One-Night Stand Forever - [Eight]
A shrill scream traveled through the two-bedroom Ross residence on Tuesday morning. The eldest sprung from his bed and took off across the poorly tiled floor in the direction of his son's room, his wife following close behind. They trampled into Ryan's room, one's face clearly portraying concern and the other's containing pure irritability. Ryan was sat up on the bed, chest heaving, staring directly at the odd bump that was his bare stomach. The moment he spotted his parents in the doorway, he slid down further into the covers and hauled the stained bedsheets up towards his chest. His golden eyes peered over at them warily.
"What's all the fuss about?" his father asked.
"N-nothing," he assured him, avoiding his father's annoyed stare and opting for the bottom of his navy blue pajama pants instead.
His mother crouched down to pass through the area where Mr. Ross's arm was pushed out to lean against the doorframe. She bent down at her son's bedside and grazed a chilly palm across his forehead. "Are you feeling okay, honey?"
Ryan nodded.
"Alright, then. I'll go make you some pancakes for breakfast." She stood up in place and turned, again ducking her head to pass under her husband's arm.
Mr. Ross remained glued to the doorway. "Don't make him pancakes," he called down the hall, a stony gaze set on Ryan. "The boy needs some eggs." His eyes scanned over his son, whose skin was hidden by the sheets, leaving only his form visible. "You need to start exercising, boy. You're getting chunky."
That comment, added to the shock of discovering the overnight growth of his stomach, was enough to cause Ryan to go ballistic. To school he wore an over-sized, gray hoodie from the family coat closet and ignored the reoccuring questions about his sanity. Soaking up shade beneath the giant oak tree in the schoolyard during lunch barely affected his heightened body temperature, and by last period, he was beginning to join in with the others, mentally degrading himself for dressing improperly.
In the plush passenger's seat of William's Mercedes, Ryan was reminded why he had worn the sweatshirt in the first place: he was pregnant. And because of that fact, they were headed for the hospital. Ryan's unsettled stomach churned with each movement of the vehicle, not only because he was nervous to see the doctor, but because William wasn't paying even an inch of attention to the road ahead; he was barely breathing between words, going over his so-called "game plan".
"We need to hold hands as we walk in, you know, act all lovey-dovey. I sign you in, because I'm the man in this relationship, seeing as I was the one who got you pregnant. Don't flip out when the doctor calls you 'Mr. Beckett'. That would be tragic."
For the afternoon, Ryan would transform into William Eugene Beckett, Jr., seventeen-year-old pregnant male, doctor's visit completely paid for by the ever-so-gracious, yet unknowing Mr. Moneybags Beckett, Sr.
William was cast the role of Ryan Ross, supportive babydaddy.
"It will work out perfectly," he had told Ryan as they strolled through the hospital corridor. Ryan's nose twitched at the unpleasant, sterile scent. "When you have the baby, they'll ask who you'd like to name him or her after. Tell them you want the baby named after the father, and voila, you will have a little Ms. Ross."
Ryan's posture and lack of retortion gave him away, accused him of not being as passive and carefree as William was about the entire ordeal. He felt he had the right to experience nervousness, he was the one carrying the baby after all, and he still had no idea what he was going to do when he or she was born. So far, every option on his list had been scratched out, except for the one that read, Elope to Mexico.
He sat patiently in the teal plastic chair adjacent to William, who was scribbling words onto the paperwork. Every so often he would snatch a glance at the pregnant mother seated across from them, clearly overwhelmed by the difficulty of controlling her toddler while sporting a bump the size of a beachball under her pink fleece sweater. In the unlikely event that the woman's child would be content playing with the hospital toys alone, Ryan would catch her throwing insulting looks in his direction. He wasn't sure if it was because he was a pregnant boy, or because he was a pregnant adolescent.
Sighing audibly, the caramel-eyed boy scanned the pamphlets lying on the table in front of him. He groaned at the first two his eyes fell upon, burying his face in his hands. They were deliberately placed there to tease him, and the woman was probably receiving some sick sort of pleasure from knowing he had seen them.
A few of his fingers slipped along the soft tissue of his cheek, positioning the titles of the brochures directly in his center of vision.
"Male Pregnancy: Rare, Yet Possible," one stated in magenta font, hovering over the image of a smiling, middle-aged man. And as if God was spiting him, the paper touched edges with another that read, "Teen Pregnancy: Know Your Options."
