but his heart is still
hammering in his chest. He grabs his keys and coat from their hooks by the door, twisting the
deadbolt closed behind him. He’s about to walk into Connor Murphy’s suicide death-spiral, and
he’s locking his front door behind him. It almost makes him laugh, but his terror outweighs the
absurdity.
Connor is sitting in the Subaru. The sun isn’t up yet and the air is cold and wet, the driveway dark
with a sprinkling rain. Evan makes his way to the passenger side as slowly as possible, trying to
remember all of the reasons why Connor should not kill himself. Why they shouldn’t kill
themselves together.

Evan slips into the car. It’s practically humid, Connor has the heat running so high. When Evan
slides into his seat, the back of his thighs are met with a pleasant toastiness. Connor’s apology
Subaru has seat warmers.

“Hey,” Connor says, looking squinty-eyed and sleepy. Evan buckles himself in, slumping low in
his seat.

“What… um, what are we doing?” he asks, feeling desperate to just hear the words, for Connor to
get them out already: It’s time, we’re doing it, I found a way, lets go—

“Okay, well…” Connor pulls out of Evan’s driveway, heading back onto the main road. “I had this
idea, and it might be stupid or whatever, but I thought, like… I don’t know.” He’s not looking at
Evan as he speaks. “I just wanted to say thank you or whatever for taking me to that dumb lake the
other day.”

It takes Evan a solid thirty seconds to comprehend what Connor is saying, and how none of it
includes the words die or suicide or carbon monoxide . He sits up a little more in his seat, watching
Connor’s profile as he drives.

“The lake?” Evan asks, perplexed.

“Yeah.” Connor takes a turn without using his signal, and Evan clutches at the sides of his seat.
His palms start to warm where they’re pressed against the fabric. “It was cool. So I called your
mom and she said it was fine if I took you out today. But it’s, like, three hours away, so I wanted to
make sure we got there right when it opened so we could spend the day doing, I dunno, dorky tree
stuff.”

Evan is still trying to figure out what Connor is saying, exactly. “You’re taking me somewhere,” he
repeats, “...to do dorky tree stuff?”

Connor exhales, taking the highway on-ramp as he reaches behind Evan, into the backseat. The
Subaru drifts a little before Connor corrects it jerkingly, pulling his arm back. He thrusts
something into Evan’s lap— a small brown leather book, with the words National Parks and a little
tree embossed on the front. When Evan opens it, his empty passport booklet is inside.

“I got you a cover for your park passport thing,” Connor says. “And it looks sad as fuck without
any stamps in it, so…”

“You’re taking me to— we’re going to a park?” Evan squints across the car at Connor, who’s
hunching his shoulders as they merge messily onto the highway. The lack of sleep is starting to
catch up with him.

“We’re going to Saratoga,” Connor answers, his tone clipped, like maybe he’s getting annoyed that
Evan is asking so many questions. “It’s a national historic park and not, like, a national park , but
they still have stamps. I checked.”

Evan looks down at the passport, and the cover, and— it’s probably the kindest thing anyone has
ever done for him, ever, for any reason. He feels his bottom lip quivering, and he clamps it
between his teeth.
Connor must read something else into Evan’s silence, because he says, “We don’t have to go, I can
like, turn around, or—”

“No!” Evan gasps. He rubs his face with one hand and swallows around the lump in his throat.
“No, Connor. This is— this is super cool. I’m…” He trails off, not knowing what to say. This isn’t
something that Jared or Alana would have done for him, Evan thinks. Something about this gesture
is wholly and unrestrainedly Connor.

“Cool,” Connor says. He purses his lips a little, but seems to relax.

“How did you get my passport?” Evan asks, flipping through the blank pages. He hadn’t even
noticed it missing from his desk.

“I stole it,” Connor admits. “Back when your mom let me and Zoe stay.”

Evan squints a little. “Were you— I mean, were you going to give it back?”

Connor shrugs. “Yeah, eventually.”

Evan wants to ask why Connor stole his passport, but figures it doesn’t really matter, since he’s
already given it back— and with such a beautiful, probably expensive cover. As if to change the
subject, Connor presses one of the preset dials on his radio, and music fills the car.

“What do you usually listen to?” Connor asks.

“Um, usually like… NPR? I don’t really— not that I don’t listen to music,” Evan says,
embarrassed. “But just, like, the radio in the car, I usually just… listen to NPR.”

Connor rolls his eyes so hard his head rolls back, too, but then he pushes another button and a soft,
calm voice replaces the music. The radio drones on about politics, the subject of a true crime
podcast, and a story about crab season in Florida. For the most part, Evan tunes it in and out,
dozing as he leans his head against the cool window. Connor’s reckless driving evens out once
they’re on the highway, though he still flies down the left lane.

The three-and-a-half-hour drive blinks by, and when Evan finally stirs as Connor takes the exit
toward Saratoga, he tries his best not to feel embarrassed that he slept the whole time. Connor’s
planned this whole extravagant day, and Evan’s started it off by not sleeping at all the night before
and then passing out on the drive in. He starts to work up the courage to say something about it,
apologize maybe, when Connor glances at him across the car, cheeks pink, smile crooked.

“You good?” he asks.

And Evan realizes that he is good. The road they’re on now is framed with trees, with breaks every
few miles for fields that lead up to farmhouses. He clutches at the passport in his lap, thumbs
rubbing back and forth over the leather. It’s probably the nicest thing he owns now.

“I’m good,” Evan says out loud, and Connor grins, loose and happy, facing ahead again.

They spend the next half-hour on the winding road leading from the highway to Saratoga National
Historical Park. Eventually they make it, Connor pulling recklessly into the parking lot of the
visitors center. They’re early, the clock on the dash reading 8:50 a.m. As soon as the ten minutes
pass, Connor leaps out of the driver's side. Evan follows, excitement bubbling up in his chest like
anxiety, but better. His 4 a.m. Xanax probably helps with that.

The visitors center greets them with a timeline of the Revolutionary War, along with a fiber optic
map that shows the movements of the troops on the battlefield. Evan’s never been particularly
interested in the revolution, or any war for that matter, but he spends a good five minutes in front
of both displays, overwhelmed and unable to move forward until he gets a good look at all of it. At
first he’s worried that it’s too dorky to take pictures, but Connor has his phone out and eagerly
takes pictures of both the displays, then a few of Evan in front of them, obnoxiously directing Evan
on how to stand until they both can’t help but laugh.

The stamps are set up in the bookstore. Connor finds the stand and pulls Evan over.

“This is a fucking momentous occasion,” Connor insists, crowding up against him.

Evan opens his passport to the first section, the North Atlantic Region, and flips to its first page. He
presses the stamp into the inkpad, face burning as Connor stands so close that Evan can feel the
warmth from his body as he watches, bending forward. Connor’s hair is soft and it brushes against
Evan’s cheek a little as he leans in. Evan checks three times that the stamp is upright and the date
is correct before he presses the green ink into the corner of the Official Cancellations section.
When he pulls the stamp away, it reads:

Saratoga NHP

Nov 7 2015

North Atlantic Region

Connor throws his arms up and cheers so loudly that the other people in the bookstore turn to look.
Evan wonders what it’s like to have other people look at you and not immediately want to burst
into flames.

Connor buys him a regional stamp, which Evan thinks is silly because it’s only a dollar, but he lets
Connor stick it in the passport anyway. He takes the placement of it very seriously, his brow
furrowed and tongue between his lips as he hovers the sticker over the page.

They get muffins at the cafe, and Connor gets himself a coffee and Evan a water. They sit together
in the picnic area behind the visitor center that overlooks the former battlefield. Now, it’s just a
blanket of verdant grass lined with trees. The air is chill, but the sun warms Evan’s skin when he
turns his face upward.

“I have an itinerary,” Connor says. He eats the bottom of his muffin first, leaving the top for last.
Evan finds this weirdly endearing, which makes him feel embarrassed, so he looks away.

Connor lays his phone on the picnic table between them, and Evan leans over to look at the screen.

passport stamp

climb saratoga ntl monument

victory woods half mile hike

wilkinson trail

jr ranger

gift shop

It's a small itinerary, but the list makes Evan feel something strange, like there’s something light
and expansive filling his chest. He lifts his eyes and catches Connor watching him, his face open,
vulnerable. It clicks that Connor’s earlier nonchalance about this trip was all an act— maybe
because Connor thinks caring about things is stupid, or something, Evan thinks. Except by now
Evan knows that Connor cares, like… a lot. He cares what people think of him, even if he pretends
that he doesn’t. And he cares what Evan thinks about this trip, which means he probably cares
about Evan.

As far as Evan can tell, Connor doesn’t like doing outdoorsy things. He’s not really into any of this
stuff, but here he is. Sitting with Evan overlooking a battlefield, eating muffins, three hours away
from home.

“We already did the first one,” Connor says. His normally caustic, indifferent tone is replaced with
something like excitement, soft and eager. “We can drive over to the monument. You can, like,
climb up all these steps and look out over the top.”

It’s suddenly difficult for Evan to draw a full breath, and he wishes he had thought to bring his
inhaler. (Although who brings an inhaler to a suicide pact?) He nods, agreeing, and Connor
practically glows as he gathers up their garbage and chucks it into one of the outdoor cans.

Evan gets the feeling that this trip wasn’t actually planned as a spur-of-the-moment response to
their night at the lake. Connor seems to know exactly where to go, and Evan pictures him sitting in
front of Zoe’s laptop, carefully lining up each activity. Evan’s own excitement feeds off of
Connor’s, which is uniquely infectious, considering Evan is used to seeing Connor care very little
about anything at all.

They climb the monument, which is very tall, skinny and steep. Evan is huffing by the time they
get to the top, his palms slick with sweat, his back growing damp under his coat as the walls of the
monument shield them from the chill breeze. At the very top of the 188 steps, they squeeze
together on the viewing platform and peer out a small, square window. Spread out before them is a
view of the Hudson River Valley, still green in the places not yet swallowed by the sharp bite of
winter. Connor’s arm is pressed all the way against his own, and Evan can smell his laundry
detergent.

Connor wants to take more pictures, and Evan lets him. He doesn’t like pictures of himself. He
doesn’t think he’s ever taken a single selfie. But Connor winds an arm around his shoulders, holds
his phone out in one hand, and takes a picture. When they review the pictures together, huddled at
the top of the monument stairs before they descend, Evan looks— okay. He looks nice, even. And
Connor is grinning in the picture, lips crooked, cheeks and nose pink from the chill or maybe the
climb up the monument stairs. Most importantly, Evan thinks, Connor looks alive .

The walk around Victory Forest is short, maybe twenty minutes along a paved, brick pathway.
Connor points at random trees and asks Evan to identify them. It’s not a hard game, because
they’re mostly the same three varieties of tree, but Connor doesn’t get bored with the same answers
over and over.

“Um, probably northern black oak,” Evan says with a laugh as Connor pats one of the big trees just
off the trail. “You can tell by the leaves.”

“Cool,” Connor says, sounding like he absolutely means it. “What about that one?”

“Also northern black oak.”

“No shit? Awesome.”

They make the loop through Victory Forest twice, because playing Guess That Tree gets infinitely
more fun after Evan starts making up names for the trees, which Connor gleefully encourages. As
they make their way around the trail, Evan can feel that his face is almost entirely flushed, either
from the cold or from the bubbling, frantic joy that’s giving him a mild stomach ache.

They stop back at the visitors center and buy big water bottles from the cafe, then head over to the
Wilkinson trailhead. It’s supposed to be some hallowed ground or something, following the
footsteps of the soldiers and battalions, but Evan is deeply uninterested in the history. It’s much
more enjoyable to just walk side by side with Connor in the midday sun, the cool breeze biting at
their noses, enjoying one of the last few warmish days before winter sets in.

“Thank you for this,” Evan says, after a short while. Connor’s boots crunch heavily on the path
beneath them, and Evan can’t help but think that he came incredibly ill-prepared for a day at a
national park. “This is… like, I don’t think anyone has done anything this nice for me, like…
ever,” Evan breathes. “Including my mom, and she’s obligated to do nice things for me.”

Connor’s brow winkles a little, but he’s pursing his lips like he’s trying to stop himself from
smiling. It’s a good expression, one that Evan has grown increasingly fond of over the last few
months. It feels like no one else gets to see Connor like this. Like this side of him, loose and happy
and funny, is just for Evan.

“You’re— I—” Connor tries to get something out, stops, starts. He works the words around in his
mouth. Evan’s not sure he’s ever watched Connor try to say something carefully. “You’re kind of
my best friend,” he finally says.

Evan’s never had a best friend before.

Connor glances at him, and Evan catches sight of his weird eye, the blue one with its spot of
brown. He thinks about how much he likes Connor’s weird, coffee-stained eye, and how glad he is
that Connor didn’t die when he tried to kill himself. Connor has weird eyes, and Evan is infinitely
glad that he’s still in the world.

Another thought forms slowly: Connor doesn’t feel like his best friend. When Evan looks at him,
at the side of his face illuminated in the bright, white winter sun, pale but for the spots of pink on
his cheeks and nose, Evan knows intrinsically that friend isn’t right. It doesn’t sound right, it
doesn’t fit whatever Connor is to him.

For months, his first waking thoughts have turned to Connor— is there a message from him, did he
make it through the night, what has he been scribbling in the margins of his script, is he eating?
During the school hours, Evan is always turning to see if Connor is there, to share a joke or a look
or a smile, and he is there, always, like he’s eager to be the first person Evan turns to. Maybe it’s
just that Evan hasn’t had friends before, but it isn’t like that with Jared, or Alana, or even Zoe.

It’s almost familiar, now, this feeling— sweaty palms that Evan rubs on the front of his coat as
they walk, an awareness of the hair standing at the back of his neck. Connor Murphy is his best
friend, probably, but also probably not. Maybe he’s something else that Evan doesn’t have a word
for, yet.

“You, too,” Evan tells him. “I mean— my best friend. You, you’re… mine. Also.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s the truth, or as close as Evan can get to it. The reply
makes Connor pinken higher on his cheeks, and he shoves Evan hard until they’re both stumbling
off the path and into the high, yellowing grass, laughing.
The hike takes about an hour and a half. When they get back to the visitors center, Connor makes
Evan wait by the door while he speaks to a woman behind the counter. She hands him a thin book
and a pencil, and Connor returns, holding both out to Evan.

“Wanna become a junior ranger?” Connor asks, grinning.

“What?” Evan replies, taking the book. It’s a children’s workbook, bright and colorful with big
fonts and pictures.

“You’re over twelve, so you have to complete…” Connor pauses to crowd up against Evan and flip
the front cover of the workbook open. “Six pages. And they have to be the hard ones, look.”
Connor points to the little pictures that identify each activity by its level of difficulty. Evan is not a
child, so all of the activities look equally easy, but Connor is grinning so hard it looks like it’s
hurting his face. Evan exhales around a laugh, charmed and feeling crazy about it.

“Okay,” he says. “But you have to help me if I get stuck.”

“No fucking cheating,” Connor says seriously as they make their way back to the picnic area.

They sit side by side on one of the tables, and Evan answers questions in the workbook while
Connor watches, occasionally offering help despite his adamance that Evan shouldn’t cheat. Evan
is half distracted because he can smell Connor’s conditioner, which he’s pretty sure is just Zoe’s,
because their hair smells the same.

When they finish the workbook, Connor leads the way back to the visitors center, where they hand
it over to a very enthusiastic park ranger. Evan’s entire face burns as she checks to make sure all
the answers are correct, a process that is easily more nerve-wracking than watching a teacher grade
his actual schoolwork. When she’s done, she smiles brightly and asks him if he’d like to take the
pledge.

“Yes, he wants to take the pledge,” Connor answers for him. Evan wants to melt into a puddle on
the floor. He’s so sweaty, and he’s pretty sure everyone can see.

The woman holds up her right hand, and Evan does the same, even though it’s shaking and his
knee is jiggling a little, and he’s feeling embarrassed. Connor stands right by him, like this is
exciting and not childish and silly. It makes the whole display easier to endure. Evan knocks his
shoulder against Connor’s, and Connor nudges him back.

The worker stops after each sentence so that Evan can repeat after her in a mumbling, nervous
voice: “ I am proud to be a National Park Service Junior Ranger. I promise to appreciate, respect,
and protect all national park places. I also promise to continue learning about the landscape,
plants, animals and history of these special places. I will share what I learn with my friends and
family. ”

When the pledge is over, the worker hands him a little wooden badge that says Saratoga NHP
Junior Ranger .

“Let me put it on,” Connor insists, pinning it to Evan’s coat.

“Thanks,” Evan says weakly. Now that it’s over and he feels less like the earth is about to swallow
him up, Evan is glad to have something else, something tangible, to remind him of all the effort
that Connor went through to let him have this.

Last on Connor’s itinerary is browsing the bookstore and gift shop. Evan’s face burns a little as
they look through the shelves, but his heart rate starts to return to normal. There are a lot of books
about the local flora, travel guides to nearby hiking trails, photo books, and an insane amount of
volumes about the revolutionary war. Connor finds a national parks themed Scrabble game and
carries it under one arm.

“When I was eight I swallowed, like, five Scrabble pieces,” Connor explains, laughing. “We never
replaced the stupid game. Zoe has not once let me forget it.”

Evan’s chest aches as he laughs. He wonders, absently, if he is having a heart attack.

He ends up picking out a heavy book: 101 Amazing Sights of the Night Sky . “I kind of want to get
into stars,” he tells Connor, who laughs so loudly that people turn to look. Evan hadn’t really
meant it as a joke, but he doesn’t get the sense that Connor is laughing because he thought it was
one. Connor pays, and as they leave the visitors center it’s almost three in the afternoon. They
climb back into the Subaru, tired and satisfied, their spoils in a Saratoga National Historic Park
paper bag.

The drive home takes longer than the drive in. They stop for lunch, going through a drive-through
and eating in the car. It’s something that a normal seventeen-year-old boy would do with his best
friend, Evan thinks.

It’s close to eight when Connor pulls errantly into Evan’s driveway. He turns down NPR, now
playing long stretches of classical music, and leans forward on the steering wheel with his arms
crossed. Evan gets the sense that he’s working out how to say something, like he had earlier on the
trail. Evan squeezes his passport in his lap, turning a little in his seat to face him.

“Thanks for…” Connor stalls, looking straight ahead rather than at Evan, his face illuminated
faintly by the dashboard. “I mean, this was like… I dunno, probably the best day I’ve ever had,
like… ever. In my life.” He scratches at the leather on the steering wheel again, his gaze fixed
pointedly forward. “And I’m just, like… really glad it could be with you.”

Evan swallows. That feeling from the trailhead surges in his chest again. The something not quite
right about Connor feeling.

“This was— Connor, this whole trip, it was— you didn’t have to do this,” Evan tells him. “It was
— it was so amazing. I’ve never… I just…” He can’t get the words out, so he settles on: “It was
the best day I ever had, too.”

Connor smiles, glancing sidelong at him. He shrugs his shoulders up against his jaw before
dropping them, letting his long body slump low in his seat. “Cool,” he says, voice impossibly soft.

“Cool,” Evan whispers back.

A revelation comes to Evan slowly, unfurling somewhere in the back of his head— the answer to
the question he’s been kicking around all day, about what Connor Murphy is to him, if not his best
friend.

After he gets out of the car, all Evan can think is that if he wasn’t who he was, and if Connor
wasn’t who he was, maybe in that moment, in the car, Evan would have done something stupid and
impulsive and crazy. The revelation finishes forming in his brain. It’s a beastly thing that Evan
can’t beat down, stronger than any foul, intrusive thought he’s ever had.

Evan thinks, I want to kiss Connor Murphy .

And then he stands there, in his driveway, and waves shyly as Connor pulls away. And he keeps
standing there for a few long minutes afterward, unsure what to do with his body next.
 “Oh,” Evan says to himself long after Connor’s headlights have disappeared, his breath coming out
in a warm little cloud.

“Crap.”

Chapter End Notes

this chapter is like, my pride and joy. it makes me smile so much and i hope it makes
you smile, too. BIG ROUND OF APPLAUSE for lee for editing all 6000+ words of
this chapter TWICE.

if you missed the hyperlink in the middle of the chapter: evan's list of reasons that
connor should not kill himself.

(lee dug out an old off-brand phone and wrote it in the notes app for ultimate
immersion of the story)

come hang out with me on tumblr / instagram @clytemenestras !!