Without looking up, William reached an arm over to massage Ryan's hunched back, kneading into it with his thin fingers.
"What's wrong, baby?"
Ryan groaned once again, this time with the thought in his head that what they were doing was so fucked up. William went to return the papers and Ryan was left nibbling at his nails, imagining himself pregnant and behind bars. A bald guy with anabolic blood and terribly cliche tattoos would undoubtedly eat that shit up, much to Ryan's dismay. On the brightside, one of those orange jumpsuits would be more fashionable than the raggedy sweats he was forced to wear to school.
The nearing tap of designer leather shoes on the linoleum reminded Ryan of why they were doing this in the first place: William had money. He had none. And for some messed-up reason that he couldn't fully comprehend, the thing in his stomach sparked something inside of him that held an intensity greater than that of the worry affiliated with his rebellion.
Then all thought vanished straight out of the hospital doors because what the fuck was his best friend doing getting on his knees in front of him. He voiced the question aloud and William grinned up at him, all perfect teeth and gleaming eyes.
"I'm going to talk to our baby."
An ear was quick to press against his frumpy sweatshirt. Ryan hoped people wouldn't mistake this for inappropriate public affection. The mother sharing the prenatal waiting room appeared close to grabbing her child and sprinting out of there, and he could only picture how it was viewed by those working behind the high counter, seeing only William drop to his knees.
"Hey, baby," William cooed. "I love you. I can't wait to see you."
Ryan would've rolled his eyes, but he was preoccupied with the anxiety of people watching, judging him, his mistake, and his insane friend.
Will pressed his nose closer to Ryan's stomach.
"I think you're a girl," he whispered, stroking the fabric of Ryan's top. "Your daddy thinks you're a hermaphrodite."
The woman nearly sliced through Ryan with her sharp glare.
"William!" Ryan hissed. "I never said that."
The boy peered up at Ryan through feline eyes, halting his hand's movements. "I wasn't talking about you. The other daddy, Gabe."
Ryan's blood and organs would have decorated the floor if the lady added another ounce of venom to her stare. She was probably brewing ideas of a polygamist society or a homosexual pregnancy cult. William was getting a kick out of it. Ryan felt the smirk against his abdomen.
Someone immediately cleared their throat. Ryan turned his head to find a young, African-American woman in a lab coat, holding a clipboard and analyzing William's position over the rim of her glasses.
"Mr. Beckett?"
In the midst of waiting for his friend to respond, a sharp bone dug into his knee. It was William's elbow. Ryan blinked furiously and stood up, almost knocking his slim friend onto his back on the floor.
"Yeah, I'm him," he said hastily. He wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his maroon sweats and leaned forward to shake her hand.
"Nice to meet you..." She trailed off, glancing at the papers. "William."
At that, the tall boy crouched on the floor sprung up. "I'm the father. Ryan Ross."
They shook hands and exchanged smiles. "I'm Dr. Masterson."
She tilted her head back, wavy hair swinging, to indicate that they should follow her down the hall. And they did. She walked in front of them the entire way, talking about the tests they would run, health subjects they would cover, and the ultrasound, but she incessantly mentioned "William's" previous absence. Ryan had shrugged and mumbled something about mistaking the sickness for a stomach virus.
Sure, that was the truth in the beginning, but once he had taken the tests and was convinced there was something growing inside of him, he knew he should see a doctor. He had avoided the white walls and scrubs for too long, but was terrified to step on the scale, and even moreso to actually see the baby. His limbs were already shaky and his palms, drenched with sweat. He couldn't begin to fathom why he felt so ill. He reminded himself to simply breathe.
It was only a black and white picture; nothing more. Except it was a baby. A living, breathing, eating creature that would soon be unattached from his vitals and moving around outside of him. To Ryan, it sounded like a horrific sci-fi movie.
But if his weight was anything to go by, a beaming Dr. Masterson assured him the baby was healthy and normal. And once he was stretched out on the hospital bed with a pound of teal goo spread over his prominent belly and the transducer skimming across it, she used a coral pink fingernail to outline a head. Then an arm. Then a leg.
William was squealing. Ryan was staring at the picture, and the only thing on his mind was his dad. His dad was going to murder him, if he didn't get a foot to Ryan's gut first.
A rough tug on he and William's linked fingers captured his attention.