 Chapter 15
Chapter Summary

Evan has a lot to think about. Connor saves the day.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Here’s the thing, Evan tells himself as he watches Connor pore over Jared’s physics notes at the
lunch table on Monday. Connor looks like Zoe. Evan has spent a considerable amount of time
wanting to kiss Zoe. So he’s probably just, like, superimposing wanting to kiss Zoe onto Connor
because he’s dumb and seventeen and—

Evan has been trying not to think about whether possibly wanting to kiss Connor makes him gay,
because worrying about that doesn’t seem very productive. He’s been successful, for the most part.
Except for moments like this one, where he’s watching Connor frantically scribble physics
equations on the inside of his thin, pale wrist, because he’s been copying all of Jared’s homework
and now he has to fake his way through a test.

In general, he tries not to think about any of it. Once he tries to think about kissing Zoe, instead,
but that just makes him feel squamish and weird. Any attempt to rekindle the crush he’d had on her
his junior year fizzles out and dies. Evan still thinks Zoe is perfect in every way, but he thinks
that’s truer of this Zoe than the cardboard cutout he’d created in his head. Loving Zoe this way is
easier, better, and Evan can’t make himself turn back the clock.

Time does not stop moving forward while Evan worries, which he thinks is pretty unfair, because
he’s not sure how to focus on exams and the school play when it feels like his entire reality has
been hit by a speeding semi-truck.

For a brief, insane two days, Evan considers talking to Jared about it. He even drafts a few
Facebook messages trying to get the words out right, but in the end he gives up, because Jared likes
making fun of people more than he likes offering meaningful advice. Talking to Jared would
guarantee that Connor would find out within a matter of minutes. Probably the whole school, too.

He almost asks Alana about it, but he chickens out. And there’s no way in hell he can talk to Zoe
about whether or not he actually wants to kiss her brother, or whether he’s just going crazy from
stress or something. So he focuses on tech crew. He studies for exams. He drags himself through
the last month before opening night, doing his best to act completely normal. Maybe because he’s
already so weird, no one really seems to notice that he’s a little twitchier than usual.

The end of November brings sheets of snow. For one glorious afternoon it coats the entire city in
fresh, picture-perfect white before sleet and dirty brown slush take over the sidewalks and roads.
The temperature drops and the snow continues into December, leaving Evan almost desperate for
Connor’s heated Subaru seats at the end of every play practice. If Jared is soured by Evan
accepting more rides from Connor, he doesn’t say so.
A week before opening night, Evan enters the auditorium to find everyone in a panicked uproar.
Both cast and crew are standing near the front of the stage, their voices overlapping. Mr. West is
trying to calm everyone down, and as Evan draws nearer, he can see and hear the issue: both Puck
and Puck’s understudy are missing.

“I fucking knew they were hooking up,” Jared says hotly as Evan approaches. His foul language is
lost in the commotion, so Mr. West doesn’t reprimand him. “Both of them out with mono ? Are
you telling me we’re supposed to believe that’s a coincidence?”

“What are we supposed to do?” Zoe frets, twisting her fingers around and around in the end of her
ponytail.

Alana looks like she’s about to cry. She holds her stage manager’s binder tightly in her hands, her
brown knuckles pale with how hard she’s gripping it. Evan feels a flutter of panic, even though this
is not his fault and he is not obligated to find a solution to fix it. Still— they all worked so hard,
and now everything is falling apart at the seams.

“I can do it,” says Connor from behind him. Evan turns to look, his heart thumping at Connor’s
unanticipated appearance.

“Huh?” Jared laughs. “What, seriously?”

Connor looks immediately uncomfortable with his suggestion, but he doubles down as he gives
Jared a shove in the arm. “I have the whole script memorized, asshole.”

Alana fixes her very intense gaze directly on Connor. She reaches through the throng of people and
grabs him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him toward the director.

“Mr. West!” Alana says, projecting her voice so it overwhelms the cacophony of the other
students. “Connor says he knows the part!”

Connor drags along behind her like a rag doll. Evan watches, heart somewhere in his throat, as Mr.
West tilts his head back to look at Connor more fully. Connor curls his shoulders in, tucking his
hair behind his ears compulsively.

Evan wonders if Mr. West is thinking about how Connor has shown up to practice every day
except for Thursday and done nothing at all to contribute to the play. But Evan has seen Connor
with his copy of the script, and has seen his marks in the margins.

“Tell him,” Alana urges.

Connor clears his throat, rocking up onto the toes of his boots, then down again. “I— yeah, I know
the part. I know Puck’s part.”

Mr. West looks skeptical. “I don’t know,” he says warily.

Connor scowls a little, his face pinching up in a way that Evan has come to be so familiar with. It’s
the face Connor makes when the next words out of his mouth are usually, Hey, actually, fuck you .
Instead of saying that, he drops his messenger bag off of his shoulder and steps back a little.

He recites: “The king doth keep his revels here to-night. Take heed the queen come not within his
sight, for Oberon is passing fell and wrath, because that she as her attendant hath a lovely boy,
stolen from an Indian king. She never had so sweet a changeling—”

Mr. West holds up both hands. “Okay, alright!” he says, trailing off into an incredulous laugh.
“I know the part,” Connor mutters, face growing pink.

“You know the part,” Mr. West agrees. “We’ll have to figure out a costume for you. You’re… tall.
And we’ll have to work on getting your blocking down. You have a lot to learn in a very short
amount of time.”

Almost everyone cheers, Jared the loudest. Evan notes that Zoe is quiet, watching her brother as he
gets swept away by the other students and Mr. West. Evan sidles up beside her, nudging his
shoulder against her own.

“Kind of cool, huh?” he asks.

Zoe exhales slowly, flashing Evan a limp sort of smile. “Yeah, I guess,” she says, crossing her
arms tight over her torso.

“Or…” Evan fidgets with the hem of his sweatshirt. “Or not cool?”

“It’s dumb,” Zoe says, shrugging. “I’m just being, like… dumb, and jealous, and—”

“What?” Evan asks, frowning. “You’re not… well, okay, first of all, you’re not dumb, so.”

“Connor just… he came to tech crew just to hang out with you ,” Zoe blurts out, “And I worked
really hard on this dumb play, and now he’s like, this big hero and that’s all my parents are going to
focus on when they come see it.” She sighs, scrubbing one hand over her face like she’s trying to
stop herself from getting teary. “Which is a dumb thing to care about. Connor never does shit like
this, I should be… like, happy for him or whatever.”

Evan turns to face Zoe more fully. His hands are definitely sweaty when he places them gently on
her upper arms, giving her a soft squeeze.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Connor wouldn’t have even shown up to this thing if you hadn’t done it
first. None of us would. You’re like… super cool, okay, and like… you made doing tech crew
cool.”

Zoe laughs, her voice a little wet, her cheeks going pink. She looks like Connor when she laughs.
Evan adds that to his extensive catalog of things not to think about.

“I know I should be happy,” Zoe says, hunching her shoulders a little. “I know I’m being a baby.”

Evan rubs his hands up and down Zoe’s arms, like he’s trying to keep her warm. “I think you can
feel however you want,” he points out. “I mean— I dunno, I’ve never had an older brother. But
there wouldn’t even be a play without you. Or, well, without all of us, but, you know. Tech crew is
super important.”

Zoe laughs again, letting her shoulders fall. She turns her head, watching Connor awkwardly
attempt the blocking for Puck’s first scene up onstage.

“I guess if he fucks up everyone will see it,” she says. A surprised, nervous laugh bubbles up from
Evan’s chest.

“Exactly,” he agrees, even though he very much doesn’t want Connor to mess up. “We get to hide
backstage.”

His brain circles back to He came to tech crew just to hang out with you . Did Connor tell Zoe that,
or was it somehow obvious to everyone but Evan, who’d just thought that maybe Connor had
shown up because he had nothing else to do while he waited for Zoe to drive him home? He had
kept coming, even after getting the Subaru, Evan thinks, but maybe he’d just been doing it out of
habit, or because he didn’t want to return to his big, ornate house all alone.

Zoe’s mood lightens a little, but another thought pings in the back of Evan’s head, and he says,
impulsively, “Connor thinks you’re cool, you know?”

She wrinkles her nose, half laughing. “Seriously? My brother?” Her tone borders on incredulous.

“Yeah,” Evan says earnestly. “He told me. He said that you’re really cool, but that he would, um…
well. He said he would kick my ass if I told you, so. I am risking life and limb here.”

Zoe’s gaze trails back to Connor on stage. “You guys talk about me?”

“I mean… not, like, you’re not a set topic of conversation, but— sometimes you come up,” Evan
says. And maybe Connor really will kick his ass for telling Zoe these kind things, but that’s a
consequence Evan is willing to suffer. This is a secret not worth keeping.

“He’s… he’s really glad you’re his sister,” he says.

Zoe smiles softly, ducking her head a little. “Yeah, well,” she says, letting her arms loosen across
her chest. “Tell him to stop trying to WWE throw me into the couch.”

The image that conjures is immediately funny, and both of them dissolve into quiet laughter. Zoe
leans into Evan, smiling.

“Thank you,” she says. “For… like, everything. For letting us borrow your mom, and letting us
stay. For being Connor’s friend.”

Evan swallows thickly. Connor’s friend . His best friend.

“Easiest thing on earth,” Evan replies.

The week leading up to opening night, which is the week before winter break, is more or less a
nightmare as they rush to master everything: the set changes, the costume changes, the lights, the
sound. Evan is mostly too busy to think about Connor and whether or not kissing him is a feasible
course of action. Friday is approaching, and the entire cast and crew languishes in the auditorium
for hours after school doing full runs of the show, making sure everything is right.

Connor’s costume comes together just before opening night— a vest of fake, green leaves, a pair
of brown leggings, a circlet of leaves and flowers on his braided hair. Seeing him dressed like that
does not help Evan quell his Am I gay? anxiety.

Though he’s not the most natural actor, still holding himself like he’s a foot shorter than his actual
height, Connor waxes Shakespeare like he’s been doing it all four years of high school. Evan’s
always had trouble in English class when they inevitably get to a Shakespeare unit, but Connor
seems to know just how the sentences should be spoken, making each confusing verse sound
natural. Evan watches each day from the wings of the stage, face red, palms sweaty.

A couple of days before the show opens, they all pile into Connor’s Subaru and go shopping for
all-black clothes. Alana calls them theater blacks , but Evan thinks that there’s no difference
between regular black clothes and theater blacks. He ends up choosing a soft sweater and a simple
pair of black jeans.
On Friday, Connor is snappier than usual, both knees jiggling beneath the lunch table. His hair is
already in a braid— Evan thinks he must have done it that morning in anticipation of the show. He
can’t stop looking.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Alana soothes, rubbing her hand up and down Connor’s shoulders. He
doesn’t shake her off, but he does slump down on the table with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, just don’t fuck it up,” Jared says.

“ Jared ,” Alana scolds. “Connor knows the lines better than both of our original Pucks. He could
probably recite it in his sleep.”

Connor shakes his head, rolling his face across the surface of the table. “I can’t believe my dad is
coming,” he says, groaning. “My dad is coming, and I’m gonna be wearing fucking— leggings . I
didn’t think this through. Is it too late to quit?”

Alana stops rubbing his shoulders, and Connor frowns. “Kidding,” he says, and she resumes.

Classes end, and Connor gets swept away for costuming and makeup as soon as they arrive in the
auditorium, while Evan goes to put the set up for the first act. Alana is a nightmare, her no-
nonsense attitude trending towards bullying as she tries to make sure that everything is exactly
right. Evan thinks he sees one of the freshmen start crying.

Finally, it’s showtime. Evan can hear the shuffle of people taking their seats, the quiet roar of
conversation.

“Ready?” Zoe asks him, squeezing his hand as they stand in the wings waiting for the curtain to
draw.

“Not really,” Evan wheezes. He squeezes her hand back.

Evan is terrified that everything can and will go wrong at any moment, but nothing comes of his
catastrophizing. In fact, the entire show goes off without a hitch. Evan thinks the whole thing is
pretty spectacular for a high school production. He stays out of sight and does his designated
duties, a little cog in the theater machine, and everything works. Perfectly, in fact. Whenever
Connor passes by him as he exits a scene, they exchange grins, even as Evan hurries to get out of
the way.

When it’s over, the audience of mostly obligated parents bursts into applause. It feels thunderous,
filling up the echoing space of the auditorium as the practiced curtain call sends students back onto
the stage in groups of twos or threes. Connor bows alone, and Evan thinks his applause is just a
little louder than the rest.

As soon as the curtains shut, everyone rushes out onto the stage in a fever of excitement. Zoe pulls
Evan along, laughing and pink-cheeked. There’s so much hugging. Evan avoids most of it. Connor
is somewhere in the middle of the throng, spinning, searching for something. He stops abruptly the
moment he spots Evan, and then he’s throwing himself through bodies until they reach one
another.

“Evan!”

“Connor—”

Kiss him kiss him kiss him kiss him kiss him goes off in a deranged loop in Evan’s head as Connor
hurls himself at him, wrapping his long, warm arms around Evan’s shoulders. He hugs him back,
arms around Connor’s waist, squeezing so tight that he hears Connor exhale a little oof ! Evan
leans back with all his weight and lifts Connor’s toes off the stage floor, which makes him yell in
Evan’s ear, laughing.

Eventually, everyone spills out into the hallway outside of the auditorium, where parents are
waiting to take pictures of their children in their costumes, and friends are lingering with big
bouquets of flowers. Cool George from jazz band hands Zoe a bunch of Gerbera daisies, a wide
grin on his face, and Evan blearily wonders when that happened, feeling a little guilty that he
hadn’t noticed. Alicia and Benji are there, too, and they crush her in a hug.

The Murphys are standing with Evan’s mom, which is kind of strange to see. Mrs. Murphy is
nearly a whole head shorter than his mom, and she’s almost crying as she reaches out to hug both
of her children. Connor has to lean down so that she can squeeze her arms around their shoulders at
the same time.

“Good job,” Mr. Murphy says tightly, patting Connor awkwardly on the shoulder.

Evan lets his mom envelop him in a big hug. He squeezes her back just as hard.

“Honey, did you paint all of those trees?” his mom asks.

“Most of them,” Evan admits, a little embarrassed. His mom is grinning though, holding him by
the shoulders like she couldn’t be prouder.

Mrs. Murphy takes a ton of pictures. Of Connor in his costume, of Connor and Zoe together, then
of all three of them, then just of Zoe and Evan in their theater blacks. Evan’s mom doesn’t have a
phone with a camera, so Evan hands her his so she can take pictures, too.

“Hey, get me and Evan, too,” Connor insists, grabbing Evan and pulling him back against the
nearby wall. He throws an arm around Evan’s shoulders and Evan hovers his hand behind
Connor’s waist, not quite touching him, and hopes that his smile looks somewhat normal as Mrs.
Murphy snaps a few shots.

Eventually, Connor leaves to change out of his costume and scrub the makeup off of his face so
that his family can go get things ready at home. The Murphys have volunteered to host the cast
party, which Evan has a suspicion was mostly Mrs. Murphy’s doing. Connor had said his mom was
really trying, and Evan thinks he can see it in the way she showed up tonight, frantically eager to
support him and Zoe.

When it’s time to leave for the Murphys’, Evan hugs his mom tight and lets her whisper how proud
she is of him one more time. She insists he not worry about being home too late, and tells him to
have fun. Evan follows Jared to his SUV, instantly missing the warmth of Connor’s seat warmers.

There are cars lining the streets of the Murphys’ neighborhood and packed into their horseshoe
driveway. Jared grumbles as he parks half a block away from the house. The late December air
sucks the breath out of Evan’s lungs as they crunch through tightly packed snow to reach the front
door. Evan hasn’t been back since Halloween. The party is only just starting when they get inside,
peeling off their coats and stepping out of their boots.

Everyone is congregated in the kitchen. Alana is trying to begin a toast, proudly brandishing a
plastic champagne flute full of sparkling apple cider. Someone hands Evan one, and he squeezes it
tightly in his hand. Connor is across the room, pink-cheeked and slightly bewildered. Evan knows
the feeling. He wants to go to him, to say something. Words bubble up and get caught in the back
of his throat, bottlenecked by a growing lump of anxiety.
“You were all amazing ,” Alana says. She holds her juice up in one hand, standing on a barstool at
the kitchen island so she towers over everyone. “I could not be a prouder stage manager.”

Everyone applauds. Someone starts a round of congratulations, and they all name and cheer for
each character in turn: To Oberon! Woo! To Theseus! Woo! To Bottom! Woo! Even Evan manages
a little noise of congratulations, though he’s easily drowned out by the rest of the group.

When they finally get to Puck, someone says, “And we would be fucked without Puck!” Everyone
crammed into the Murphys’ kitchen roars in approval, and Connor’s face is pink all the way from
his hairline to his throat.

After the congratulations die down, the party spills out from the kitchen and into the dining room,
where Mrs. Murphy has set up an array of snacks that no teenager on Earth would eat. Evan feels a
familiar, clawing anxiety push up his throat. There’s just too much going on around him at once,
and he thinks for a moment about slipping out the back door onto the porch for some air. Or maybe
finding Zoe, so they can roll down the hill behind the house in the snow.

Suddenly, as if summoned, Connor is there. “Hey,” he says, leaning into Evan to be heard over the
chatter.

“Oh,” Evan breathes. “Hi.” He adds, a little frantically: “You were amazing, Connor.”

Connor’s smile is accompanied by knit brows. “You look like you’re about to fucking pass out,”
he says.

Evan nods, swallowing. “Yeah, I might,” he admits. “There’s um… a lot of people.”

With a short nod, Connor grabs Evan by the arm and hauls him through the throng. Evan catches
Jared watching them suspiciously before he’s ferried away.

Connor leads him through several doors off the kitchen and into a slightly musty, dimly lit garage.
Mr. and Mrs. Murphy’s cars are parked side by side, the shelves along the walls packed with boxes
and old tools. Connor closes the door behind them, and the cacophony of the party dims.

Evan breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He rubs his hands over his sweater and tells Connor, “Thanks.”

Connor shrugs, not exactly looking at him.

They’re quiet together, just standing there. Evan looks around. Some of the boxes have Connor or
Zoe’s name written on them in Sharpie: Zoe’s Books, Connor’s Toys . Old things tucked away, too
sentimental to be sold or taken to donation. Evan wonders which of the Murphys it was that wanted
to keep these memories piled in the garage. The thought makes his heart squeeze.

“Thanks,” he says again, turning to look at Connor. He still has his hair in a braid, his face pink
from where he’d scrubbed off his makeup, or maybe because there’s cold seeping into the garage.

Evan has never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as he wants to kiss Connor Murphy, and that scares
him.

Connor says nothing and starts poking around the garage, peeking into a few boxes as he goes. He
pulls out a pair of pliers and waves them around in one hand.

“Should I cut Larry’s brakes?” He asks, kicking at a tire on one of the cars.

Evan exhales a nervous laugh. “That might, like, I dunno— kill him?” he says, then offers, “Maybe
you should, like let the air out of his tires instead,” because Connor looks genuinely disappointed.

He knows Connor probably wasn’t serious about the brakes thing, but still.

Connor takes a bobby pin out of his hair, kneels down, and shoves it into the valve of one of the
tires. The wheel slowly melts to the floor as air hisses out of it. Evan keeps glancing at the door
leading back to the house, like maybe the Murphys are going to sense what’s happening and walk
in any minute. Once all four tires are deflated, Connor steps back to admire his handiwork.

“Now he can’t fucking rush out the door in the morning,” Connor says, giving one of the flat tires
another little kick.

They’re alone for the first time in what feels like weeks— no Zoe or Jared or Alana— and Evan
feels like he needs to say a hundred different things. But he isn’t good at that. He can’t form the
words, can’t fathom what they might sound like coming out. Just as he’s about to work himself up
into a panic, Connor turns to look at him.

“Can we…” Connor pauses, brow furrowing. He steps back and sits down on the low step by the
door leading back into the house. “Can we like… talk, for a second?”

“Okay,” Evan says, cautious. His stomach flips unpleasantly. People asking to talk never goes
well.

He lowers himself to sit next to Connor anyway. They’re pressed together from shoulder to knee to
ankle. Connor crosses his arms over his upturned knees.

It takes Connor a solid minute to get his words out. In that interval, Evan considers whether or not
it’s possible to have more than one heart attack at a time.

Finally, Connor takes a deep breath and says, “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Evan almost asks, Life? Living? Is this why we came to the garage, so we could fill it with carbon
monoxide?

Then Connor says, “I think I want to stay alive,” and he turns his head to look at Evan, his face
complicated and beautiful, his weird, two-toned eyes a little wet and red around the rim. The relief
that floods Evan is so forceful it feels like his stomach is turning into water. He exhales sharply,
his heart pounding out of his chest, through his ribs, up into his throat.

Evan kisses Connor.

He doesn’t mean to. It happens on impulse, so quickly that Evan isn’t even aware he’s making the
decision— like when something hits you on the knee and you can’t help but kick. Evan kisses
Connor, his hands cupping his face. Connor’s mouth is warm and slack for a beat, and then he
presses back with his whole body, and Connor is kissing him .

Evan pulls back with a soft gasp. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Shut up,” Connor says quickly. “Shut up, shut up, shut up—”

Connor kisses him again, cool hands grasping at Evan’s cheeks. It takes about twenty seconds into
this second kiss for Evan to remember that he is self-conscious about not knowing how to kiss.
They pull back again, and Connor’s face is pink and he’s grinning so wide that his eyes crinkle up.

“Wow,” Evan breathes.

Connor whoops like he’s just gotten air on a speed bump, or like he’s beaten Jared at a video
game. “I’ve wanted to do that since fucking September ,” he says, laughing, a little out of breath.

This news makes Evan feel a bit like he’s out of his body, because in September, Connor had still
very much been actively making plans for them to die. Evan blinks rapidly at him, incredulous.

“What?”

“When we went to that book exchange,” Connor explains dreamily, his head tilted up to the
ceiling. “And you kept talking about fucking, national parks and shit? I was like, fuck, God, this
guy is a fucking…” He laughs, shaking his head. “…Loser.”

Evan tries not to wince. “And me being a loser made you want to kiss me?” he asks, shoulders
tensing a little.

Connor turns to look at Evan again, brows drawn. He clutches Evan’s hand in his.

“ I’m a loser,” he says emphatically. “And I like losers.”

Strangely, it does make Evan feel better. Or at least, he thinks he understands Connor enough now
to get what he’s trying to say. He laughs, feeling like an immense weight has been lifted off his
chest. He feels so light that if he lets go of Connor’s hand, he might float away.

“Sorry you had to wait so long, I guess,” Evan says.

Connor kisses him again, like it’s the most natural thing on earth. When they pull back, Evan leans
his shoulder heavily into Connor’s, squeezing his hand in his.

But after months of worrying about Connor, and the pact, and whether or not Evan was the only
thing keeping Connor alive, the idea that it’s all gone, just like that, feels too good to be true. A
few minutes of silence start to stretch into endlessness, and suddenly Evan can’t help it. He asks
the hard thing.

He says, “So you’re not— we’re not gonna— I mean.” Takes a shaky breath. “You don’t want us
to kill ourselves together anymore?”

The question feels enormously heavy, even as it leaves his mouth. Connor is quiet, his thumb
moving restlessly back and forth over Evan’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “Fuck, I never wanted you to… It wasn’t like that.” He rolls his
shoulders up against his jaw, muscles taut. “I just— you felt the same way I did, and I was so
fucking alone, and I didn’t know how to—”

“I know,” Evan says quickly. Connor’s tensed shoulders start to slump a little. “I know. I think— I
think I went along with it because I didn’t want to be alone either.” He laughs mirthlessly. “The
only person who wanted to talk to me was talking about killing ourselves.”

Connor turns his face, tucks it against Evan’s hair. “Okay, well, that’s off the table now,” he
promises. “I want to talk to you about, like, literally anything and everything else.”

Evan can feel it when Connor smiles, the stretch of his mouth just behind his ear. “We can like, I
dunno. Be not-alone and alive at the same time,” Connor says.

The idea makes Evan want to cry, but in a good way. “Okay,” he whispers back.
 They stay in the garage for so long they’re sure people must start missing them. Evan can’t even
bring himself to care.

He’s alive, and Connor is alive, and for once, everything is good.

Chapter End Notes

hehe hi. i'm really excited about this chapter. i hope you love it as much as i loved
writing it.

a hundred rounds of applause for lee!!

everything is good and nothing could possibly go wrong! i love it here.

hang out with me on tumblr / instagram @clytemenestras as both!!

 Chapter 16
Chapter Summary

Evan has the best holidays of his life. Everything is perfect.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“I knew it!”

“Oh my God. Finally.”

“Oh, Evan, this is wonderful!”

Evan stands nervously in front of Alana, Zoe, and Jared as they sit squished together on his couch.
Connor is standing beside him, even though he’d insisted there was no reason to stand, and that
there was definitely no reason for Evan to have note cards. Evan holds his notes in front of him
anyway, his sweaty hands gripping the cardstock, his thumb smudging the ink. It’d been easier to
get the words out because he’d had them prepared: There’s something we want to tell you. We hope
it does not change the dynamic of our group. You’re our friends and we care about you very much.
Because of this, we want to announce that we are currently dating.

It’s a week into winter break, and Christmas is around the corner. Evan had been the one to insist
they tell the others. Connor had contended that it was “none of their fucking business,” but now
that it’s out, he looks pleased with himself.

Dating . Evan is dating Connor Murphy. It’s a miracle he’s dating anyone, really. The fact that it’s
Connor is as unprecedented as it is exciting.

So far, dating Connor Murphy mostly involves driving around in his Subaru and finding places to
park so they can kiss over the center console. It’s awesome.

“I knew it, I knew it,” Jared says again, throwing his hands up. “I knew you two were up to some
gay shit.”

Connor points at him sharply. “Watch it, Kleinman,” he warns.

“Thank you for telling us,” Alana says seriously. “And for trusting us enough to come out to us.”

“I was never in the closet,” Connor reminds her.

“I, um, I didn’t know I was— that I— you know,” Evan says, squeezing his notecards.

Zoe sighs and collapses into the back of the couch, sinking down between Jared and Alana. “Thank
God,” she says in a comically dull voice, her lips pursed. “Maybe now Connor will talk to me
about literally anything other than you.”

Connor raises his eyebrows at her, his eyes wide in a clear plea that she shut up .
“ Evan wants to go to school for forestry, isn’t that amazing? ” Zoe mocks, her voice pitched
higher and her hands over her heart. “ Did you know Evan eats SunButter just because he likes it
better? He’s not allergic to peanuts or anythi— ”

She’s cut off as Connor body slams her. Jared and Alana leap out of the way just in time, and Evan
stands there, speechless, blushing furiously.

All in all, it goes fine. It goes good , even. Evan has friends who love him, who don’t care if he’s
dating Connor Murphy— who prefer it, actually.

In the week between the cast party and the start of the holidays, Evan spends a lot of time figuring
out how to be someone’s boyfriend. Not a lot changes, except for all the kissing, and Evan thinks
he’s getting that part down.

Evan is exceptionally aware that they could be doing more than just kissing— he’s a teenage boy,
it’s pretty much all he thinks about now, in the abstract sense —but he’s too nervous to broach the
subject, because Connor has more experience than him at basically everything. For his part,
though, Connor seems perfectly happy to continue as they are, so Evan follows his lead. For the
first time in his life, he just goes with the flow.

Evan’s mom has Christmas off for the first time in three years, and Evan is actually excited to
spend the day with her. She runs to the grocery store and buys cookie dough supplies and a
package of Christmas-themed cookie cutters. They spend most of the morning following a recipe
very poorly, eventually laying their lumpy Christmas trees and Santa Clauses on a cookie sheet.

When the cookies are in the oven, Evan gets to open the three presents his mom has for him. She
smiles at him in a sad sort of way, like she wishes that she’d been able to pile presents underneath
the tree, but Evan’s had small Christmases ever since he can remember. The fact that his mom
buys him presents at all almost sends him into an anxiety spiral every year.

The first two presents are books, ones that he’s mentioned he wants to read: Leave Only Footprints
and The Story of Acadia National Park . The last present is a heavy square, and when Evan peels
the wrapping back, he finds a pristine white box. There’s a huge picture on top that advertises the
product inside: a new laptop.

“Mom…” Evan says, stunned. He’s had his laptop since the eighth grade and, despite the fact that
it runs slower than the computers in the library at school, he’s never even considered when he
might get a new one. His heart pounds nervously in his chest, like maybe the laptop will
dematerialize if he doesn’t hold it tightly enough.

His mom leans forward in her seat a little. “I just thought, well… you’re starting college soon, and
you can’t take that old thing to college with you! You need something new, modern, you know?”
She pauses then, seeming embarrassed as she says, “And, well, my laptop is done for. Won’t even
hold a charge. So, I figured—”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Evan says quickly, looking up at his mom. “Of course, you can… yeah,
take my old one! I’ll clear it off for you.”

“Well, great!” his mom laughs, nervous and relieved. “We can all upgrade.”

After cookies and lunch and that Christmas movie about the elf who wants to be a dentist, Evan
goes upstairs to set up his new laptop. He fiddles with it until it’s exactly to his liking, then opens
up his email and Facebook so he can save his passwords into the new browser.

When he logs onto Facebook, he’s inundated with message notifications. Evan frowns, opening his
inbox. He clicks on the highlighted message, then has to scroll to the top to see what’s going on.

Zoe Murphy
ok gang when are we getting together

Jared Kleinman
jewish privilege, i am not obligated to spend today with my family watching bad
christmas movies

Connor Murphy
Larry is catholic so we have 2 do both :/
BUT dr wilson keeps telling them 2 let us Assert Our Independence™ and we have
asserted that we want to hang out w all of u

Alana Beck
My parents like to do Christmas Day very early. We opened presents at 8 am.We had
lunch at 11 am. Dad is already asleep on the couch. I think I could get away.

Zoe Murphy
we have presents for you guys! :)

Jared Kleinman
shit were we supposed to get presents

Zoe Murphy
no no we got them last minute i thought it would be cute

Alana Beck
That is so thoughtful of you, Zoe.

Connor Murphy
Would like 2 note she did not get me a present

Zoe Murphy
shut up

Evan Hansen
Sorry, what’s going on?

Zoe Murphy
we’re gonna hang out evan!! are you free?

Evan Hansen
No, I mean, why am I getting all of these messages?

Jared Kleinman
oh my god
 EVAN

Alana Beck
Zoe started a group chat. :) They can be quite overwhelming at first, but very
efficient.
I’ve used them before for group projects.

Jared Kleinman changed the group name to Peepaw Evan.

Evan Hansen
What :(

Connor Murphy changed the group name to jared kleinman is a dickkkkk.

Zoe Murphy
ok so evan can you hang out or not

Evan Hansen
Maybe. This is the first Christmas my mom has had off in a while.

Jared Kleinman
hot heidi can join the party

Zoe Murphy
JARED

Alana Beck
Jared.

Connor Murphy
I’ll kill u

Evan Hansen
Please don’t call my mom hot.

Zoe Murphy
we can come hang out at your place evan! if you want :)

Evan Hansen
Okay. Let me ask.

An hour later, Connor parks his Subaru in Evan’s driveway and he, Zoe, Jared, and Alana pile out
of it. Zoe is carrying a big gift bag stuffed with red and orange tissue paper. Evan meets them on
the porch, and Connor glances toward the half-open door before bending down to kiss him briefly.

“Gay,” Jared hisses, squeezing past them into the house. Connor tries to kick him, but misses.

Evan’s mom is pretty much over the moon, not only because Evan has four individual friends, but
also because they’re all in her house at the same time.

They arrange themselves on the couch and loveseat, and Zoe sets the gift bag between her knees.

“Mrs. Hansen, we wanted to thank you for everything you did for us, and— well, also it’s
Christmas, so…” She digs into the bag and pulls out a bottle of wine, then leans forward to pass it
to Evan’s mom.

“Oh, my goodness,” his mom says, her brows lifting as she admires the vintage. “Oh, wow, this is
—”

She cuts herself off with a frown, suddenly realizing she’s been handed wine by a sixteen-year-old.
“Well, okay, how did you get this?”

“Our parents helped us pick it out,” Connor says quickly, in his lying to adults voice.

“Thank you,” Evan’s mom says, touched. “And tell your parents thank you as well.”

“We will,” Zoe promises, cheeks pink.

She reaches into the bag and pulls out three medium-sized stockings. As she passes them to Evan,
Jared and Alana, he can see that she’s taken the time to painstakingly write their names onto the
white trim in loopy cursive with glitter glue. Something about that makes his eyes get misty.

The stockings are packed with little knickknacks that Zoe and Connor picked out for them. Alana’s
stocking is full of fancy calligraphy pens, a little leather notebook, and a pocket planner. Jared’s
stocking has gross boy stuff: several small tubs of slime, a little Minecraft zombie figurine, a camo
colored multitool. When Evan tips his stocking out onto the coffee table, he finds a multitude of
little plastic gadgets. He picks one up. It’s a cube with something different on each side: little
switches that click, a metal ball that rolls freely, buttons to press. The rest of the toys are in the
same vein, pocket-size gadgets to fidget with.

“They’re supposed to help with anxiety,” Zoe explains, wringing her hands together in her lap.

“No, these are— thank you, Zoe. Really,” Evan says earnestly.

“Keep digging,” Connor says.

Frowning, Evan pushes his hand further into the stocking and finds a small, thick envelope. Inside
are photos, actual printed photos. Evan recognizes them immediately as the pictures that he and
Connor had taken at Saratoga.

“Oh,” Evan says.

His heart squeezes. He looks up at Connor, wishing he could, like, kiss him or something. But his
mom is there, reaching over to take the photos so she can gasp and fawn over them. Everyone
passes them around, and even Jared making fun of some of the more embarrassing pictures can’t
wipe the stupid, goofy smile off of Evan’s face.

The full house puts Evan’s mom in the Christmas spirit like never before. She rounds everybody
up into the kitchen, because they still have leftover Christmas cookie ingredients, and Evan isn’t
even embarrassed. It feels like something that a normal family might do on Christmas, and he’s
been a big fan of feeling normal, lately.

While Alana reads off the recipe and Jared and Zoe tussle over who gets to crack the eggs, Evan
tugs gently on Connor’s wrist, pulling him out of the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says softly as they back into the hallway. “Come with me a second?”

Connor glances over his shoulder, presumably to make sure no one’s followed them. “Yeah, just—
hold on. I’ll meet you upstairs,” he says before darting back into the living room.
Evan wrinkles his brow, but climbs the stairs and goes right for his desk.

He hasn’t wrapped the gift he got for Connor, because they’d agreed not to get each other gifts—
or, really Connor had insisted it would be dumb, but Evan hadn’t been able to resist. He’d seen the
journal at the store with his mom and had sheepishly slipped it into the cart. It’s a little faux-leather
black book with The Book Lover’s Reading Log embossed on its front.

Connor bounds up the stairs and rounds through Evan’s open doorway. He’s holding a small,
wrapped gift in one hand.

“We said we weren’t doing gifts!” Evan says, grinning as he holds up the book journal. He hands it
to Connor.

“Oh, you dick,” Connor laughs. “ You weren’t supposed to get me anything.” He passes Evan the
wrapped gift and looks down at the journal in his hands. He flips it open, leafing through the pages.

“I thought, you know, ’cause you’re always reading, you can, like. Track all the books you’ve read,
and stuff,” Evan explains.

“Oh, man,” Connor says, still scanning the pages. He looks up and grins at Evan. “This is like.
We’re fucking— gross—”

Evan gives him a quizzical look and Connor gestures to the gift, says, “Just open it.”

Evan sits on the edge of his bed and carefully peels open the wrapping paper. The gift is a grey-
clothbound book, the words Backcountry Log across its cover in green. Evan opens it carefully.
Inside are pages with places to log the locations of hikes and campgrounds, guides to trail etiquette
and first aid, even instructions on how to hang a bear bag.

“Now you can, like, track all the nature shit you’re gonna do,” Connor tells him, teasing. He drops
to sit on the bed beside Evan, pressing his knee against his. He asks, a little softer, “Do you like
it?”

Evan does like it. Over and over, he’s been reminded that, despite Connor’s thorny exterior, he
cares— like, so much . He goes out of his way to care. In retrospect, their trip to Saratoga feels like
a love letter.

Evan leans his shoulder into Connor’s gently. “I really, really like it,” he says. “Do you like
yours?”

Connor squeezes the book log in his hands. “Of course I fucking like it,” he answers. “You’re
always, like, so fucking thoughtful.”

“Oh,” Evan says, face warming. “No, I just— you like to read, so.”

They don’t stay upstairs much longer, eager to quell Jared’s inevitable innuendos. When they
return to the kitchen, Evan’s mom has taken over putting the ingredients together while Jared and
Zoe guiltily scrub egg out of their shirts. They end up with enough cookie dough for everyone to
make their own cookie. The kids vie for the best plastic holiday cutters, and Connor uses extra
dough to try and turn his Christmas tree cookie into a middle finger. The end result looks more like
a penis.

Things keep being good. Evan does his best not to get nervous about it. Things have never been
this good for Evan, pretty much ever. After his friends leave and his mom goes up to bed, Evan
lays on the couch, watching the lights on the Christmas tree. He thinks really hard, maybe hard
enough that something out there will hear him: Please stay good. Please let everything stay good,
just like this .

On New Year’s Eve, Evan gets another flurry of messages from the group chat when Connor begs
them all to come to the Murphys’ for a New Year’s Eve party. Apparently it’s something that the
Murphys host every year, and Larry and Cynthia only invite their rich, old friends, so Connor and
Zoe never have anyone to talk to. It’s a testament to family therapy that Connor has convinced his
parents to allow Evan, Jared and Alana over. Zoe chimes in that Cool George is coming, too, but
she doesn’t call him Cool George.

Evan doesn’t know if he has anything nice enough for a New Year’s Eve party thrown by rich
people. He has exactly one blazer, and it no longer fits. He digs out a button-up and tie and puts on
his nicest slacks, the special-occasion ones his mom bought him which have actually seen very few
special occasions. Evan knows that Connor and Zoe won’t actually care if he dresses up, but he is
newly invested in making a good impression on their parents.

Jared picks Evan up after his mom has already left for her shift, promising to text him exactly at
midnight to celebrate.

“Ugh, you look nice,” Jared mutters. “Why are you trying to show me up in front of the Murphys?”

Evan smooths down the front of his shirt under his open winter jacket. Jared’s wearing a really
garish New Year’s-themed sweater. “I’m— I’m not trying to, I just… I need the Murphys to like
me, so.”

Jared groans again. “Every time you mention dating Connor, I’m making you pay me money,” he
warns. “Gay tax.”

The Murphys’ house is decorated beautifully, and the adults gliding through the sitting rooms and
dining room are dressed way nicer than Evan could have even hoped to dress, even with a blazer.
He and Jared find Connor, Zoe and Alana hiding in the kitchen. Alana is in a sparkly purple dress,
wearing her braids down. Evan thinks she must have gotten them redone since the last time he saw
her, because now they’re blond at the ends.

Zoe is in a black dress and stockings, and Connor looks like he’s been bullied into wearing a white
button-up and black tie. This is the first time Evan’s seen him in anything other than his layers of
dark clothes.

“Holy shit,” Jared says when he sees Connor. “Nobody fucking told me I had to look nice.”

“I think your sweater is very festive,” Alana assures him.

“No, it’s fucking awesome,” Connor agrees. “Did my mom look like her eyes were going to pop
out of her head when she saw you?”

“Ugh,” Jared grumbles, slumping into one of the stools at the kitchen island.

Cool George arrives about twenty minutes later, a plain, black T-shirt tucked nicely into his dress
pants. It’s exactly the sort of outfit a cool saxophone player would wear to a fancy party. When
Jared sees him, he groans and tugs at the front of his gaudy sweater.

“Hey,” George says, grinning. He leans in and kisses Zoe on the cheek as Evan looks away and
Connor gags loudly.
This is Evan’s first New Year’s Eve party. They hang out in the kitchen and talk, eating the rich-
people snacks that Mrs. Murphy had catered for her rich-people guests. Zoe sneaks out into the
dining room and pinches a glass of champagne that they all share among them. Even Evan takes a
sip, the bubbles tickling his nose. He sits side by side with Connor at the island, their knees
bumping, elbows rubbing.

Alana ropes them into talking about college for exactly five minutes before Connor says, “I’m
joining the military, actually.” Zoe shoots him daggers.

“He’s not. Connor, shut up. He’s not, he’s being a dick,” Zoe insists. “They make you shave your
head, asshole.”