"Ry- uh, Will! C'mon! Let's do it!"
Ryan had no idea what was going on. He scrunched his forehead and looked to the doctor for assistance. She chuckled.
"I asked if you'd like to know the sex."
With a glance to his left at the boy hyperventilating and bouncing in his seat, and another to his right at the restless shapes on the screen, Ryan said with a tremble, "Maybe next time."
He wasn't sure he ever wanted to know the gender. It would make it all too... real. Being able to refer to the developing fetus as "baby", "it", and "he/she" was more freeing than anything else. To him, it meant nothing was set in stone. He was nowhere near ready to have anything set in stone.
William deflated next to him, but gave a nod when Ryan looked over to demonstrate his respect of the boy's decision.
But on the drive back, William decided he couldn't contain himself any longer and he turned onto an unknown street.
"Where are you going?" Ryan asked hesitantly, fingers absent-mindedly running along the photo in his hand.
"I just have to show Gabe the pictures!"
Ryan sighed and muttered, "You two worry me." He focused his attention on the homes outside; children chasing each other along the sidewalk, adults fixing up their lawns, teenagers talking on their cellphones. How domesticated everything was. Everything he would soon be a part of. That was, of course, if he chose to keep it.
Before he could berate himself for thinking up that topic for the millionth time that day, they were pulling into the driveway of a light blue house, complete with magazine quality white shutters and a porch.
William climbed out of the car and Ryan followed, glancing at the black and white paper held between William's fingers. The fingers on his left hand barely brushed the doorbell before Gabe appeared in front of them.
"Tell me you have the pictures!" he shrieked. William smiled and nodded. His outstretched hand was crushed by Gabe's enthusiastic embrace.
"Now you're wrinkling them!" Will complained into his jacket.
Gabe gasped and jumped back, but ran into the person emerging from the house.
"Fuck, Gabe!"
Ryan turned his head to see Brendon. He was straightening his plaid flannel when he looked up at Ryan, then over at William, and down to the items in William's hand.
"What are you guys doing here?" The cocky element of his voice rang out straight into Ryan's ears.
William scoffed and flipped his hair. Brendon glared. Gabe, completely oblivious to his surroundings, sang, "They're here with pictures of the baby!"
Ryan saw the brief widening of Brendon's eyes and the bob of his Adam's apple as he gulped, but remained unsurprised when the boy released a monotone, "Oh, cool." He would be lying if he said he wasn't sick of Brendon's attitude, and by the studious squint of William's eyes, he knew they were sharing the same thoughts. He was more than ecstatic to find his best friend raising an image (Ryan's favorite one; it looked like the baby was waving) to Brendon's eye level.
"Strange how the baby doesn't resemble you, yeah?" William asked, voice thick with malice. "I don't see a hint of bastard anywhere in this picture."
The victim's eyes flickered to Ryan, then back to the boy only inches from him, darkening as they went. "Listen. Just because I won't marry the guy doesn't make me a bad person. I told him I would pay child support. I'm sorry that I have a life to live and I don't want to waste it on some mistake."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gabe tried.
The long-haired boy threw his hands up. "So now you're going to go calling your baby a mistake? Explain how that doesn't make you a bad person."
In the midst of their quarrel, Ryan could've sworn he felt the baby moving from his stomach over to William's. But then it reoccurred, and he felt a slight fluttering. He couldn't help the puff of air that fell through his lips as his hand landed on the swell of his belly.
Gabe was the first to speak. "What's wrong?"
What's wrong, Ryan thought. We always assume the worst.
He grinned. "Nothing's wrong. I just felt something small."
He didn't bother to look at Brendon's expression while he watched his best friend drop to his knees and repeat his actions from the hospital. Gabe mirrored him, almost shoving the boy aside to fit an ear and a hand to Ryan's midsection.
Brendon's huff was loud over the windchimes playing off in the distance. Ryan finally glanced up as the boy retrieved a set of keys from his pocket, circling them around his finger while gazing at Ryan.
"I, uh, I have to go."
Ryan nodded. It felt weird. He repeatedly forced himself to reacknowledge the other boys' existences, but the miniscule quirk of Brendon's lips washed through his brain again and again, clearing all other thought.
And then Brendon waved.
Ryan giggled, actually giggled, and his hand flailed in the air.
His girly excitement was ruined when Brendon stopped midway down the porch stairs and turned around, digging around in his pant pocket and pulling out his wallet. He threw a $20 bill in Ryan's general direction. It missed by about ten feet. "Hope that's enough for you."
The pregnant boy wasn't dumb. He knew the difference between genuity and the fakest sincerity he had ever heard.
"What's all the fuss about?" his father asked.
"N-nothing," he assured him, avoiding his father's annoyed stare and opting for the bottom of his navy blue pajama pants instead.
His mother crouched down to pass through the area where Mr. Ross's arm was pushed out to lean against the doorframe. She bent down at her son's bedside and grazed a chilly palm across his forehead. "Are you feeling okay, honey?"
Ryan nodded.
"Alright, then. I'll go make you some pancakes for breakfast." She stood up in place and turned, again ducking her head to pass under her husband's arm.
Mr. Ross remained glued to the doorway. "Don't make him pancakes," he called down the hall, a stony gaze set on Ryan. "The boy needs some eggs." His eyes scanned over his son, whose skin was hidden by the sheets, leaving only his form visible. "You need to start exercising, boy. You're getting chunky."
That comment, added to the shock of discovering the overnight growth of his stomach, was enough to cause Ryan to go ballistic. To school he wore an over-sized, gray hoodie from the family coat closet and ignored the reoccuring questions about his sanity. Soaking up shade beneath the giant oak tree in the schoolyard during lunch barely affected his heightened body temperature, and by last period, he was beginning to join in with the others, mentally degrading himself for dressing improperly.
In the plush passenger's seat of William's Mercedes, Ryan was reminded why he had worn the sweatshirt in the first place: he was pregnant. And because of that fact, they were headed for the hospital. Ryan's unsettled stomach churned with each movement of the vehicle, not only because he was nervous to see the doctor, but because William wasn't paying even an inch of attention to the road ahead; he was barely breathing between words, going over his so-called "game plan".
"We need to hold hands as we walk in, you know, act all lovey-dovey. I sign you in, because I'm the man in this relationship, seeing as I was the one who got you pregnant. Don't flip out when the doctor calls you 'Mr. Beckett'. That would be tragic."
For the afternoon, Ryan would transform into William Eugene Beckett, Jr., seventeen-year-old pregnant male, doctor's visit completely paid for by the ever-so-gracious, yet unknowing Mr. Moneybags Beckett, Sr.
William was cast the role of Ryan Ross, supportive babydaddy.
"It will work out perfectly," he had told Ryan as they strolled through the hospital corridor. Ryan's nose twitched at the unpleasant, sterile scent. "When you have the baby, they'll ask who you'd like to name him or her after. Tell them you want the baby named after the father, and voila, you will have a little Ms. Ross."
Ryan's posture and lack of retortion gave him away, accused him of not being as passive and carefree as William was about the entire ordeal. He felt he had the right to experience nervousness, he was the one carrying the baby after all, and he still had no idea what he was going to do when he or she was born. So far, every option on his list had been scratched out, except for the one that read, Elope to Mexico.
He sat patiently in the teal plastic chair adjacent to William, who was scribbling words onto the paperwork. Every so often he would snatch a glance at the pregnant mother seated across from them, clearly overwhelmed by the difficulty of controlling her toddler while sporting a bump the size of a beachball under her pink fleece sweater. In the unlikely event that the woman's child would be content playing with the hospital toys alone, Ryan would catch her throwing insulting looks in his direction. He wasn't sure if it was because he was a pregnant boy, or because he was a pregnant adolescent.
Sighing audibly, the caramel-eyed boy scanned the pamphlets lying on the table in front of him. He groaned at the first two his eyes fell upon, burying his face in his hands. They were deliberately placed there to tease him, and the woman was probably receiving some sick sort of pleasure from knowing he had seen them.
A few of his fingers slipped along the soft tissue of his cheek, positioning the titles of the brochures directly in his center of vision.
"Male Pregnancy: Rare, Yet Possible," one stated in magenta font, hovering over the image of a smiling, middle-aged man. And as if God was spiting him, the paper touched edges with another that read, "Teen Pregnancy: Know Your Options."
Without looking up, William reached an arm over to massage Ryan's hunched back, kneading into it with his thin fingers.
"What's wrong, baby?"