At five minutes to midnight, they shuffle into the dining room with everyone else. At least, Evan
tries to, before Connor tugs him toward the staircase off of the kitchen.

“Come on,” he urges, a hand at Evan’s elbow.

“What— we’re going to miss it,” Evan says worriedly, glancing over his shoulder before he lets
Connor lead him upstairs.

“We’ll go back down in a sec,” Connor promises.

They go to Connor’s bedroom. His door has its handle back. Cordelia is asleep on the bed, her
smushed nose making her breath whistle softly on each inhale. Evan can see new drawings taped
up on the walls, intricate sketches that he’s watched Connor work on at their lunch table or in the
back of English class.

Downstairs, Evan can hear everyone start to count down from ten.

“We’re missing it,” Evan points out. Connor steps further into his space, crossing his wrists over
Evan’s shoulders.

Nine! Eight! Seven!

“Yeah, but I wanted to, like… do the whole kiss-on-the-new-year thing,” Connor says. Evan winds
his arms around Connor’s scrawny waist.

Six! Five! Four!

“Oh,” Evan says. Connor fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck. “We can do that.”

Things are good. Evan is a normal seventeen-year-old boy about to kiss his boyfriend at midnight,
and everything is so ridiculously good.

Three! Two! One!

Connor pulls Evan in and kisses him. Below, the entire party bursts into cheers. Someone blows a
noisemaker. Evan is overwhelmed by Connor’s soft hair and the smell of his shampoo and the
warmth of his mouth. He never thought he could have something like this in a million years. And
now he does.

They emerge a few minutes after midnight, hurrying back downstairs as Connor tries to smooth out
his hair and Evan redoes the first few buttons of his shirt. They greet their friends in the cacophony
of the celebration, and Evan accepts bone-crushing hugs from both Zoe and Alana. Even Jared,
who is kind enough not to comment on his rumpled appearance, pulls him in for a brotherly,
sideways embrace

School starts up a few days after New Year’s, and Evan tries his best to ignore that the end of his
senior year is fast approaching. All Evan wants to focus on are nice things, like how Connor has
more good days than bad ones, and when he has bad days he still looks to Evan, knocking their
knees together; like how Alana gets the first of her dream school acceptance letters, laying the big
packet from Yale out on their lunch table; like how Zoe signs up for an open mic night at a cafe
downtown.

One night, after a couple of weeks back at school, Evan is cleaning up his old laptop for his mom
when he stumbles over his email chain with Connor. Something compels him to open it, maybe a
desire to see how far they’ve come. He scrolls back through the emails, his heart racing a little. It’s
not that he doesn’t still feel these things anymore. He’s pretty sure that if he sat alone for long
enough, all the bad stuff would return like an incurable rash, itching at his brainstem.

Still, now when his intrusive thoughts whisper to him that everyone would be better off, your mom
would be better off, no one would care, no one would notice, it would be so quick, so easy, Evan
can think of Zoe, and Alana, and Jared— and Connor.

It doesn’t fix it. Evan is pretty sure nothing will ever really fix it. But it makes moving forward feel
less impossible.

He doesn’t delete the emails right away. He should. He will, someday. Just… not right now.

After he closes his laptop, Evan gets ready for bed. He texts Connor Good night :) and receives
back it’s only 10pm lol . As he crawls underneath his comforter, he thinks about Connor sitting up
in his room, still awake.

The next day is so routine that it feels like it blows by. He meets his friends by his locker, just as he
does every morning: Connor with his wrinkled brow and sleepy eyes, Alana lecturing everyone
about some assignment or social cause, Jared chugging the last of a NOS, Zoe carrying her guitar
over one shoulder.

In English, Evan watches Connor draw on his worksheet instead of filling it out. He walks with
Alana and Jared to lunch, listens as Jared monologues about the new video game he’d bought over
the weekend. He eats with Connor, Alana and Jared, pressing his knee against Connor’s
underneath the table.

He passes Zoe in the hall between periods, and she sticks her tongue out at him as she hurries to
lunch. He takes diligent notes during pre-calc and reminds himself to ask Alana to help him study.
At the end of the day, Evan walks with Connor and Jared to the senior parking lot while Alana
catches a ride home with Zoe.

Evan’s eagerly awaiting the heat from Connor’s seat warmers, his hands buried deep in his coat
pockets. But when they walk out of the front of the school, he spots his mom’s car in the pick-up
lane.

Evan blinks, stopping at the top of the school steps.

“What?” Jared asks, noticing that Evan has fallen behind.

“My mom,” Evan replies slowly. He half jogs down the steps and crosses to the pick-up lane. His
mom rolls down the passenger side window as he leans in.
 “What—?” Evan starts, cutting himself off when he catches sight of his mom’s face. She’s pale,
and her eyes are red like she’s been crying. His heart immediately rockets into his throat. His legs
feel like they’re going to give out from under him. “Mom, what… what’s wrong?”

Evan’s mom wipes underneath her eye with one palm before she unlocks the doors. She’s not
looking at him. “Get in,” she says softly.

Evan glances over his shoulder at Connor and Jared, who are hanging back. The last time he’d seen
his mom cry like this, Evan had been thirteen and physically incapable of leaving the house for
school. His mom had sobbed and begged him to agree to therapy, insisting that We can’t live like
this, Evan.

Evan gets in the car.

The drive is quiet. Evan feels like he might die right there in the passenger seat. He tries to ask
what’s happening, but his mom just shakes her head, her knuckles white where she grips the
steering wheel at ten and two. Evan clutches at the bottom of his coat, breathing harsh and quick
through his mouth.

Someone’s died. That’s all Evan can think. Someone’s died, like maybe his dad. Maybe his dad’s
just died of a heart attack, and now his mom has to find a way to break the news.

When they pull up, Evan’s mom gets out of the car, still silent. Evan squeezes his eyes shut for a
moment and tries to get his racing heart under control before he follows her into the house.

The first thing he sees is his old laptop on the coffee table. He immediately feels guilty, because he
hadn’t finished cleaning it off for his mom last night, and he wishes he had. But then his mom sits
down in front of it, and turns it toward him.

His email is still open to the thread he’d left up the night before. The thread of his emails with
Connor.

“I went to use your old laptop,” his mom says quietly. “And I found these.”

Evan knows exactly what those emails say. He’s read them over and over and over again. This is
undeniably his inbox, his computer. There’s no way for him to lie his way out of this.

His mom looks at him with red eyes, her face contorted in confusion and devastation.

“Evan,” she says, voice wet. “What is this?”

Chapter End Notes

:~) hi. are u having fun? this is fun. i'm almost sorry for the cliff hanger.

round of applause to lee for getting two chapters out in two days. masterful. perfect.
beautiful.

hang out with me / yell at me about it on tumblr/instagram @clytemenestras

 Chapter 17
Chapter Summary

Everything falls apart. Evan goes to his favorite place.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Everything happens so fast. Evan’s mom calls the Murphys and suddenly, the adults have reached
a decision: Their sons are no longer allowed to speak to each other.

Because Evan can’t come up with a lie to smother the fire that is the emails, his dry-tinder life goes
up in smoke in seconds. He tries— he tries to explain, to say that those emails mean nothing, but
their damning words are there in black and white: We should do it today, and Why do you want to
off yourself? and I guess ’cause we’re gonna to do it together? and That’s how I know falling out of
a tree is a really bad way to kill yourself .

It’s Connor who brings up the pact in the emails and Connor who’d initiated everything that day in
the bathroom. To Evan’s mom, her son is a helpless, sad bystander caught up in the whirlwind of a
troubled boy who wants to tear everything down with him. She calls Dr. Sherman and schedules
Evan for two therapy appointments per week. She works frantically to undo the damage that she
believes Evan’s friendship with Connor has done.

Evan tries. He tries . But to face his mother, her face pale, eyes red, and knuckles white as she
grips the laptop, is impossible.

“We were just— we weren’t serious,” Evan says, knowing it isn’t true, unable to make the lie
sound real. He watches his mom struggle to swallow down an aching sob.

“I am your mother,” his mom tells him, her voice tight and vehement. It’s the same way she says I
love you . “And this— honey, this isn’t okay. You need help. He needs help.”

I am helping , Evan thinks blearily. He wants to live, I am helping .

The next day, Connor is out of school. Evan tries to talk to Zoe, stepping away from his locker to
approach her. Her face is pink and her eyes are bloodshot. She looks at him, through him, and she
shoves her shoulder into his as she passes. Evan’s stomach drops to his feet, and he feels nausea
and panic rocket all the way through his body.

“Jesus,” Jared says, coming up behind Evan’s shoulder. “What the fuck did you do?”

Evan can’t speak. He can’t say anything. He’s fucked up immeasurably just by leaving his fucking
email open . If he could go back 24 hours and shake himself, he would. All of this could have been
avoided if he’d just taken a moment to click the little X in the corner of the screen. Instead he’s
here, now, and Zoe won’t speak to him. He has no idea where Connnor is, if he’s okay. Have the
Murphys already sent him away somewhere, locking him up so that Evan can’t get to him?
Evan stumbles to the bathroom, the same one that he’d caught Connor smoking in, the same one
where Connor had laid out his offer. We should kill ourselves. Like, together. His hands are
slippery with sweat as he unlocks his phone and finds his text conversation with Connor. The last
message: it’s only 10pm lol.

Evan’s thumbs slide across the screen as he taps out:

Connor are you okay?

A little exclamation point shows up in the corner of the message, the sign for undelivered . He
stares down at his screen, leaning heavily against the nearest sink. Bile tries to climb his throat.
Evan holds his arm up above his head, like maybe he’s caught a bad spot with no signal, even
though there are four little bars in the right-hand corner of his screen. He tries again:

Connor??

Please text me

Or call me

Are you okay???

Each message bounces back, indicating a lost signal on Connor’s end or a block on Evan’s number
or a disconnected line. This is a nightmare and Evan is trapped in it. The only person who can tell
him if Connor is okay is Zoe, and the fury in her face had made Evan want to curl up like a pill
bug. He stares at the open text conversation on his phone, hoping desperately that even one
message will go through. The first bell rings, signalling that Evan is officially late for class.

The whole day is a nauseating blur. He barely notices when his teachers speak to him. At lunch, he
hides in the bathroom to avoid Jared and Alana. Would Zoe have told them what happened by
now? Would she have seen them in the halls during a passing period and told them that Evan had
made a suicide pact with Connor and, worse, kept it a secret? Would she spin it so that Evan was
an enthusiastic participant, eager and willing to help Connor die? He sits through the lunch period
on a closed toilet lid, his head between his knees.

When the last bell rings, Evan avoids his locker, anticipating that Jared and Alana will be there
with a plethora of questions. Instead, he stands right by the doors leading to the junior parking lot.
He needs to talk to Zoe. He needs Zoe to fill him in, to tell him how Connor is doing, where he is,
what happened after their parents found out. He stands with his shoulders squared even as his chest
aches, his breath coming fast and hard.

Zoe Murphy comes down the hall. She sees him and stops in her tracks, her face pale, terrible and
sad. Evan wants to die, seeing her like this. He’d promised her. He’d promised her no more secrets
, and he’d lied right through his teeth.

After a moment, she collects herself and starts coming toward him, her gaze fixed forward, clearly
determined to ignore him.

“Zoe,” Evan says, his voice wild and desperate as he follows her out the door, down the steps, to
the dirt lot behind the school. “Zoe, please, you have to—”

Zoe whips around to face him, her face red with fury. “How could you?” she shouts.

People turn their heads to watch, eager for a dramatic blowup. Evan swallows, and the mid-
January chill bites through his skin. He hadn’t grabbed his coat from his locker.
“You— you knew, you knew how bad he was!” Zoe yells, her voice louder and louder. “You knew
what he tried to do! And you— what, encouraged him? Played along? Let him talk about doing it
again ?” She’s shrieking now, her voice breaking on each word.

Evan has never in his life been on the receiving end of this kind of pain and anger and grief. It
makes him want to retreat. That’s usually all he’s good at, when things get hard— running, always
running.

“Please let me explain,” Evan begs. “ Please .”

“Fuck you, Evan Hansen,” Zoe spits. “Fuck you. You ruined everything. Stay away from me, stay
away from my family— and stay away from Connor.”

She turns on her heel, marching toward her blue Volvo. Evan shivers where he stands, surrounded
by dirty slush and mud, the cold clinging to his skin. This is it, he thinks. This is the end of
everything he’s built. He had been right when he’d feared that all of the good things in his life
would come crashing down around him. They had been held together by little more than delusion.
And now Evan is here, feeling like he’s about to die under the rubble.

Still, he finds his feet moving, as if of their own accord. He crosses the parking lot to Zoe’s car,
where she’s fumbling to get her keys out of her bag. He doesn’t mean to startle her when he slips
and stumbles against the hood of her car, but he does. Zoe jumps, whipping around to face him.

“Are you—” Zoe stares, mouth agape. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Evan’s teeth chatter as he tries to get the words out before she can get in her car and soundly run
him over. At least, he thinks, that might release him from this absolute misery.

“The emails—” he stutters, “the— what we agreed to—”

“ Fuck you,” Zoe sobs.

“ I know , I know— all of it, it all happened before— before I really knew you, or Connor, before
we knew each other. It all— we just, we were so… we felt the same way, and it was just…” Evan
heaves as he watches Zoe’s face, wary and wet with freezing tears. “It was just talk , and he told
me— at the cast party, after the play, he told me he wanted to be alive, and I… and we—”

Zoe scrubs her hand across her face and opens the car door. “Get in.”

The relief makes Evan’s legs nearly give out. “Thank you,” he gasps. “Thank you, thank you—”
He hurries around to the passenger side before she changes her mind.

They sit in the front of the Volvo while Zoe cranks the heat. Evan shivers, waiting for his bones to
thaw, not sure if he should say more or if he should wait for Zoe to ask him to say more. The quiet
expands until Evan feels like his ears are going to pop.

Finally, Zoe says, “My parents want to send him to Vermont.”

“Vermont ?” Evan gasps.

Zoe sniffles, picking absently at her steering wheel cover. The tic reminds Evan of Connor, and he
feels a sorrow so profound he could choke on it.

“To another retreat for troubled teens,” Zoe says absently. “Another place that they hope will fix
him. He won’t say anything about the emails. They were fighting all night . Dad had to take the
door off of his room again after he locked himself in.”

Evan’s head spins. “Those emails are… are months old,” he tries to explain, desperate to get these
words out that no one, so far, has listened to. “Before— before he told you about the first time, and
about your parents making him lie. Before your letter to your parents, before the play, before—”

Before Saratoga, before the kiss, before learning how Connor’s hand fit in his own, before
sneaking away on New Year’s at midnight, before Alana and Jared and Zoe, before Halloween and
all of the weekends they’ve spent together being teenagers, normal and stupid and alive.

“Zoe, you have to believe me. We— we were, we were idiots, but…”

“You promised me,” Zoe says sharply. “You promised there were no more secrets.”

“I know ,” Evan replies, because he does, he does, he does. He tries not to cry, but the tears come
hot and fast. “I know, and I’m— I’m so fucking sorry , Zoe. I just… telling someone meant telling
on myself. It meant— it meant admitting that I… that I tried to—”

Zoe’s face crumbles and she looks away. She hiccups and scrubs her wrist across her face. “Fuck,”
she breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Evan whispers. “No one was supposed to find out.”

The junior parking lot is almost entirely empty by now. The sun dips down behind an overcast sky,
and a wet snowfall starts to cover the windshield. They sit together in the warmth of the car,
sniffling and crying and staring ahead. Evan’s phone buzzes eventually, a text from his mom: Are
you on your way home?

“I should go,” Evan whispers.

Zoe exhales slowly, rubbing her nose. “Let me drive you home at least,” she says, voice a little
dull. “You’ll freeze like that.”

Zoe pulls out of the parking lot. The drive to Evan’s house is both too long and not long enough,
and Evan struggles to come up with something to say. Anything that might fix this. When Zoe pulls
into his driveway, the house is empty and dark. He texts his mom that he’s home, so she doesn’t do
something crazy like leave work to check on him.

Before he gets out, Evan looks across the car at Zoe. “Don’t let your parents send Connor to
Vermont,” he says.

Zoe exhales a wet, mirthless laugh. “I’ll do my best,” she says.

“And don’t— don’t let Connor, like, get himself sent to Vermont,” Evan adds. Zoe snorts. They
both know it’s a tall order.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says.

“That’s— yeah,” Evan whispers. “Um, you should be, probably.”

“But…” Zoe sighs, slumping back in her seat. “I don’t know. My brother has always been a
fucking— nightmare . But he’s like, better, now.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Things
are still… I mean, every week at therapy sucks in its own way, but… I don’t know. I can’t
remember the last time I’d seen Connor happy before you.”
This pain is nothing compared to what Evan had felt when she was screaming at him in the parking
lot. It’s different— sweeter —but it still hurts.

“He’s my best friend, Zoe,” he says softly.

Connor doesn’t return to school the next day, either. Evan catches Zoe in the hall between periods,
and all she can tell him is that Connor is not in Vermont. Jared and Alana descend on Evan during
lunch, armed to the teeth with questions. Where’s Connor? Why is Zoe mad at you? What’s going
on? Is everything okay?

Evan doesn’t know what to say. He sits, stomach empty, heart in his throat, and stares at the fake
wood of the lunch table, curling his fingers into knots.

“Connor and I—” Evan says. He starts and stops again and again. He can’t say it. Not here, not in
the middle of the cafeteria, like it’s just any other gossip.

“What, did his dad find out you two were banging?” Jared presses. Then, a little more seriously,
sounding genuinely alarmed, he asks, “Did you break up ?”

“Jared,” Alana scolds. “You’re not being helpful.”

“You should have seen Zoe body-check him yesterday,” Jared says, throwing his hands down
against the table. “She was pissed .”

Alan reaches across the table, squeezing Evan’s hands. “You can tell us when you’re ready, Evan,”
she says gently. Evan squeezes back.

At the end of the day, Zoe is waiting by his locker. Evan approaches slowly, twisting his hands in
the straps of his backpack. She offers him the smallest and weakest of smiles. He can’t make
himself smile back.

“Hey,” Evan whispers.

Zoe lifts her hand in a little wave. When she drops it, she says, “We should tell Alana and Jared.”

Evan had sort of expected this, but that doesn’t make him want to vomit any less. He nods, unable
to actually verbalize a yes. Jared and Alana find him and Zoe standing together and they approach
cautiously, as if they’re not sure whether they should intervene.

“We’ve got a really big problem,” Zoe says to them.

Alana immediately jumps into Alana Mode. “Tell us how we can help,” she says earnestly, and
Evan could cry. He’s never had friends before. He never knew how deeply he would need them
when the world came crashing down around him.

Zoe tells them everything as they sit in the warmth of her Volvo, and Evan is struck by how
unbelievably lucky he is to still have Zoe on his side. She could hate him. She has every right to
hate him. If Evan had been in Zoe’s shoes, he would have probably never bothered with himself
ever again. In ten years, Evan Hansen would have just been a name that he knew from high school,
a nobody that had managed to ruin his family’s life. Instead, Zoe is here, laying out what
happened: the emails, their parents’ phone call, the subsequent fallout.

Alana and Jared listen, rapt and a little horror-stricken. Afterwards, Alana tears up and Jared says,
“Evan, holy shit .”

It’s terrible, laying out his involvement with the pact— what he’d said; what he’d felt; what he still
feels, sometimes. Keeping those feelings close to his chest had been safe, had been as much of a
habit to Evan as brushing his teeth before bed. And now everyone knows. His mom, the Murphys,
Zoe, Jared, Alana. They all know. He waits for the inevitable repercussions, waits for Jared and
Alana to decide that he’s too much, that those feelings are too much, that he’s too broken or weird
or fucked up. He waits to hear the car doors slam, the echo of silence after they both leave.

But none of that happens. After Zoe finishes, Alana reaches up between the center console and
squeezes Evan’s arm. He feels Jared grip his shoulder. Evan stares down in his lap, his heart tight
and pounding hard.

“Maybe we can talk with your mom,” Alana says, finally. “And the Murphys. We can be your
character witnesses. We’ll tell them how much you’ve improved since being close with Connor.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, after a quiet moment. “And Connor definitely elevated from school shooter
status after he started hanging out with you.”

Evan laughs, his face wet with tears. He looks up at his friends, and they all look back at him—
really look at him, like they see him. Like they’re looking for him, specifically, and they’ve found
him. He nods, covering Alana’s hand on his arm. Zoe reaches across the center console, one small
hand at the back of his neck.