Ryan groaned once again, this time with the thought in his head that what they were doing was so fucked up. William went to return the papers and Ryan was left nibbling at his nails, imagining himself pregnant and behind bars. A bald guy with anabolic blood and terribly cliche tattoos would undoubtedly eat that shit up, much to Ryan's dismay. On the brightside, one of those orange jumpsuits would be more fashionable than the raggedy sweats he was forced to wear to school.
The nearing tap of designer leather shoes on the linoleum reminded Ryan of why they were doing this in the first place: William had money. He had none. And for some messed-up reason that he couldn't fully comprehend, the thing in his stomach sparked something inside of him that held an intensity greater than that of the worry affiliated with his rebellion.
Then all thought vanished straight out of the hospital doors because what the fuck was his best friend doing getting on his knees in front of him. He voiced the question aloud and William grinned up at him, all perfect teeth and gleaming eyes.
"I'm going to talk to our baby."
An ear was quick to press against his frumpy sweatshirt. Ryan hoped people wouldn't mistake this for inappropriate public affection. The mother sharing the prenatal waiting room appeared close to grabbing her child and sprinting out of there, and he could only picture how it was viewed by those working behind the high counter, seeing only William drop to his knees.
"Hey, baby," William cooed. "I love you. I can't wait to see you."
Ryan would've rolled his eyes, but he was preoccupied with the anxiety of people watching, judging him, his mistake, and his insane friend.
Will pressed his nose closer to Ryan's stomach.
"I think you're a girl," he whispered, stroking the fabric of Ryan's top. "Your daddy thinks you're a hermaphrodite."
The woman nearly sliced through Ryan with her sharp glare.
"William!" Ryan hissed. "I never said that."
The boy peered up at Ryan through feline eyes, halting his hand's movements. "I wasn't talking about you. The other daddy, Gabe."
Ryan's blood and organs would have decorated the floor if the lady added another ounce of venom to her stare. She was probably brewing ideas of a polygamist society or a homosexual pregnancy cult. William was getting a kick out of it. Ryan felt the smirk against his abdomen.
Someone immediately cleared their throat. Ryan turned his head to find a young, African-American woman in a lab coat, holding a clipboard and analyzing William's position over the rim of her glasses.
"Mr. Beckett?"
In the midst of waiting for his friend to respond, a sharp bone dug into his knee. It was William's elbow. Ryan blinked furiously and stood up, almost knocking his slim friend onto his back on the floor.
"Yeah, I'm him," he said hastily. He wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his maroon sweats and leaned forward to shake her hand.
"Nice to meet you..." She trailed off, glancing at the papers. "William."
At that, the tall boy crouched on the floor sprung up. "I'm the father. Ryan Ross."
They shook hands and exchanged smiles. "I'm Dr. Masterson."
She tilted her head back, wavy hair swinging, to indicate that they should follow her down the hall. And they did. She walked in front of them the entire way, talking about the tests they would run, health subjects they would cover, and the ultrasound, but she incessantly mentioned "William's" previous absence. Ryan had shrugged and mumbled something about mistaking the sickness for a stomach virus.
Sure, that was the truth in the beginning, but once he had taken the tests and was convinced there was something growing inside of him, he knew he should see a doctor. He had avoided the white walls and scrubs for too long, but was terrified to step on the scale, and even moreso to actually see the baby. His limbs were already shaky and his palms, drenched with sweat. He couldn't begin to fathom why he felt so ill. He reminded himself to simply breathe.
It was only a black and white picture; nothing more. Except it was a baby. A living, breathing, eating creature that would soon be unattached from his vitals and moving around outside of him. To Ryan, it sounded like a horrific sci-fi movie.
But if his weight was anything to go by, a beaming Dr. Masterson assured him the baby was healthy and normal. And once he was stretched out on the hospital bed with a pound of teal goo spread over his prominent belly and the transducer skimming across it, she used a coral pink fingernail to outline a head. Then an arm. Then a leg.
William was squealing. Ryan was staring at the picture, and the only thing on his mind was his dad. His dad was going to murder him, if he didn't get a foot to Ryan's gut first.
A rough tug on he and William's linked fingers captured his attention.
"Ry- uh, Will! C'mon! Let's do it!"
Ryan had no idea what was going on. He scrunched his forehead and looked to the doctor for assistance. She chuckled.
"I asked if you'd like to know the sex."