“We’ll fix this,” she promises.

Friday is the third consecutive day that Connor is absent from school, and Evan feels insane. He’ll
have to wait an entire weekend to see if Connor shows up on Monday. He tries over and over to
send a message to Connor’s phone, but Zoe tells him that his parents have taken away his laptop,
his phone, his door, and his car keys.

Jared offers him a ride home, but the stress of the day has settled like needles behind Evan’s eyes,
so he opts to walk home alone in the January chill, picking through the newly fallen snow. Every
day that Connor stays out of school is another day that he could possibly be sent to Vermont. It’s
unbearable. Zoe is a little more confident that it won’t happen, because her parents apparently
called their family therapist to talk about everything, to be advised what they should do, and
Vermont had been resolutely affirmed as a bad idea. Still, Evan can’t possibly let himself feel any
hope.

The house is empty and cold when Evan trudges in through the front door. His mom has left a note
on the counter: I love you, Evan. Here’s money for pizza. I’ll call on all of my breaks. I’ll be home
at 7 tomorrow morning . -Mom

Evan stares at the note, bending it at the edges. He remembers when Connor had stood in this
exact spot, reading a note his mom had left, and said, Your mom is cute . It had been such a sweet
thing to say, unprompted. So unlike the Connnor that Evan had thought he’d known at the time.

The evening drags on. Evan’s mom calls him at six, then again at nine. Evan curls up on the
couch, staring at the television, absorbing nothing. Alana has been texting him throughout the
night, asking for his input on some testimony she’s preparing for the parents. Evan doesn’t know
what to say. He tries to respond a few times, but eventually just tells her that whatever she decides
to say will be good. Jared even checks in once, but Evan doesn’t have the energy to really engage.
He sends him an I’m fine , like they don’t both know that’s a lie.

Midnight hits, and Evan finds himself still on the couch in the dark living room, the blinking
television his only source of light. The lonely feeling, the one that’s followed him his entire
childhood and adolescence, claws at him. It’s so familiar that Evan almost wants to give in, to sink
into the depression and let it swallow him whole all over again.

Headlights flash through the porch windows. Evan frowns and checks his phone, but there’s no call
from his mom, or texts from anyone other than Alana and Jared. Maybe his mom is coming home
early? He sits up on the couch, squinting through the window. All he sees are big, LED headlights.
His mom’s car is old, the lights a faded yellow.

The engine outside cuts, and the headlights turn off. The shadow of the car is immediately
familiar. He’s seen it parked in his driveway a million times by now. It’s Zoe’s Volvo.

Evan throws himself off the couch, instantly scrambles to the porch. What is Zoe doing at his
house at midnight? Why didn’t she call or text beforehand? Is something wrong? Evan’s thoughts
immediately go to Connor, and Vermont, and he thinks maybe Zoe is here because their parents
are about to ferry Connor away to some troubled teen center in the middle of nowhere—

Evan flicks on the porch light. Standing at the top of his driveway is Connor, swallowed up by a
heavy winter jacket and looking small and brittle, his hair damp like he’s just taken a shower. He
shivers as the winter air sinks into his uncovered scalp. Evan throws himself off the porch,
barefoot, feet immediately freezing on the iced driveway.

“Connor—”

“Fuck,” Connor says, and they collide.

Evan can barely squeeze his arms around Connor’s thick jacket. Connor presses his face against
Evan’s hair, and Evan can hear how wet his breathing is. They pull back just enough to kiss,
Connor’s hands slipping against Evan’s cheeks, long fingers curling around his jaw. When Evan
starts shivering, Connor herds him back into the house, and they cling to each other in the living
room.

“How did you—” Evan pulls back to look up at Connor, illuminated by the flicker of the television.
“What are you doing here?”

“Zoe said I could take her car,” Connor says, breathless. “To come see you. Cynthia and Larry are
already asleep.”

“Are you being sent to Vermont?” Evan asks, frantic.

They collapse on the couch, and Connor shakes his head. “No, thank fuck. Dr. Wilson talked
Cynthia and Larry down.” He’s sinking into the lumpy excess of his coat, but he doesn’t move to
take it off.

Evan laces their fingers together, pressing his palm against Connor’s. He’d almost forgotten how it
felt. “Remind me to tell Zoe that I owe her my entire life,” he says. Connor exhales a little laugh.

“She’s already got dibs on mine,” Connor assures.

They laugh together, tired and quiet. The relief Evan feels right now, seeing Connor, having him in
his house again, is better than anything even Xanax can offer. He doesn’t know how long he has
Connor here, and he’s determined not to take a single moment of it for granted.
But suddenly, Connor says, “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Evan shrugs, looking up at him. “It’s past midnight,” he says. “Where would we go?”

Connor’s eyes find his own in the low light. They flash, his face going serious. “Acadia,” he
answers.

Evan blinks. He laughs a little, trying to brush the suggestion off, to pretend it’s a joke. “We
can’t…” He pauses, chewing on his bottom lip. “We can’t run away, Connor.”

“Why not?” Connor presses. “I have a car. The gas tank is full.”

“That’s— that’s like, that’s a ten hour drive,” Evan says, his laugh nervous and maybe a little
frantic now. “And my mom gets home at seven, so…”

“So we’ll be long gone before she even notices,” Connor says. “We’ll have a six-hour head start.”

The look on Connor’s face is fierce, even as desperation creeps into his voice. They’d only just
started to learn what it was like to be together before the emails, before the phone call, before they
were ripped away from one another. Things had only just started being really good , and Evan can
tell that Connor is aching for them to try and turn back time. Evan can tell because he feels the
exact same way. Like maybe if they just get in the car and drive it’ll stay midnight forever, and
this moment will be suspended, unchanging.

“Yeah,” Evan says after a moment. “Okay. Acadia.”

“The big time,” Connor whispers. Evan laughs and kisses him, his hands on his face.

“The big time,” he says back, and they press their foreheads together, breathing the same air.

Connor drives through the night. He grips the steering wheel with one hand at the top, clings to
Evan’s hand on the center console with the other. Evan remembers the drive to Saratoga, and
wishes he could go back to that day and hold Connor’s hand then, too. He wishes he could go back
to September, knowing what he knows now. Maybe things could have been really good for longer.

They’d left almost right away, taking nothing, and then Connor, slightly frenzied and almost
horrified, had made Evan go back inside to get his national parks passport from his room.

As they drive, they concoct a fantasy life together in Acadia. “You can get a job as a park ranger,”
Connor suggests. “And we’ll live in those stupid little ranger cabins.”

Evan doesn’t break the spell by telling Connor he’s still two months out from his eighteenth
birthday. Instead, he adds, “I bet you could work in the visitors center.”

They build their little runaway world piece by piece: Connor dreams up a dog that they name
Saratoga, and Evan talks about how they can decorate their park ranger cabin. In their fake life,
they have a hammock on the porch and spend summers hiking the mountain trails. It feels silly, but
Evan clings to it. He hopes that maybe, if he just thinks about this new life hard enough, then he
won’t have to think about the one they’re trying to outrun. Maybe the morning can’t catch up with
them.

Around four, Connor pulls off at a motel just off the freeway advertised for truckers and travelers.
A very old woman hands them their key, and when they open the door they find a chilly, dimly lit
room with two beds. They peel off their jackets and boots, and there's not even a conversation
about whether they’ll use one bed or two— after Evan splashes water on his face in the bathroom,
he crawls into bed next to Connnor and they lie there, under the scratchy hotel sheets, still in their
clothes. It’s the first time Evan has ever shared a bed with someone, and Connor folds his long
limbs up as small as he can. Evan wraps around him from behind, pressing his cold nose against
the warm skin at the back of Connor’s neck.

Evan barely sleeps. He’s partly distracted by the way it feels to hold Connor like this, a whole new
level of intimacy. He squeezes him around the middle, feeling the way the pressure forces Connor
to exhale and relax every time his body tenses up in his sleep. Evan’s all too aware that in the
morning, his mom will notice that he’s gone, and something will happen— maybe she’ll call the
Murphys, or maybe she’ll report him having run away, or—

At six, Evan’s phone buzzes loudly on the hotel nightstand. Panic springs him upright, and he
fumbles for it. He’s expecting his mom, but instead he sees Zoe’s contact information flash across
the screen. She’d typed her name into his phone for him when they’d first exchanged numbers, and
she’d put a guitar emoji beside it.

“Hello?” Evan says, picking up the call.

“Where’s Connor?” Zoe’s tinny voice fills the speaker. “He said he’d be back last night.”

Evan looks down at Connor, curled like a shrimp, his face pressed into the hotel pillow. “Um,”
Evan says. “He’s… here. With me.”

Zoe huffs a little. “Well, tell him to hurry back with my car.”

“Um,” Evan says again. He leans back against the headboard, his heart thrumming. “We… we’re
about four hours away, actually.”

Zoe is quiet on the other line for a moment. “What?”

Reality closes in. Running away had never actually been an option. The pipe dream that he and
Connor had concocted to try and keep morning from finding them begins to fall apart in Evan’s
hands.

“We’re… we just, we wanted to… it was dumb, sorry,” he babbles, shaking his head. “We’ll—
we'll come back with your car. Sorry.”

From beside him, Connor grumbles: “The fuck we will.”

“Let me talk to him,” Zoe says, annoyed.

Evan tries to get Connor to take the phone, but he stays stubbornly tucked under the blankets. Evan
ends up just laying the phone down against his ear and cheek.

“What?” Connor mutters. He’s quiet while he listens to Zoe talk, her voice crackly over Evan’s
phone. After a short while, he says, “No, I’m not. I fucking promise,” and then he’s quiet again,
for a longer length of time. Finally, Connor grabs the phone with one hand and sits up in bed, his
hair disheveled and knotted from where he’s slept on it.

Connor stares down at his lap. “Yeah. Okay,” he says. “Hey, fuck— Zoe? Thank you. Okay?”
Whatever Zoe says is inaudible to Evan, but it makes Connor snort out a laugh.

When Connor hands the phone back to Evan, the call has ended. Evan chews on the inside of his
cheek. “What did she say?”
Connor flops heavily back down onto the mattress. “She said she’s going to try and figure
something out.”

“What does that mean?”

Connor shrugs, scrubbing his hands over his face, burrowing the heels of his palms into the
hollows of his eyes. Dread builds in Evan’s limbs, making them feel heavy and weightless at the
same time.

“Should we turn around?” Evan asks.

Last night, Connor asking him to run away had felt— it had felt impulsive and insane and good ,
like something that teenagers in a movie would do. As the winter sun edges up over the horizon,
bright and white as it glances off the snow and pours through the blinds of their motel room, Evan
is acutely aware that all they’re doing is avoiding the inevitable.

Connor shrugs again. He looks up at Evan, sleepy and pink in the face where he’d been pressed
against the pillow all night. Evan can see how worry and fear have knit a sharp shadow between
his brows.

“We’re already halfway there,” Connor reasons, his voice soft. “They’re going to know we’re gone
anyway. We should go all the way. See the big time.”

They stay in bed a while longer, because Evan can’t help but kiss Connor like this, the both of
them overwhelmed and burning from the inside out. If this is the last time they get to see each
other, either because of their parents or Vermont or whatever, Evan doesn’t want to waste a second
of it.

They sleepily put their boots and jackets on around seven, and Evan stares anxiously at his phone
the whole time, thinking that any second his mom is going to get home and see that he’s gone.
She’s going to call him and freak out and—

The call doesn’t come. They’re on the road by 7:30, after a quick breakfast of drive-through
McMuffins and orange juice. Eight o’clock passes, and then nine. Evan stares at his phone, feeling
panicked and confused. Has his mom just not noticed he’s gone? Had she gone straight up to bed
without checking his room? There’s no update from Zoe, either. What if the Murphys have called
the police? Could he go to jail for running away? Is this considered kidnapping?

Their soft, hopeful fantasy life from the night before continues to dissolve in the cold light of day.
Evan wants to ask Connor to tell him more about their fake dog, their fake jobs, their fake life
together at Acadia, but he can’t muster up the words. Connor keeps both hands on the wheel as he
drives this time, his knuckles white. They both stay silent, lost in their thoughts, as the GPS on the
Volvo’s dashboard reads out directions to Acadia. As they get closer, Evan loses cell service,
which at least makes it impossible for him to keep neurotically checking his phone.

They pull into the visitors center around 1 p.m. Acadia spreads out in front of them, and it’s the
only thing that drags Evan out of his carousel of thoughts. He’s here. They’re here, together. It
takes a moment for Evan’s brain to catch up with his body, and when it does, he grips the
dashboard.

“We actually made it,” Evan says, staring at the little wooden porch at the front of the visitors
center.

Connor cuts the engine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice soft, gaze distant. Evan desperately wants to
pull him back to him.

“Come on,” Evan says, getting out of the car, grabbing his passport book from the glove
compartment. Connor follows, and they enter the visitors center together. Connor’s mood is still
stormy and quiet, but he finds the cancellation station and guides Evan over to it.

“The big time,” Connor says with a tired, crooked smile. Evan smiles back weakly. He carefully
wets the stamp on the ink pad and presses it into his passport book, right beside Saratoga NHP .

There’s no itinerary this time. They explore the area around the visitors center, the sharp snap of
the wind off the water just beyond them bringing a deep chill.

“I miss your seat warmers,” Evan says once they return to the Volvo. Connor exhales a surprised
laugh as he pulls back out onto the road, driving further into the park.

“Fuck, dude, me too,” Connor says. This time, when they get back on the road, he lays his hand on
the center console. Evan slides their palms together, laces their fingers. Connor squeezes Evan’s
hand in his.

Connor pulls off onto the first trailhead they find. The sign in the parking lot reads Beech
Mountain , and Evan recognizes the name from his books . They walk through the trees slow and
quiet, side by side, bracing against the sharp winter breeze. It’s the opposite of Saratoga, Evan
thinks. Two bookends to their relationship— one trip at the beginning, the other at the possible
end.

There’s no way to know what’s happening back home, but maybe that’s for the best. Evan doesn’t
want to know their fate until he pulls back into his driveway. Out here, they’re still together, and
everything else is background noise. Out here, it’s easier to pretend.

The trail takes them up through the forest, the trees falling away the higher they go, the ground
becoming rockier. Evan’s seen so much of this place in photos, and seeing it now, here, with
Connor— it’s beyond compare.

They approach a huge fire tower, and Evan takes Connor’s hand, squeezing. They climb up to take
in the sprawling, midwinter view, and Evan points out different parts of the park: “Acadia
Mountain is over there,” he says, pointing with his nondominant hand so he doesn’t have to let go
of Connor’s. “And all of this is Echo Lake.”

They don’t move on for a while. They stand gripping the railing of the fire tower, watching the
way the water and ice and snow chop wildly against the nearby shore. Evan’s nose gets cold and
pink from where the wind whistles frostily against his face.

“You know,” Connor says slowly after a while. He’s staring straight ahead, not looking at Evan,
but his voice is serious and sharp, and Evan stiffens to attention. “You know I didn’t take you to
Saratoga because, like— because I was trying to get in your pants or something, right?”

Evan opens and closes his mouth, saying nothing. He hadn’t ever thought that, no. He wants to ask
Connor where this is coming from, where his thoughts are going, but before he can, Connor
continues.

“Like, fuck. Honestly? I didn’t think I stood a chance. I didn’t even think there was a universe that
existed where you liked me, until— you know, you did. And I was like, fuck!” Connor throws his
hands up and laughs caustically. “Maybe those crazy yoga ladies my mom kept sending me to were
right! Like, manifestation or karma or whatever? Maybe they’re fucking onto something, you
know? Cause how is my life so shitty for so fucking long, and then you show up and—”

Connor grips the railing tight. He furrows his brow and his words get faster, like he’s trying to get
them all out before he loses his nerve. “And I fucking liked you, like, I really liked you, but you
were— okay, you were my friend, then you were my best friend, and that was enough, you know?”
He pauses, wipes at his nose with his baggy sleeve. “I was like, fuck, okay. Yeah. Maybe I’ll live,
because this weird fucking kid with his stupid trees is somewhere in the world and like... maybe
that’s enough.” He pushes his shoulders up against his jaw. The wind whips his hair off his face.

“And like, don’t— don’t get me wrong, I liked you, okay. I liked you, like, so much. But being
your friend was enough. And then suddenly there you fucking are, kissing me, and I’m like— how
did I— what the fuck did I do to deserve this? How is this real?” Connor laughs again, the sound
tight and high and almost panicked as he presses his hips against the railing, leaning forward a
little.

“And now…” Connor looks to Evan finally, his face pale, eyes wet. “And now if we go back and I
can’t even be your friend? That’s— that’s so fucked up.” He shakes his head. “I can’t… I can’t do
that. I can’t go back and not even get to be your friend.”

The words hang in the air between them. Evan grips the railing and sucks in a breath, the air
almost painful in his lungs. Connor looks at him, his face pale and terrified, like an echo of Zoe
before she’d confronted Evan at school. Evan had thought he’d been unable to bear the pain of that
conversation. Now this, here— Connor scared and in pain and caring , always caring, sometimes
caring too much. Evan isn’t sure how he’ll survive it.

“I— I don’t want that, either,” Evan says, finally. “I don’t want to go back to… to how everything
was before. Everything— my life, it sucked, it sucked so much.” A pained laugh escapes from his
chest. “How is it that my life sucked more before you tried to get me to kill myself? Again.”

Connor ducks his head, his own laugh swallowed by a breeze that kicks up around them, sending a
flurry of snow trailing up through the fire tower overlook. They’re quiet once more, Evan leaning
his shoulder into Connor’s, feeling how warm he is through the layers of their jackets.

Eventually Connor leans down, shakes his head again. “I can’t…” he says. “Your mom, dude, she
loves you so much, and like… my parents, they… whatever, they’re trying, I guess,” Connor sighs.
“And Zoe is— Zoe is like, going to be stuck with them for another year and, I just… We can’t just,
like… live here.”

Any last denial Evan had been clinging to slips away, catching on the wind with the snowflakes.
He’d known it, in the back of his mind, from the moment they left. They couldn’t just run away
like two kids in a movie. But it had felt like maybe, if they believed their own bullshit hard enough,
maybe they could. Maybe things would magically work out, like they always did in movies.

Their hands rest side by side on the railing. Evan covers Connor’s pinkie with his own.

“So what do we do?” Evan asks, softly.

Connor shrugs, defeated. “I don’t know.”

And up there on the fire tower, Evan’s phone must catch a stray signal, because just then his phone
buzzes in his pocket, startling him. He digs it out, flips it over in his hand to read the screen. Mom
.

A chill that has nothing to do with the cold Acadia air snaps down Evan’s spine. “My mom,” he
says, voice tight. “It’s my mom.”

“Fuck,” Connor mutters.

Evan answers the call just before it goes to voicemail. “Mom?” he breathes.

The single bar of signal makes the call staticky and jumpy, but it comes through. His mom’s voice
is slightly panicky as she replies: “Evan, honey? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, mom,” Evan says quickly. “I’m okay. I’m with— um, I’m with Connnor. We’re both
okay.”

Slightly muffled, like she’s put the phone down against her shoulder, Evan hears his mom say:
“They’re together. Yeah, they’re alright.” Then more loudly, as she brings the phone back to her
ear, she tells him, “Evan, you need to come home, okay?”

Tears stick achingly behind Evan’s eyes. “I know,” he says quickly. “I know, but— I don’t want to
stop seeing him. Mom, I— he’s my best friend, and everything happened so fast and nobody is
listening to us, and—”

“Honey,” Evan’s mom says, a little louder to gain his attention. “Evan, I know, okay? It’s okay.
We… we’re going to figure this all out, okay?”

Evan sniffles. “What… what do you mean?”

His mom is quiet for a moment before she says, “Your friends had a lot to say on behalf of you and
Connor. They gave Connor’s parents and me a lot to think about. We want to figure this out, okay?
What’s best for both of you.” She sucks in a deep breath, then says, “And it doesn’t seem like
what’s best is keeping you boys apart.”

Evan looks up at Connor, who’s staring at him, waiting for Evan to say anything that might
indicate what’s happening on the other end of the phone. Evan holds up one finger, still unsure
how to process his mom’s words himself. Connor frowns.

“Really?” Evan asks.

“Really,” his mom says. “But we can’t work it out if you don’t come home, okay?”

Evan catches Connor’s gaze, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So you’re not… I mean, we can
keep seeing each other? We can still be friends?”

He needs to hear those words. He needs something to hold onto if they’re going to drive all the way
back home.

“You can still be friends,” his mom agrees. Then, more softly, she adds, “Trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” Evan says. “No, yeah, we— we’ll come home.” Connor grimaces, but Evan waves him
off, smiles a little to reassure him. He puts his hand around Connor’s forearm and squeezes.

Before the call ends, a thought strikes him, and he says, “Um, what did you mean when you said—
our friends, they…?”

“Oh,” his mom says, and Evan’s chest unclenches a little at the slightly confused smile in her
voice. “Alana made a powerpoint. She presented it to all of us.”

Teary, Evan laughs, unable to stop himself. “Alana made a powerpoint,” he repeats, and Connor
 throws his hands up over his head.

“Come home, honey,” his mom urges.

Evan nods, remembers she can’t see him, and says, “We’re coming.”

Chapter End Notes

oh my god i genuinely can't believe this fic is so close to being completed and posted.
ACADIA!! he did it, he made it! wow!

lee and i put together alana's powerpoint.

round of applause of lee editing all 7,000 words of this chapter. three more left! what
will happen! ooo so spooky!!
 Chapter 18
Chapter Summary

Things get better. Evan and Connor are both Pisces.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Evan is dead on his feet when Connor pulls into his driveway. He feels bad that Connor’s had to
drive ten full hours, twice, in little more than a day.

They sit in the Volvo, reluctant to part ways again. The last time he’d walked away from Connor,
that day at school, he hadn’t known he might never see him again.

“I have to go in,” Evan says, staring at his house, the porch light on even in the early morning
light.

“Yeah,” Connor croaks, scrubbing at his eyes, exhausted from driving all night.

They’d stopped at another motel to sleep for a few hours. After they’d gotten signal back, Evan’s
phone had buzzed with incoming messages from Jared, Zoe and Alanna for almost twenty full
minutes. He’d read them out loud to Connor, laughing in disbelief at the play-by-play of Alana’s
presentation, until his phone eventually got low enough on battery that he tucked it away, just in
case they needed to call his mom on the last leg of the drive.

“Alana made a powerpoint,” Evan reminds him, his voice too nervous for the joke to land. “So…
it’ll be okay, right?”

Connor nods, his brows furrowed, expression determined. “Right,” he agrees.

They kiss briefly at first, but the possibility that this contact could be their last— maybe the
Murphys have changed their minds about Vermont in the last twenty-four hours —keeps Evan
stuck in his seat, holding Connor by the face.

After, Evan stands on the porch, watching as Connor pulls out of his driveway and speeds too fast
down the road. He can see the back of his tail lights at the end of the street, watches him not signal
as he makes the left turn toward his neighborhood. And then Connor is gone.

With nothing left to keep him out on the porch, Evan turns and enters the house.

His mom is sitting in the living room, and she looks up when he enters. She looks like she’s been
crying all night, and Evan knows the feeling. He shuffles out of his boots and jacket, and the
minute he sits down beside her she throws her arms around him, pulling him against her. Evan
stiffens for a moment then gives in, tucking his arms around her shoulders. He can hear her wet,
teary breathing as she rocks him a little, her face pressed against his hair. Seeing his mom cry
triggers some automatic reflex, and tears begin to sting behind his own eyes.

When his mom pulls back, Evan almost doesn’t want her to go. She wipes her face with both
hands, letting out a slow, shaky exhale.
“Oh, Evan,” she sighs.

Oh, Evan, what am I going to do with you? She’s never said it, but Evan can still hear it, can
picture her thinking it each time he comes up short.

“I’m sorry,” Evan whispers. “I’m really— I’m really sorry.”

His mom nods, squeezes his knee. She says, “I know,” and Evan’s jaw quivers a little as he
struggles to swallow yet another breakdown.

They’re quiet for a moment, his mom gathering her words while Evan does his best not to throw
up. Finally, his mom takes a deep breath and says: “I know your friendship with Connor is really
important to you. And your friends had a lot of… of really kind things to say.”

Evan wants to ask about Alana’s powerpoint, but he knows now is not the time.

“Clearly you felt strongly enough about each other to…” His mom makes a vague gesture. Neither
of them says run away . “I want you to be able to see each other, but… Evan, those emails—”

“I know,” Evan says, his stomach dropping. “I know. We— we wrote them before, like… I don’t
know, before Connor and Zoe started going to therapy with their parents, and… and all the really
good things that happened…”

His mom smiles sadly, her eyes wet. “And I’m so glad that those good things happened for you,
honey,” she says.

“We’re… we’re better, together,” Evan presses. “We made each other better.”

His mom takes in another deep breath and nods slowly, choosing her words.

“Evan… Having people, having friends… that’s important. And I’m so happy that you have that
with Connor,” she says. “But… he is not going to fix everything for you, honey. And you’re not
going to fix everything for him.” She squeezes his knee again, and Evan covers her hand with his
own. “No matter how much we love people, there are some things we can only do for ourselves.”

Love . The word strikes Evan right in his ribs with a violent jolt, the kind you feel just as you wake
up from a dream about falling.

“Okay,” Evan whispers. “I— I know, I just… being around him really does make me happy,
like…” He shrugs. “…Ninety-eight percent of the time.”

His mom laughs a little, but it comes out a bit like a half-sob. Evan presses on, because it feels
really important to him that his mom knows all of the amazing things Connor has brought to his
life, not just the emails.

“He makes me feel, like… normal,” Evan says. “I feel like a normal person when I’m with him.
And— and I don’t think I’d have started hanging out with Zoe or Alana— and Jared, he really likes
Connor, too, so… I dunno, it’s like Connor brought us all together, kind of.”

Evan’s mom looks like she’s about to cry again, her face teary. “I’m so glad you have friends,
honey,” she says earnestly. “They were all very… thorough when they talked with Connor’s
parents and me. I didn’t know how much he meant to you. Or how much the two of you meant to
all of them.” She takes another deep breath, squeezing Evan’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry,” she tells
him, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know that.”
Evan knows that this is an opening. The opportunity is right here, in front of him, and he should
tell her, even if his heart is rocketing in his chest and his palm is growing damp against hers.

“It’s okay,” he starts. “I didn’t— I haven’t been very, um…” He sucks in a breath and sits up a
little taller on the couch, turning more fully toward his mom. “I’m… I think I want to start telling
you more. About me. And so there’s, uh— there’s something else that— um. I mean, there’s
something you should know.”

His mom steels herself. He can see her shoulders tighten, her face becoming carefully blank.

“Connor and I— we— um, I mean, we’re…” Boyfriends? Dating? Seeing each other? “Like,
together,” Evan decides.

His mom’s brows lift, her eyes widening just a fraction. “Together,” she repeats.

Flustered, Evan clarifies, “I’m, like— he’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” his mom says, then again, with a little more intensity, “Oh! Oh, honey— okay, alright.
That’s— your boyfriend.” She repeats the word slowly, like she’s hoping to get it right. Evan nods,
feeling his face go hot. “Has he been your boyfriend since, um, the emails…?”

“No!” Evan says, eager to stop that line of thought in its tracks. “No. We, um— since December.
At the cast party for the play.”

Relief washes over his mom’s face immediately, and she pulls him in for another hug, her arms
tight around his shoulders, and rocks him a little. “Oh, honey, that’s… thank you for telling me,”
she says, her voice soft and warm in his ear.

They pull away, his mom’s hands still firm on his shoulders as she rubs her thumbs up and down
the line of his neck. Evan feels so soothed and so small and so tired. He could probably sleep for a
week.

“Okay,” his mom says softly, mostly to herself. She gives a little nod. “You’ve had a long day.
Why don’t you go take a nap?”

Evan nods back, relieved. “Okay.”

Then, as if suddenly remembering everything that had brought them to this emotional conversation
again, his mom adds, “I think you should be grounded, though, for… you know. Running away.”

They look at one another, neither of them knowing what that might entail. Evan has absolutely
never been grounded before. Still, he nods again, because it only seems fair.

“Right,” he agrees.

His mom smiles, satisfied, and pats him gently on the knee. “Good.”

As Evan stands to go up to his bedroom, he turns back to his mom and asks, “Can we… maybe,
can we not tell Dad yet? About me and Connor.”

His mom gets up from the couch, too, her expression determined. “You tell him when you’re
ready,” she says, her voice soft but firm. She wraps him in another tight hug, then pulls away
slightly to press her forehead against his. Evan closes his eyes, relief sweeping over him in cool,
lapping waves.
No more secrets.

Evan climbs the stairs wearily and passes out in his clothes. He sleeps until nearly two in the
afternoon, waking up confused and thirsty. He’d forgotten to plug his phone in, so it’s dead when
he fishes it out of his pocket. He sits up as he waits for it to turn back on, wondering how Connor’s
talk with his parents went, if Alana’s powerpoint made as big of an impression on the Murphys as
it did on his mom.

His phone turns on with a buzz, and messages come rolling in. The first few are from Zoe, sent an
hour after Evan and Connor had pulled into his driveway.

Are you guys back yet?

Then, after another thirty minutes: Connor still hasn’t come home.

Dread immediately sinks into Evan’s stomach, making him want to vomit. He scrolls through the
other messages— some from Jared and Alana, all of them asking if they’ve made it back from
Acadia, and whether Connor is still with him. Connor hasn’t had his phone since the emails were
found, but Evan opens up their text conversation anyway, like maybe it can magically tell him
where Connor is.

“Connor,” Evan groans, rubbing his hand across his face. He thumbs his way to Zoe’s number and
hits Call .

She picks up after the first ring, “Is he over at your house?”

“No,” Evan says, flopping back onto his bed. “Sorry. He drove away after he dropped me off.”

Zoe groans. “My parents are freaking out. He has my car.”

“Sorry,” Evan says again. He tries to think of where Connor might go, what he might be doing. He
wishes he had just gone home. Evan rolls onto his side, holding his phone tight against his ear.

“I bet Dad really regrets taking his phone right now,” Zoe quips. Then, more nervously, she says,
“You don’t think he’s…?”

A few months ago, Evan wouldn’t have been able to honestly answer, No Connor isn’t going to kill
himself. And maybe he still can’t, not with complete certainty, but his brain rejects the thought so
thoroughly that he says, “No. No, he’s not.”

Connor wants to be alive. He’d said so in his own, disjointed way.

The idea comes slowly, first as a memory: Connor at the lake, swinging a rock the size of his head
until it shoots toward the water. Evan showing him one way to deal when life gets too
overwhelming, the way Zoe had shown him how to roll down the hill behind her house.

Evan sits up quickly. “I think I know where he might be,” he says. “Um, give me, like… thirty
minutes? I’ll call you back.”

When Evan goes downstairs, his first instinct is to lie to his mom— to say he’s just going for a
walk, that he’ll be back soon— but he reminds himself, No more secrets .

He wants to mean it this time.

“I think Connor is too scared to go face his parents,” Evan tells her, shoving his feet into his boots.
“And I think he’s at the lake. The one by the bike trail. I want to— I think I can help?”

His mom looks anxious, the sleeves of her cardigan pulled over her hands. She’s just gotten him
back, and now he’s running out into the world, chasing after Connor. Still, she lets him go. She
offers to drive him out there, but Evan shakes his head. He needs to burn off the sudden energy in
his limbs.

Zoe’s blue Volvo is there, in the dirt parking lot, as Evan rounds the bike path to the lake. He spots
Connor’s long, dark figure in the grass, watches his arm arch as he throws a rock into the lake.

He approaches slowly, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “You have to go home, you
know,” Evan says when he’s close enough.

Connor whips around, surprised. “What are you—?”

“Zoe told me you hadn’t shown up yet,” Evan answers. “Why?”

Connor knits his brow. “Because I’m not going back until I know they’re not going to like, fucking,
suddenly decide we can’t see each other,” he says, kicking at the half-frozen mud. “I’m not— I’m
not going back to how fucking shitty my life was.”

Evan reaches out and grips Connor by the open flaps of his jacket, closing the distance between
them. Connor drops the rest of his rocks. They hit the frozen ground with a muffled thunk.

“I told my mom,” Evan says softly. “About— about us. That we’re… you know.” He tugs Connor
a little closer, until Connor gives in and wraps his arms around Evan’s shoulders. “She… she
doesn’t want us to be apart, you know?”

The tense line in Connor’s shoulders starts to loosen. Evan says, in a quiet voice, “It’s okay to be
scared.”

“I’m not fucking scared,” Connor mutters, and Evan cracks a weak smile.

Evan calls Zoe and passes the phone to Connor. Connor says mostly nothing, just listens while Zoe
talks, interrupting only to make a noise of affirmation or to exhale a sharp, reedy laugh. When they
get in the car, Connor drives Evan home again— and again, they kiss over the center console, this
time with a lot more hope.

Evan’s mom has never had to discipline him for something as serious as running away— has
barely ever had to discipline him at all. Both of them are a little awkward about carrying out the
punishment (no outings after school and no TV), but Evan wants to show that he’s taking it
seriously, so he sits up in his room in the evenings and doesn’t watch TV, even after his mom goes
to work.

Connor returns to school on Monday. He walks in with Zoe, his hair damp, eyes squinted and
sleepy. Evan wants to kiss him right there in the hallway, but he settles for hooking their pinkies
together instead.

Things settle. Nothing goes back to normal, because normal was maybe, in retrospect, not actually
working. There is a Before The Emails and an After The Emails, and Evan thinks he prefers the
After.

Evan and Connor are only barred from seeing each other outside of school in that they’re both
grounded from the impromptu Acadia trip— Evan’s punishment lasts only a week, whereas Connor
is still sulkily accepting rides from Zoe well into the middle of January. He gets his phone back, at
least.

“Maybe if you hadn’t stolen my car,” Zoe says as they sit on the front steps of the school, drawing
out the time before they have to go home.

“It’s not stolen if I brought it back,” Connor mutters around the end of his cigarette.

“I think it was very romantic,” Alana says, sitting as far away from Connor and his cigarette as she
can. “Inappropriate and dangerous, but… romantic.”

“It was fucking ballsy is what it was,” Jared says, clapping Connor on his back. “Testicles the size
of grapefruits, this guy.”

Things aren’t normal, but things are better. Evan keeps going to therapy twice a week, and Connor
and Zoe keep going to family therapy. Alana has her birthday on a weekend in January, the first of
them to turn eighteen, and Connor’s punishment is lifted long enough for them to throw her a
party.

It’s Evan’s first time in Alana’s house. There’s evidence of her accomplishments all over the living
room and hanging on the walls of the hallways. Zoe bakes a cake from scratch. They play a six-
hour game of Monopoly in the living room, and eventually Alana’s dad has to come and split up
Connor and Jared, because Connor has Jared in a headlock, threatening to “beat his ass” because
he has four houses on Pacific Avenue.

Connor is finally released from house arrest at the end of January, and they all celebrate by driving
to the Baskin Robbins by the fairgrounds, which are now empty and covered in tightly-packed
snow. Evan can’t remember who initiates the snowball fight, but they spend the afternoon chasing
each other through the abandoned lot, pelting each other with slush.

Once Connor is no longer confined to his house, he spends a lot more time at Evan’s. The empty
house becomes a refuge. At the end of most days, they leave their boots and jackets by the door
and climb up to Evan’s bedroom, where sometimes Evan reads Connor their chapters for English,
or sits with him while they do homework. They often get lost in each other, forgetting about
studying entirely.

Evan struggles with sharp spikes of anxiety whenever things get particularly intense. Connor has
done things like this before, he knows what he’s doing, and Evan is afraid he can’t live up to
whatever experiences he’d had at Hanover. With time, that fear gives way to excitement—
Connor’s enthusiasm for Evan , exactly as he is, sweeps away any worry that he isn’t enough. They
figure it out, together.

It happens one unassuming day at the beginning of February. The air outside is frigid, at war with
the hot air blowing into his bedroom from the floor vents. They retreat to Evan’s bed, burrowing
under the blankets, talking quietly. And then, all at once, they’re not talking.

Evan had known it would probably happen sometime— had had vague ideas of what it might be
like, him and Connor and the things that people in relationships do. They whisper back and forth—
“Is this okay?” “Yeah.” “Are you sure?” “I’m… I’m okay, I’m sure.” —and the air beneath the
blanket becomes humid. Beneath him, Connor feels like a burning star. Evan’s skin prickles with
sweat and his world lights up, the feeling sharp and bright and so good that he can’t help but chase
after it.
It’s strange, in a good way. A little awkward, which makes Evan nervous. Afterwards, he feels
entirely different and exactly the same.

Winter marches on. They study for exams. Evan’s mom prints out scholarship essays for college.
Evan sits in the front row of Zoe’s last jazz band concert with Connor, Alana, and Jared, and when
it’s over the three of them cheer so loud that the rest of the audience turns to look at them. When
Zoe comes out from backstage crying, they envelop her in a massive hug until she’s laughing
through the tears.

There are so many moments where Evan stops and thinks, If I’d died when I hit the ground, I
wouldn’t have this .

The night before Valentine’s day, Connor sends a flurry of text messages:

V day is a stupid corporate made up holiday

Do not under any circumstance waste money on any crap at all

George is takinng zoe out to some stupid fuckign restrauant and its all crap

Dead serious dont bother

The next day, he shows up at Evan’s door with a plant in a pot. It’s big, one of the expensive ones
that you get from a nursery instead of, like, Home Depot or something. Evan recognizes it
immediately as a fiddle leaf fig tree.

Connor cradles it in both hands and says, “I can’t believe you have, like, zero fucking plants,
dude,” then hands it over.

“I thought you said no gifts,” Evan says later, tracing his fingers up and down the bare inside of
Connor’s wrist.

“Shut up,” Connor mutters, turning his face toward Evan to kiss him.

Connor turns eighteen four days before Evan, near the end of February. It’s Alana’s idea to throw
them a joint birthday party. It’s the first time Evan’s stepped foot in the Murphys’ house since the
emails. Facing Mrs. and Mrs. Murphy again is less of a struggle than Evan had anticipated, but he
still spends the first twenty minutes of his own party in one of the Murphys’ many bathrooms, his
head between his knees.

Cool George comes to the party. So do Alicia and Benji. They’re more Zoe’s friends, but Evan is
touched anyway. He hasn’t had a birthday party since the fourth grade, when he’d cried all
morning the day he was supposed to hand out his mom’s homemade invitations to the kids in his
class. He’d vomited from anxiety an hour before the party, and only six kids had shown up. Ever
since, his mom had tried to make his birthday fun with just the two of them.

Mrs. Murphy purchases a three-tiered cake, which Evan privately thinks is insane , but she seems
like she’s really trying. The cake has gluten in it and everything. Connor nudges Evan with his
shoulder and says, “Family therapy is really working,” while pointing out the snacks laid out in the
kitchen: real soda, brand-name chips, pizza, and candy.

Alana has an itinerary for the party, but she gets as far as dictating when they should cut the cake
and sing “Happy Birthday” before it devolves into complete anarchy. Jared finds Connor’s old
GameCube tucked into the bottom of the entertainment center in the living room, and after they
hook it up, everyone takes turns playing one-on-one Super Smash Bros. Evan, who has never
played, tries to sit out, but Jared shoves a controller in his hand regardless. Connor folds himself
behind Evan on the couch and tries to instruct him, but Evan’s little character just keeps getting
catapulted off the platform by Zoe’s character.

At some point in the evening, Connor, Alicia and Cool George “take a walk.” They come back ten
minutes later smelling vaguely of weed, despite their attempts to cloak it underneath a layer of
Alicia’s perfume.

“I can not believe you’re a double Pisces couple,” Alicia says later, while everyone is standing
around the kitchen island, passing around forks and eating bites of cake right off the cake stand.
She makes them all give her their exact birth times, and plugs them into some app on her phone
that lays out their star charts.

“My mom says I’m a true Pisces,” Evan supplies. “I don’t really know what that means.”

Alicia nods, giving him a quick once-over while she waits for his chart to load. “God, I can see
that.”

The party wasn’t planned as a sleepover, but no one leaves anyway. Zoe brings down piles of
blankets and pillows, and everyone collapses onto couches and chairs in the living room. Evan
sleeps on one of the sofas and Connor sprawls out on the other side, their legs tangling together in
the middle.

Sometime in the night Connor jostles Evan awake, kneeling up over him. His face is mostly
shadowed, illuminated only by the light from the muted television, which has begun its late-night
parade of infomercials.

“Huh?” Evan blinks up at Connor, squinting at his bleary, pleased face.