With a glance to his left at the boy hyperventilating and bouncing in his seat, and another to his right at the restless shapes on the screen, Ryan said with a tremble, "Maybe next time."
He wasn't sure he ever wanted to know the gender. It would make it all too... real. Being able to refer to the developing fetus as "baby", "it", and "he/she" was more freeing than anything else. To him, it meant nothing was set in stone. He was nowhere near ready to have anything set in stone.
William deflated next to him, but gave a nod when Ryan looked over to demonstrate his respect of the boy's decision.
But on the drive back, William decided he couldn't contain himself any longer and he turned onto an unknown street.
"Where are you going?" Ryan asked hesitantly, fingers absent-mindedly running along the photo in his hand.
"I just have to show Gabe the pictures!"
Ryan sighed and muttered, "You two worry me." He focused his attention on the homes outside; children chasing each other along the sidewalk, adults fixing up their lawns, teenagers talking on their cellphones. How domesticated everything was. Everything he would soon be a part of. That was, of course, if he chose to keep it.
Before he could berate himself for thinking up that topic for the millionth time that day, they were pulling into the driveway of a light blue house, complete with magazine quality white shutters and a porch.
William climbed out of the car and Ryan followed, glancing at the black and white paper held between William's fingers. The fingers on his left hand barely brushed the doorbell before Gabe appeared in front of them.
"Tell me you have the pictures!" he shrieked. William smiled and nodded. His outstretched hand was crushed by Gabe's enthusiastic embrace.
"Now you're wrinkling them!" Will complained into his jacket.
Gabe gasped and jumped back, but ran into the person emerging from the house.
"Fuck, Gabe!"
Ryan turned his head to see Brendon. He was straightening his plaid flannel when he looked up at Ryan, then over at William, and down to the items in William's hand.
"What are you guys doing here?" The cocky element of his voice rang out straight into Ryan's ears.
William scoffed and flipped his hair. Brendon glared. Gabe, completely oblivious to his surroundings, sang, "They're here with pictures of the baby!"
Ryan saw the brief widening of Brendon's eyes and the bob of his Adam's apple as he gulped, but remained unsurprised when the boy released a monotone, "Oh, cool." He would be lying if he said he wasn't sick of Brendon's attitude, and by the studious squint of William's eyes, he knew they were sharing the same thoughts. He was more than ecstatic to find his best friend raising an image (Ryan's favorite one; it looked like the baby was waving) to Brendon's eye level.
"Strange how the baby doesn't resemble you, yeah?" William asked, voice thick with malice. "I don't see a hint of bastard anywhere in this picture."
The victim's eyes flickered to Ryan, then back to the boy only inches from him, darkening as they went. "Listen. Just because I won't marry the guy doesn't make me a bad person. I told him I would pay child support. I'm sorry that I have a life to live and I don't want to waste it on some mistake."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gabe tried.
The long-haired boy threw his hands up. "So now you're going to go calling your baby a mistake? Explain how that doesn't make you a bad person."
In the midst of their quarrel, Ryan could've sworn he felt the baby moving from his stomach over to William's. But then it reoccurred, and he felt a slight fluttering. He couldn't help the puff of air that fell through his lips as his hand landed on the swell of his belly.
Gabe was the first to speak. "What's wrong?"
What's wrong, Ryan thought. We always assume the worst.
He grinned. "Nothing's wrong. I just felt something small."
He didn't bother to look at Brendon's expression while he watched his best friend drop to his knees and repeat his actions from the hospital. Gabe mirrored him, almost shoving the boy aside to fit an ear and a hand to Ryan's midsection.
Brendon's huff was loud over the windchimes playing off in the distance. Ryan finally glanced up as the boy retrieved a set of keys from his pocket, circling them around his finger while gazing at Ryan.
"I, uh, I have to go."
Ryan nodded. It felt weird. He repeatedly forced himself to reacknowledge the other boys' existences, but the miniscule quirk of Brendon's lips washed through his brain again and again, clearing all other thought.
And then Brendon waved.
Ryan giggled, actually giggled, and his hand flailed in the air.
His girly excitement was ruined when Brendon stopped midway down the porch stairs and turned around, digging around in his pant pocket and pulling out his wallet. He threw a $20 bill in Ryan's general direction. It missed by about ten feet. "Hope that's enough for you."
The pregnant boy wasn't dumb. He knew the difference between genuity and the fakest sincerity he had ever heard.