Connor squeezes himself down between Evan’s body and the back of the couch. He’s so warm.
“It’s two thirty-six,” Connor whispers.

Evan tries to see the face of the grandfather clock against the wall, but it's too dark. He settles back
down and turns his face toward Connor’s, feeling his breath puff against his cheeks. “Okay?” Evan
says cautiously.

“Now it’s two thirty-seven,” Connor says firmly, without looking at the time. “Happy eighteenth
birthday, officially.”

Like most of the surprisingly sweet things that Connor does, this makes Evan want to kiss him into
oblivion. He settles for turning toward him on the cushions and tucking an arm around his waist,
pressing a soft, lazy kiss against his bottom lip.

“Officially,” Evan says. “Should I feel eighteen yet?”

Connor shrugs. “Nah,” he says. “Give it a minute.”

They lay there, face to face, and Evan occasionally whispers, “How about now?” until Connor is
stifling laughter against his shoulder, his body quivering with it. It’s not the most comfortable,
squeezing themselves together on the couch like this, but Evan is utterly loath to move, so he
doesn't. He falls back asleep like that, to the low sound of Connor’s breathing and each movement
of his ribs.
 Evan doesn’t feel very different now that he’s eighteen. He still spends his days mostly nervous, at
times impossibly anxious. Still, the scale tips in his favor, and the good days start to outweigh the
bad. Everywhere he turns to look, Evan has someone : Alana or Jared or Zoe, his mom, Dr.
Sherman—

And always, always Connor.

Chapter End Notes

here it is!! i am literally so emotional that this story is coming to an end and i finally
get to share it all with you. everyone was SO KIND about last chapter hehe. i'm glad
you all loved alana's powerpoint.

applause for lee for editing all of this!!!

hope you love it as much as we do!!

come hang out on tumblr / instagram @clytemenestras

 Chapter 19
Chapter Summary

Connor and Evan are alive.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“I need you to, like— not yell at me right now,” Evan says frantically, gripping the steering wheel
of the Volvo. He’s going to die. If he pulls out of his driveway and onto the road, he’s going to get
hit by a careless driver and he’s going to crash and die. Beside him, Connor exhales slowly, and
out of the corner of his eye, Evan can see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not— I am not yelling,” Connor says, lowering his voice. He had been yelling, but Evan
doesn’t think he’d meant to. Still, it does nothing for the way his heart rackets in his chest.

Through the windshield, Evan sees Zoe, Alana, Jared and Cool George sitting on his porch. It’s the
first warm day in March, a balmy 50 degrees, and Evan needs to learn to actually drive.

He can drive. He’d taken the written test when he was sixteen, and passed his road test six months
later by the skin of his teeth. But actually driving is another beast entirely.

In the interest of not having his first real fight with Connor right now, in the driveway, in his
sister’s car, Evan says, “Maybe Alana should—”

“No, yeah, good idea,” Connor says quickly, opening the passenger-side door. “Alana, you’re up,”
he calls, as he goes to take her place on the porch.

In the end, only Zoe has the patience to guide Evan through a successful trip up and down the main
road. The celebration afterwards is lukewarm, because Evan immediately has to go inside and take
a Xanax. After the pill kicks in, he slinks back out onto the porch, dropping onto the top stair
beside Connor. Connor links their pinkies together. It feels like an apology.

“Where have you guys applied?” Alana asks, her question mostly directed at Evan and Jared. No
one wants to talk about how Connor may or may not actually graduate, so they don’t.

“Michigan,” Jared says, ticking off the list with his fingers. “Chicago. University of Rochester.”

The idea of Jared going so far away for college makes Evan’s chest hurt, but there’s a computer
science program that Jared really wants to get into in Michigan. He’s been talking about it since
they were fourteen, like it’s some fantastic dream. Now, it could be reality. Graduation is about
three months away. Acceptance letters are rolling in.

Evan shrugs, jiggling his knee. “Well, my mom and I… we can't really afford college college, so. I
think I’m going to go to community college? Just for a semester or two.”

“You should take my college fund,” Connor offers. “I’m definitely not going to use it.”

Zoe frowns up at him from the bottom step. She’s holding George’s hand in her lap. “Quit saying
stuff like that,” she says. “Dr. Wilson says you shouldn't be using self-defeating language.”

“People who have college degrees take home sixty-one percent more earnings than those without,”
Alana says earnestly to Connor. “But, there’s always scholarships,” she adds, turning to Evan.
“And financial aid, and loans…”

“College isn’t for everyone,” George says, maybe trying to be helpful, but George is probably
going to Stanford. The sentiment just makes Evan feel like maybe college isn’t for him. “My dad
didn’t go to college, and he’s doing great.”

Evan has had this specific talk over and over again with his mom, and he feels like he might go
crazy if he has to have it again with Alana and the rest of them. “Yeah,” he says, hoping that it’ll
get them to drop it. “No, yeah, it’ll be… it’ll be fine.”

March wavers between warm days and cold ones. Zoe’s birthday brings one last snowfall, wet and
slushy, sticking to the ground for only a few hours in the morning. Connor sneaks her into an
eighteen-and-up show at a local venue, and Evan hears all about it through a series of texts and a
bleary retelling the next day.

Jared gets into Michigan. Cool George commits to Stanford. Alana accepts Yale’s offer of a full
ride, but only because Princeton’s financial aid is weak. March bumbles into April, the weather
interspersed with sunny days and sheets of rain. Evan makes a concentrated effort to mark the days
in moments of joy rather than episodes of dread: Jared teaching him how to play Super Smash
Bros. in the Murphys’ living room; Alana giving him a crash course in pre-calc so that he stands a
chance during the final exam; Cool George doing a promposal in the middle of the hallway with a
big sign and his saxophone, while Zoe laughs and covers her red face. And then prom, and the way
Connor doesn't want to go, so Evan tells him they don’t have to, but Connor asks him the week
before, at the lunch table, anyway.

“Fuck, okay, do you just want to go?” Connor mutters, and he looks like he wants Evan to say yes,
so Evan says yes. Emphatically, yes.

They go to prom: Evan, in the only nice clothes he owns, with Connor, who wears a new suit and
his hair pulled back off his face; Zoe, in a princess dress and sneakers, with Cool George, in black
on black on black. Alana promposes to herself as a feminist statement and wears a floor-length,
purple gown. Jared shows up in a red velvet suit and complains about going stag the entire time.

They don’t stay the whole night. They gather Alicia and Benji and all pile into Connor’s Subaru
once they’ve had enough of the bad DJ, racing too fast down the streets in their nice clothes. They
smoke a joint in Myrick park— Evan and Alana watch and supervise, respectively —then see how
high they can push the old, creaking swings. Zoe looks like a cloud of tulle in her dress when she
sends herself flying off the swing and down to the wood chips. It’s like a scene from a movie, and
Evan never wants it to end.

Finals week overtakes them before Evan is really ready. He sits his exams in a blur of Xanax and
poorly-executed breathing exercises. He squeaks through pre-calc and feels like he’s maybe pulled
a solid C. When it’s over, he allows himself a shaky exhale. It doesn’t matter anymore— he’s
done, he’s finished, and when their grades are posted, Evan celebrates his 3.0 GPA with his mom
and a grocery store cake.

Connor pulls up to Evan’s house later that evening with Zoe. He’s waving his phone, the screen
open to his final grades, as he yells, “I fucking passed!”
Connor shows off his 2.0 to Evan, and Evan’s mom, and his mom hugs Connor so tight that Evan
can see his face get pink and wobbly. The last traces of panic unfasten from Evan’s chest as his
mom runs to rinse off some extra forks— no one is getting left behind. They’ve all come out on the
other side of high school, even Connor.

The week before graduation, Zoe plans a trip to the lake. Not the little one that Evan had taken
Connor to, but the lake just outside of town with the flowing, soft grass and the warm sand shore.
The lake that normal teenagers go to when the weather gets warm, to swim and drink stolen wine
coolers and smoke weed. Evan’s never been.

They pile coolers full of food and soda into the trunk of Connor’s Subaru and squeeze everyone
into the back— Jared, Alana, Cool George, Alicia, Zoe — and Evan, he’s there too, squished
between Jared and Alana in the middle seat. He’s there with his friends, wearing a white T-shirt
and swim trunks that are a little too short, smelling of sunscreen.

They set up a swath of towels on the sand and push a big umbrella deep enough into the beach for
it to stand upright. Evan hovers under the shadow that it casts— he burns easily in the sun, and
when the burn fades it often leaves him slathered in freckles. He sits on one of the towels, tucking
his arms around his knees, and watches as Zoe and Alicia race immediately toward the lake,
screeching when the cold water laps up their thighs.

Benji and Cool George set up the portable grill and start stoking the coal. Alana stands by the edge
of the water, just getting her toes wet, and Jared tries to pull her further in. Beside Evan, Connor
drops onto the towels. He doesn’t shed his clothes— his hoodie is rolled up to his elbows, but
Connor grips his forearms self-consciously, and he still wears his jeans and boots. Evan
understands, to a degree. Connor has spent a long time waging a war on his own body. Evan’s seen
the scars, the evidence of battle.

“You’re not going to swim?” Connor asks, nudging Evan’s knee with his own. Evan nudges him
back, smiling.

“I burn,” Evan tells him. “And freckle.”

Connor purses his lips, his brow furrowing. “No shit?” He eyes Evan’s bare arms and shoulders, as
if imagining the splattering of marks.

“Besides,” Evan says. “I don’t mind sitting out with you.”

Connor snorts, but he doesn’t argue. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and
watches as Zoe climbs onto Jared’s shoulders in the lake and lets him catapult her through the air
and into the water. Evan wonders if he’s also thinking about how, until recently, neither of them
had ever considered that this could be their life. Evan has those moments all the time now. Every
time something happens that Evan’s never experienced before, he thinks, Would I be here if
Connor hadn’t cornered me in that bathroom?

“Hey,” Connor says suddenly. He’s not looking at Evan, but his tone is low, serious. He picks
absently at a flake of nail polish on his thumb. Evan sits up a little straighter.

“Yeah?” Evan urges, carefully encouraging.

It takes Connor a minute to find whatever words he’s looking to say. He chews at his bottom lip,
hunching his shoulders a little. Just as Evan’s stomach is starting to ache from anticipation, Connor
says: “Don’t freak out, but I love you.”

Evan breathes in sharply. The only person who’s ever said those words to him are his mom—
maybe his dad, once or twice. He’s thought something similar about Connor, too, in an abstract
sense. But Connor’s laid those three specific, serious words out in front of him right here at the
beach, with Cool George and Benji a few feet away, the sound of Zoe and Alana’s laughter
echoing around them. Evan drops his hands and digs his fingers into the towel underneath him.

“I said don’t freak out,” Connor sulks.

“No!” Evan gasps, frantic. He turns to Connor more fully, reaching out for him, one hand sliding
along Connor’s arm to find his hand. “Connor, no— I… I mean, yeah, I think— I think I’m
freaking out a little bit, but…”

Say it say it say it say it say it , a wonderful little voice hisses in the back of his brain. So he does.
“I love you, too.”

Connor’s lips twitch into a slow smile, his cheeks pink from more than just the warm, May air.
When he kisses Evan, they go sprawling into the sand.

Evan ends up getting in the water at Zoe and Jared’s urging, the two of them hauling him down the
shore by his arms. Connor follows, kicking off his boots and rolling his jeans up to his calves. He
referees a game of chicken with Alana on Jared’s shoulders and Zoe on Evan’s. Zoe and Evan lose
miserably, because, as Alana explains, she is “very good at games.” She and Jared win two more
rounds, sending Alicia and Benji tumbling into the water.

They eat slightly charred hot dogs and drink watery soda and swim in the water until the sun turns
them all tanned and pink and, in Evan’s case, freckled. When it’s time to pack up, Evan frets about
tracking sand into the Subaru, but Connor says (with barely constrained glee), “No, Larry is gonna
be so pissed, it’s fine.”

The next few days, the ones leading up to graduation, slip away as easily as sand— Evan practices
driving, Zoe arranges a movie night, Alana organizes another marathon Monopoly game and
Connor flips the board. Connor spends the night when Evan’s mom is at work and they curl
together in Evan’s small bed, figuring things out.

Evan’s mom gets the entire night off for graduation. When she drives him to the school for the
ceremony, Evan can tell she’s doing her best not to cry. She stares straight through the windshield
as she pulls into the parking lot, her grip tight on the steering wheel.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, her smile soft and not quite as sad as Evan is used to seeing it. “I know
we… I know we went through a lot, this year.” She turns to look at him, reaching one hand behind
him to grip at the back of his neck. Her palm is so warm. “And I just… I want you to know how
proud I am of you.”

Evan swallows against the lump in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his graduation
gown.

“I know,” Evan whispers, his eyes fixed on his lap. If he looks his mom in the face he might
actually start crying, and he cannot imagine anything more lame than walking into his own
graduation ceremony covered in snot and tears.
“I love you,” his mom says, and Evan has to rub his face.

He manages to choke back the flood of emotions by the time he gets inside. The ceremony takes
longer than Evan would like; he jiggles his knees, twists his hands in his lap. He’s been seated
between two girls that he doesn’t really know. He can see Alana a few rows ahead of him, and
when he looks over his shoulder, he can spot Jared and Connor.

When they call each graduate by name, Evan can hear Zoe above all the rest of the applause,
cheering loudly for Alana as she crosses the stage. When it’s finally his turn he hears her again—
Zoe plus his mom, Alicia and Benji, screaming somewhere in the sprawling audience. Connor and
Jared are hollering from somewhere in the sea of other graduates. They try to start a chant of Han-
sen, Han-sen, Han-sen , much to Evan’s mortification.

Evan watches as Connor crosses the stage, his chest tight and heart thumping. Connor is alive, and
he’s graduating , and there are people in the audience cheering for him, showing their love for
him, and Evan gets to be a part of that. Even though his classmates turn to look, Evan claps and
whoops as Connor takes his diploma.

The pictures afterwards are endless: the Murphys, the Kleinmans, Cool George’s parents, Evan’s
mom and Alana’s dad are all taking pictures of them in their caps and gowns, then of them with
their diplomas. They stand together as a group, then separately. Evan’s cheeks hurt from smiling so
hard for the cameras. Alana hugs them all and cries, says she’s so proud of them all, and not a
single person tells her that Connor graduated only because Jared helped him cheat his way through
his physics final.

A week later, Evan gets added to a separate group chat with just Connor and Zoe. He’d been more
or less spending his time doing absolutely nothing , which had been a relief after weeks of
preparation for exams and graduation. When his computer starts pinging with Facebook messages,
he puts down one of the books his mom had gotten him for Christmas and opens his inbox.

Zoe Murphy
possible emergency, your mom is on the phone with our mom

Connor Murphy
Whats heidi’s side of the convo sound like
Cynthia just keeps making all these OOOO noises

Evan Hansen
I don’t know, I can’t hear her. She took the phone out onto the porch, I think.

Zoe Murphy
evan get out on your roof or so help me

Evan doesn’t climb onto his roof, but he does push his bedroom window open. He leans his head
out a little, listening for the sound of his mom’s voice. It floats up to him, and his mom speaks
furtively: “...and he’s been talking about it since he was thirteen, and I just… I wanted to make sure
they did it right, you know?” There’s a pause while Mrs. Murphy says something in response.
Then Evan’s mom replies, “Oh, thank you, Cynthia. That would be wonderful. Yes, next weekend.
Of course.”

Evan sits back down at his desk. The chat is still moving with new messages:
 Zoe Murphy
mom said something about taking our camping gear

Connor Murphy
Is she going to take us to the woods and kill us
Wouldnt put it past cynthia

Zoe Murphy
heidi likes me she wouldn’t let mom kill me

Connor Murphy
Heidi likes ME

Evan Hansen
My mom likes both of you.
I couldn’t hear what she was talking about on my end.
Sorry.

Zoe Murphy
shes coming upstairs keep you posted

Evan hears the sound of the porch door swinging open, then shutting, before the steady treads of
his mom climbing up the stairs. He closes his laptop and sits up straight in his desk chair as she
rounds the corner into his room, knocking lightly on his open door.

“Hey,” she says. She looks excited about something, which is a rare enough occurrence.

“Hi,” Evan replies, thinking that Connor and Zoe must be in the exact same position as him right
now. Their mom is probably going up their stairs, ready to say the same thing that his mom is
about to say.

“So, I was checking my vacation time… and I’ve got quite a bit of it saved up,” Evan’s mom starts.
“Now that you’ve graduated, I thought… why not take a trip together, huh?”

She’s smiling, one hand around the edge of his door. She swings it back and forth on its hinges a
little, like she can’t contain her excitement over what she’s about to suggest.

“I already talked to Mrs. Murphy about this, too. I didn’t want the one time you got to see Acadia to
be… you know.” She makes a vague gesture with her other hand. “So… I thought we could all go
camping! You and me and Zoe and Connor…”

Evan blinks, struggling to process what his mom has just said. “Wh— seriously?” he asks.

His mom nods, her smile nervously tightening just a little. “Think of it as a graduation present,” she
offers. “I’ve been reading all about it. There’s campgrounds, and a lot of activities, and— oh!”

He doesn’t mean to cut her off, but Evan absolutely has to hug his mom at that moment. She folds
him up in her arms and they stand there for a moment, squeezing each other, for once not crying
while they do it.

The drive to Acadia is less stressful this time around. Evan even drives for a leg of it, cruising at
exactly 65 miles per hour in the rightmost lane. They leave early and make the ten-hour drive in
two days before heading into the park. On their way in, Connor insists they pull over at the visitors
center.
“You’ve got to get another stamp,” he urges Evan seriously. “This is arguably a better memory.”

After Evan let’s Connor, Zoe, and his mom fill up one of the pages in his passport with stamps
from the cancellation station, they make their way to their campground for the week. They unpack
the car and put together the massive tents that the Murphys have lent them, and Connor talks
carelessly about how he’s a camping expert thanks to one harrowing summer with a wilderness
program for troubled teens. He cracks jokes about the experience as he starts a campfire, and none
of the rest of them wince. It’s actually funny, now. They all laugh.

“Admit it,” Connor says into Evan’s ear that night, one arm wrapped around Evan even though
they’re zipped into two separate sleeping bags. “Admit that you’re weirdly turned on because I
know how to camp.”

Evan grimaces. “My mom and your sister are like, three feet away.”

“ You’re the one that’s weirdly turned on,” Connor counters, burying his nose in Evan’s hair.

“Hmm,” Evan snorts. He squeezes Connor’s hands, clenched around his middle, with one of his
own. “Maybe.”

Evan can’t help but notice that Acadia in the spring looks and sounds and smells different than the
last time they’d been here— when they’d been running so hard and fast from what had felt like an
inevitable end.

Evan recognizes most of the park from the pictures in all of his books, the stories he’s read, the
research he’s done. Connor, Zoe and his mom don’t try to stop him from pointing things out to
them, or from explaining the local flora and fauna. They all explore the area around the
campgrounds, awestruck and appreciative as they go on short hikes and take in the vast, immersive
landscape.

On the third day, Evan and Connor wake early, roused by the sound of a nearby chorus of birds.
They shove on their boots and exit the tent, squinting into the bright sun as it chases away the
morning’s fleeting grey. With some convincing, Connor agrees to a morning hike. They leave a
note tucked under a rock in front of their tent— gone for a hike, back soon :) —and make their way
to the nearest trailhead.

Beech Mountain greets them like an old friend. “No way,” Connor says with a laugh as he follows
Evan onto the trail. It’s both familiar and different as they wend their way up through the spring-
green trees, over the rocky terrain that leads up to the fire tower. They’re the only ones there when
they climb the steps, clinging to the metal rails. The morning air is a little chilly, still damp with
dew, but once they find a spot of sun on the fire tower, Evan’s skin warms.

Looking out, Evan is struck once more by how green Acadia is— how the trees have filled back in
from their winter molt, and how the water laps urgently at the shore, no longer a pale, glassy blue.
Birds call loudly. A bright orange fox stands out as it ambles by the lake. The valley and the
mountains and the water and the trees spread out in front of them, vibrant and alive.

“You know—” Evan starts, then pauses, feeling a familiar pulse of uncertainty catch in his throat.
Connor looks down at him, and he manages to swallow it down. “I spent so long thinking that—
that if anyone ever got close enough— if anyone ever saw me for me , that… I don’t know, maybe
they would… maybe they would hate what they saw, the way that I did.” His voice shakes a little
as he says it. He looks down at his hands, gripping the railing.
 “But you saw through me, like— immediately,” Evan laughs nervously. He thinks back to that day
in the bathroom, of Connor with his letter, how he’d ripped him apart with his words. “And you
still, like— liked me,” he continues. “I didn’t know what it was like to be… to be— loved —like
this, like—”

Evan shakes his head, letting the rest of the words fall away. He looks back up at Connor, who’s
listening intently, as always.

“I’m just really glad you didn’t kill yourself,” Evan finishes, because it’s true.

Connor is quiet for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. Finally, he reaches over on the railing to
cover one of Evan’s hands with his own. He says, “I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself, too.”

They exchange a soft, thready laugh, and Evan pulls Connor closer. Connor goes, easily, like it’s
all he’s ever wanted to do. They kiss at the top of the fire tower, replacing a bittersweet memory
with a good one.

Evan laces his fingers through Connor’s and feels the warmth of his palm, the twitch of his fingers.
They are both here, skin reddening in the balmy summer heat and breath coming out in shaky,
adrenaline-fueled gusts. Everything is green and warm and moving— plants are drinking in food
from the sun and trees are swaying in the breeze and the wood planks of the fire tower are creaking
under their feet.

For the millionth time, Evan thinks, I came so close to not having any of this. But Connor rubs a
thumb over Evan’s hand and it’s his, all of it, and all he has to do to get it is be here.

Things are happening all around them, and Connor and Evan have both chosen to be exactly where
they are, in the middle of everything: groggy, young, excited, completely overwhelmed by each
other.

Alive.

Chapter End Notes

the epilogue is all that's left. i'm literally so EMOTIONAL RIGHT NOW. on this, the
eve of DEH-day.

i love you all so much i hope this story has been everything you've wanted it to be!!
thank you for sticking with us. just one more, and then it's complete.

send lee so much love for all of the hard work she's put in on this story.

follow me on tumblr/instagram @ clytemenestras !!

 Epilogue
Chapter Summary

Connor and Evan make a new pact.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Epilogue.

When Evan finishes unloading the last round of boxes from the Subaru and lugs them into the
apartment, he’s drenched with sweat. Early June brings heat and humidity, as well as the sharp
buzzing of cicadas. Evan pushes the last box up against the wall, then stands in the center of the
small living room, hands on his hips.

It’s kind of small, the apartment, with one bedroom and a cramped kitchen, but it’s theirs , which
Evan thinks is the important part. It still smells faintly like cleaning products and the fresh coat of
white paint on the walls.

It had been surreal, packing up his childhood bedroom, loading up Connor’s books. The Murphys
had let them choose some unused furniture from various rooms throughout the house, but the
movers won’t be bringing the couch and coffee table until Tuesday.

As it is, their mattress sits on the floor in the bedroom. It’s fine. It’s all fine. It’ll come together.

“Done?”

Connor’s voice comes around the corner of the small hallway a second before the rest of him does.
The summer heat has driven him to abandon his customary hoodie for a thin black T-shirt, and
he’s tied his hair up in a messy ponytail. He looks good, and Evan has to remind himself to focus
on the move, lest they get distracted for the rest of the afternoon.

“Yeah,” Evan says, stacking the boxes so that there’s more space to move around the living room.
“When does Cool George get in from California?”

“You’ve got to stop calling him Cool George, babe,” Connor says from somewhere over Evan’s
shoulder. “One of these days you’re going to slip up and call him Cool George in front of Zoe.”

Evan shrugs. “He’s really cool.”

Evan thinks back to the first few months after Alana, Jared and George had left for college. It
hadn’t been the same, just him and Connor and Zoe. The others still called all the time, and video-
chatted, and Alana had even taken to sending them all postcards every month. But Evan had had to
put in some serious work with Dr. Sherman nonetheless. It had sucked having friends for the first
time in his entire life, only to watch them leave one by one.

It’d gotten easier. A job at Pottery Barn had taken up most of Evan’s post-graduation summer.
When he wasn’t working, he and Connor and Zoe had found ways to fill the days. Zoe’d played at
every open mic night she could find around the city; Connor had started drawing so much that he’d
filled up three sketchbooks before their first semester at community college; Evan had volunteered
at Ellison State Park on the weekends.

It was funny— when he’d gone back, he hadn’t even been able to pinpoint the tree that he’d
climbed. He’d ended up walking the trail it was on a hundred times that summer, but each tree had
just melted into the next.

Connor isn’t taking community college seriously— he mostly goes to shut his parents up —but
Evan loves it. He’s taking classes he’s interested in, and his advisor has been helping him decide
what credits he needs to transfer to the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry, up
in Syracuse, next year.

Evan thinks Connor is struggling a little with the whole not-being-dead thing. It’s an easier
adjustment for Evan, because he’d never made concrete plans to die in the first place, but Connor
had never thought he’d make it past seventeen. There are days when his sour moods seem
directionless, where the impulsiveness of his decisions makes no sense— probably because he has
to actually make decisions now. Connor doesn’t really like to talk about it, but Evan is always there
for him after particularly rough therapy sessions.

“Zoe’s picking up George from the airport at five,” Connor says, drawing Evan back to the
present. “Alana got in last night. And I think Jared is driving ?”

“Yeah, he’s really into, like, roadtripping now,” Evan says. He digs his phone out of his pocket to
check for any messages. There’s one from Jared, sent an hour or so ago when Evan had had his
arms full with the boxes. “He says his ETA is around six. I guess that works out.”

Connor’s arms wrap around Evan’s middle from behind, his nose finding the soft crook behind his
ear. “Wow, literally so much free time before our very best friends get back into town,” he
mutters.

Evan tries to pry Connor’s arms off of his waist. “Yeah, but we’ve got, like— we’ve got to set up
and stuff.”

“You can’t spare ten minutes?”

“Ouch,” Evan says, and Connor laughs in his ear.

He gives in, because he always gives in, and they christen their new apartment on the mattress in
their bedroom. Evan is pretty sure he’ll never get used to this, specifically: Connor and his skin and
his hands and his mouth, the sounds he makes as Evan pushes into him, the closest he’s ever been
to another person. They spend way more than ten minutes, but Evan can’t be bothered to complain.
Afterwards, they shower and dress, and Evan puts Connor to work unpacking their kitchen so they
don’t get sidetracked all over again.

Alana shows up at five o’clock, an hour and a half before Evan had told them all to meet at the
apartment. She has a plastic tin of cupcakes in one hand and a bouquet of yellow flowers in the
other.

“I thought I’d come help you set up!” she tells them earnestly, before she steps through the front
door and says, “Oh. You don’t have any furniture.”

“Sorry, the movers won’t be here until Tuesday,” Evan says, taking the flowers. “These are really
nice, Alana.”
Connor digs out a glass from the kitchen boxes to use as a vase, and sets the flowers in the center of
the cramped kitchen island. Evan thinks that they make the bare, boxed-up apartment look more
like a real home.

The rest of their friends slowly trickle in. Zoe and Cool George come straight from the airport,
pulling up just after six. Evan sees Zoe at least twice a week, usually more, but she throws her arms
around him and hugs him like it’s been months. George pulls him into a boy-hug, patting his back
before he steps back.

“Nice,” George says earnestly, looking around the apartment. “Way better than living in a dorm.”

“I share a suite with five other girls,” Alana agrees, wrinkling her nose a little. “It is not as exciting
as Gilmore Girls made it out to be.”

Jared gets in last. Evan hadn’t anticipated how much he would miss Jared when he went away to
Michigan. The nature of their friendship has always been up for debate, at least for Jared—
whether family friends actually count as real friends doesn’t really matter so much to Evan,
because Jared has always been there when Evan needs him most. Jared will always be his first
friend. When Evan sees him now, a little slimmer and a little broader around the shoulders, he feels
a pang in his chest, because Jared had left, and now he’s come back looking different.

“Can’t believe you guys are already living in sin,” Jared says affectionately, and Connor winds one
long arm around his shoulders to give him the biggest noogie Evan has ever seen.

They order pizza and eat it off napkins and paper plates on the floor of the living room. It’s good to
have everyone back together again. Winter break had been too short, and now that all of his friends
are home for the summer, Evan feels his anxiety abate just a little. His friends haven’t disappeared,
or found better friends, or forgotten about him in the months since he’d last seen them.

Everyone starts chatting about what’s new in their lives: Alana recounts how she’d briefly
considered joining a sorority, but had ultimately decided that she already had too many non-
academic commitments. She mentions that she’s seeing someone, and shyly shows off the
Instagram profile of a masculine-looking woman with her hair buzzed short.

“Oh, I fucking knew it,” Jared says, peering down at the screen. “I saw your story last week and I
was like, Alana is definitely hooking up with her.”

“We’ve been dating since March,” Alana says, mildly annoyed. “Exclusively.”

“Shocking that you’re the only one of us left who’s single,” Connor laughs, flicking Jared in the
temple.

“You and Evan don’t even count,” Jared counters as he tosses his balled-up napkin at him.
“Surprised you’re not married yet. Gross .”

Evan flushes, ducking his head. It’s something he thinks about often, but not with any sense of
urgency.

Alana steers the conversation elsewhere, turning to Zoe and asking, “Do you know where you’re
going yet?”

Zoe glances sidelong at George, then shrugs a little. “I ended up committing to USC,” she says
carefully. “But, uh— I just got off the waitlist for Columbia.”

Zoe hadn’t told any of them that yet. Evan looks up, surprised, and Connor throws his hands up.
Everyone else reacts with the same enthusiastic amazement, even George.

Secretly, Evan is more than pleased. For the past few months, he’s tried to force himself to accept
the idea that Zoe might go to school in California to be with George. Now, he lets the idea of Zoe
staying close to home creep in, tentative and hopeful.

Connor hadn’t been taking Zoe’s possible move across the country very well, either. After they’d
gone to her graduation, Evan had sat with him while he chainsmoked and lamented their impending
separation.

“Hanover was the longest time we’ve ever been apart,” Connor had told him. “And, like, I don’t
know. I’ve spent so long being a shit older brother, I wanted more time to make it right.”

Evan hadn’t known what to say— he’d always been glad to be an only child. He’d been lucky
enough to see Connor and Zoe’s relationship grow, and had watched them work steadfastly against
the odds to repair it.

Evan sometimes thinks of that day at Saratoga, when Connor had called him his best friend. It
seems like such an obvious lie now. Zoe fills that role, and Evan doesn’t think anyone could ever
hope to replace her.

Connor had ultimately been coping with Zoe’s USC commitment by ignoring it altogether. Now,
though, he throws himself across their little circle on the floor and tackles Zoe to the ground,
laughing.

“You got off the waitlist?!” he asks, when he finally lets her back up.

Zoe grins, her cheeks pink. “Yeah, I got the email last night.”

George kisses her cheek and says, “That’s my girl.”

“We need to celebrate!” Alana declares, clapping her hands together.

“We need wine,” Jared agrees. “Or weed.”

“I’ve got weed,” Connor assures him, jumping up to retrieve his stash from the bedroom. There’s a
brief debate over whether they should be smoking weed in their brand new apartment. In the end,
they open the front door and sit on the stoop, Connor, Zoe, Jared, and George sharing the joint
among themselves.

When they migrate back inside, Connor tells the group, “I’ve got an interview at a tattoo shop for
an apprentice position.”

Evan smiles to himself as everyone cheers. Connor hates school, and Evan had long suspected he
wouldn’t continue with it after he left his parents’ house. When he’d started talking to Evan about
tattoo apprenticeships, Evan had been keenly encouraging. Almost every night last month, Connor
had scrolled through Instagram looking at tattoo accounts instead of doing his schoolwork.

“There goes the Jewish cemetery,” Jared laughs.

Connor shrugs. “Larry’s Catholic, so I’ve always got a backup cemetery.”

Evan, who does not like this particular line of thinking, gets up to throw away the pizza box.

Everyone stays late. They spend some time unpacking boxes together, digging through the things
that Evan and Connor have brought to their new apartment. It’s mostly books and clothes, since
neither of them had accumulated much home decor while living in their childhood bedrooms. One
of the boxes from Connor’s room is labeled knick knacks , and George finds an old muscle-man
action figure and a hula girl at the bottom. In another box, Zoe finds Evan’s old Rubik’s cube,
unsolved, and they all spend at least thirty minutes trying to get one side to be all the same color.
Evan starts to explain that it’s all about math and equations, but nobody is interested in actually
solving it so much as they’re interested in trying to solve it.

They eat Alana’s cupcakes. Connor still eats his bottom-first, saving the top so he can eat it like a
cookie. Afterwards Zoe suggests ice cream. Evan drives them to Baskin Robbins in the Subaru, and
they get there twenty minutes before it closes. It reminds him of being seventeen and nervous,
walking from the fairgrounds to the Baskin Robbins with Connor that first time, before he’d really
known him at all.

George and Zoe are the first to leave. They’re reluctant to go, but the plane ride from California
has George bushed. They say goodbye for ten minutes at the door, then another ten out of the open
window of Zoe’s Volvo. Jared is the next to tap out, and his goodbyes go much the same—
lingering, unwilling to let the evening come to a close. Alana stays behind to help clean up and
reorganize the boxes. When she goes, she hugs Evan and Connor tightly, swaying each of them
from side to side.

“Fuck, I missed her,” Connor says after he shuts the door behind her.

Evan laughs a little as he crouches down to rearrange some of the things in one of Connor’s boxes
so that he can fold the flaps closed again. But as he pulls out a thick book, a piece of wrinkled
paper slips out from beneath its cover, fluttering to the ground. Evan looks down at it, and familiar
words stare back at him from the floor.

Dear Evan Hansen.

Evan sets the book down and picks up the letter. He remembers how Connor had carried it around
in his school bag, though he’d never figured out why, or for how long. He hadn’t even known that
Connor had kept it after— after everything, after the kiss and Acadia and graduation. Evan
smoothes out the edges of the letter, rereading his own words. They feel so far away now.

“Oh,” Connor says, when he spots what Evan has found.

Evan holds the letter up. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“It just never seemed like the right time to throw it away,” Connor admits. He comes to stand at
Evan’s shoulder, looking down at the words. “Like, this is history .”

Evan laughs, the sound soft and tight in the back of his throat. He rubs his thumb over a corner
where repeated folds and crumples have cracked the printer-inked words. “I dunno,” he says. “I
don’t want to throw it away. You're right, this is— you know, this is like, a piece of us.”

So much of what they’d gone through exists only in their memories now— Evan had deleted the
emails hours after returning home from Acadia the first time, after he’d managed to stop beating
himself up for keeping them in the first place. Even though it’s just a piece of computer paper,
getting rid of it doesn’t feel like the right move. This letter is a tangible example of how far they’ve
come. And Connor had kept it for all those months— months that Evan now knows Connor had
spent pining over him, doing everything he could to get Evan’s attention. Tattered and torn, the
letter carries pieces of Connor’s love in every wrinkle.
“What, you wanna frame it or something?” Connor teases.

Evan flushes, shaking his head. “Maybe— maybe it’s not that sentimental, but…” He carefully
folds the paper and tucks it underneath the glass of flowers on the kitchen island. “We should keep
it.”

They’re alone now, on their first night in their new apartment. Evan’s always struggled to fall
asleep in new places, but this— him and Connor, tucked together under the blankets on their
mattress on the floor —feels exactly like home.

Summer spreads out in front of them, feeling as endless to Evan as it always had when he was in
high school. Connor moves Cordelia into the apartment, which does not allow pets. Whenever
Evan’s not working, he fills his days with his friends: He goes to local music venues with Zoe and
George and Connor, learns how to play new video games with Jared, sits with Alana while the rest
of them smoke weed on the playground at Myrick park, spends so many days at the lake that he
ends July covered in tan skin and freckles.

Cool George flies back to California at the beginning of August, and after Zoe drops him off at the
airport, she shows up at Evan and Connor’s apartment with some truly devastating news.

“I chose Columbia,” she tells them through a new wave of tears, curled up with Cordelia on their
couch. “And we just kind of— I don’t know, we decided that it was probably best if we just went
our separate ways now, you know? We had one last fun summer, but…” she trails off, wiping her
face with her sleeve.

“Fuck, I knew he sucked,” Connor asserts. “Evan, you can’t call him Cool George anymore. Title
revoked. Fuck him.”

Zoe laughs wetly. “You were calling him Cool George ?” she asks, incredulous.

“He— he was really cool, okay?” Evan insists. “But— I mean, not anymore. Definitely not
anymore. Terrible, Boring George.”

“No, he— it was mostly my idea, it just sucks he didn’t fight me on it,” she admits, sighing. “I’m
not, like, mad at him. I’m just really sad.”

Connor gets everyone together to take Zoe out for ice cream, and they all go around the booth and
come up with a list of reasons that affirm Zoe’s choice to go to Columbia instead of following
George to California. By the end of the evening, she’s still sad, but she’s mostly laughing.

Summer ends. Alana goes back to Yale and Jared makes his road trip back to Michigan. Connor
helps Zoe move into her dorm room at Columbia with his parents. He’s only gone for the weekend,
but Evan misses his warmth in their bed. Cordelia walks around the apartment, wailing, looking for
her favorite person.

When he comes back, Evan lets him cry about it, bearing witness to the kind of bone-deep sadness
that he knows Connor has to just let himself feel. Evan misses Zoe, too— he keeps almost
swinging by the Murphys’ after work to pick her up for dinner, only to remember that she’s gone.
For the first week that Zoe is at Columbia, she and Connor FaceTime each other every day,
sometimes just so they can sit on the call together in silence: Zoe does her schoolwork while
Connor practices on fake skin.

Life goes on. It often feels impossibly long, stretching out in front of Evan, terrifying and exciting
all at once. When Connor gets a job as a tattoo apprentice, Evan goes with him to tell his parents. It
 does not go well, but Connor beams the entire way home, crowing about how Mr. Murphy’s eyes
had nearly boggled out of his head.

They find a safe place for the letter— tucked into the back of a picture frame that holds one of the
photos they took together at Saratoga. In it, Connor has an arm around Evan’s shoulders. Their
faces are pink from the chill of that day, and the vast, green battlefield spreads out behind them.
Connor hangs the frame up in the living room, and every day Evan sees it, knowing that the last
remaining secret of his and Connor’s relationship is safe.

It goes like this: Evan transfers to the program in Syracuse; Connor gets a job with a tattoo parlor
after his apprenticeship; both of them make two trips within the same week, first to Michigan and
then to Yale, to see Jared and Alana graduate; a job offer comes in from Green Lakes State Park,
which isn’t Acadia, but there’s always more life to live; there’s a weeklong celebration in New
York City when Zoe graduates from Columbia, with distinction. Each new moment is a point of
light, a star in the constellation of Evan’s life.

Eventually they make a different kind of pact, a better one, on a chilly winter day just before they
turn twenty-three. It happens around noon, at the courthouse in the middle of town. Neither of them
want all the commotion that comes with informing people beforehand. When they do tell people,
after it’s done, Connor says they’d just done it for taxes and insurance, but he’s the one who’d
picked out their rings: titanium for Evan, to withstand all of the work he does at the park; a black
ring for himself, the interior made of soft, dark wood.

As Evan stands there and holds Connor’s hands, agreeing to in sickness and in health , he sees a
glimpse of that boy in the bathroom, wild-eyed and afraid. He also sees the man that Connor has
become: how his shoulders no longer curl in to make himself seem smaller, how the tattoos cover
up the scars, how he is no longer afraid to cuff his sleeves. He stands there, looking at Evan, proud
and alive.

Evan loves both versions of Connor— loves all versions of Connor, really —so much it makes his
chest hurt. Most days, that feeling eclipses the usual swell of anxiety. He no longer spends hours
asking himself, How did I get here? Because all that matters is that he made it here at all.

The judge asks him the questions. It’s nothing like the first promise Evan made to Connor. He has
his answer right away, almost offers it before the judge can finish asking:

“I do,” Evan says. He doesn’t even have to think about it first.

Chapter End Notes

I'm GONNA CRY I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS IT, THIS IS THE END, THIS IS
THE FINAL MOMENT. thank you everyone who stuck around for the journey, and
welcome everyone who is reading this in the future, already complete!! this story was
such a labor of love, and you all made it so enjoyable.

thank you lee for your patience, love, intelligence and creativity throughout this entire
process. and thank you for making this story readable.

i love you all! come hang out with me on tumblr / instagram @ clytemenestras !!
Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!