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Dustin’s pushing at his shoulder, little taps at Steve until he sits down. Dustin’s not even looking at him, swiping on his phone, Henderson says, “Ok, ok, got it!” Grinning, “Guess who went viral?” Hiccups a laugh.
Steve plops backwards onto the sofa. “Not you?”
“Not just me.”
“Ok?” He’s genuinely confused. “Who else, and doing what?” concern sidling in. He can never seem to shake a little concern, overactive babysitter stepping up to the plate: even though the little squirts are all grown up. Technically all grown up. They’re all idiots. “It’s not porn, is it?”
“Jesus!” Dustin slaps the phone into his hands. “Why would I show you that? Use your brain, ok, Steven?”
He shrugs, the video’s already started. A TikTok. Ok, great.
The “party” is all there: Max, Lucas, Mike, Will, El, and Dustin. No responsible adults. They say in unison, “We listen and we don’t judge,” all facing the camera.
“It’s giving haunted Victorian children,” Steve murmurs.
“Shut up,” Dustin says as the video runs. “And yeah, maybe.”
In the TikTok, Max is sitting on a chair in front of the group. She says, “I know I said when I woke up from my coma that I didn’t need the song, it was just you,” she tilts back, making eye-contact with Lucas. “I said all I needed was you the whole time. Buuuuuut, yeah, I think the music was really important. I just said it cause I love you! But playing Kate Bush was really, really helpful. Let’s not underplay that!” She’s giggling, and Lucas is mugging at the camera.
Mayfield continues, fiendish, “Also, when you get home from basketball, your feet do smell, I know I say they don’t-”
Lucas yelps, “Oh, c’mon!”
Max screams as Lucas picks her up, “I say they don’t ‘cause I don’t want to hurt- your feelings!”
“But you’re willing to say it on camera? Bullshit! Bull-shit!” He’s hefted her in a princess-carry, and spins her in a circle. “Sabotage!” Keeps spinning.
She’s shrieking, “We listen! We don’t judge! No, no, no. Ok, I’m gonna throw up if you don’t put me down-”
The camera cuts. Sudden.
A close-up on Mike. Steve holds the iPhone further from his face, too close. Too close.
Mike says, deadpan, “I stand behind everything I’ve ever done.”
Will interrupts, “Mike! That’s not the game!”
Quick cut.
The groups in unison, “We listen and we don’t judge.” Yeah, definitely creepy. Haunted children. Is it Victorian? Steve’s always getting that kind of stuff wrong.
El sits in the chair. She says, “I kill,” in her soft alto.
“El!” Max screams. Will might have screamed too.
Her eyes wide and round, terrifyingly, she does not break eye-contact with the camera. “What? The game is listen? And no judging? I have killed?”
Max shoots forward and slaps a hand over El’s mouth. Lucas jumps so he’s standing in front of the camera, but it’s still running. The audio devastatingly crisp. A blurry shot of Lucas’ shirt, and voices:
“You cannot say you’ve killed people.”
El’s voice, defiant, “I have.”
“I know. But, that’s against, all the laws!” Someone’s laughing, hysterical.
“I do not feel bad.”
“And that’s amazing. Truly, but-”
“The game is listen!” El shouts.
Finally, one of the geniuses turns the video off. It cuts. In unison, they’re all reset, standing in a row behind the one folding chair, “We listen and we don’t judge.”
Will sits in the chair with a squeak. “Sorry. Uh, um, Jane? El?” Cranes to look at her, “I kinda liked it when we dressed the same? Is that crazy? It felt like we were a family. I dunno.”
El’s eyebrows dent up, “We dressed the same?” Steve has no idea if she’s joking or actually confused.
Will says, “In California? Like, the plaid? And the haircuts, the bangs?” Will’s gesturing to his hair, more and more frantic.
Mike butts in, “You guys dressed the same? I never noticed that. I didn’t see that.”
Max and Lucas both make faces. Max whispers something suspiciously like, “Oh my god. He’s blind.”
“Excuse me?” Mike frowns comically large. “Can you repeat that for the class? Mayfield? Sinclair? For the class please-?”
Cut. Lucas in the chair. The group says, “We listen and we don’t judge.”
Lucas says, “When Mike says anything I’m already disagreeing. Sometimes before he opens his mouth. You know, and I don’t regret that.”
Mike frowns in the back, his face looks like a frowning emoji.
Cut. Dustin in the chair. Dustin says, “I let Dart eat my mom’s cat. Mom, if you’re seeing this, I’m sorry. Actually, can we erase that? Um, I probably have something better. Oh! Yeah, put this in instead: I still have him.”
“What?” Lucas asks. “You still have Dart, the literal monster?”
Dustin, to the camera, explaining like he’s giving a TED talk, “I built a bunker for him under the school, and left treats, pieces of my clothing, so if he ever came back he’d follow my scent and know he was safe there.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Lucas holding up his hands, “What the fuck?”
Dustin laughs, “No, no, joking! Guys, guys, under the school? That’s so reckless, I’d do it in the woods. No, no, I’m joking! We listen! And we don’t judge!”
El says, “I do not know if you are serious,” tilting her head down.
Dustin’s tongue peaks through his lips, “Uhhhhh. Maybe?”
Cut. Mike Wheeler in the chair. Squealing, the chair’s metal against vinyl flooring. Mike says, “Will, when you asked if I was looking at your lips, I was.”
Max whispers, “Freak,” but everyone’s still. More still than they’ve been so far.
Will steps forward, so he and Mike are front and center. “Is that- are you- what are you saying?”
“I’m always looking at your lips.”
“We’re- we’re,” Will glances at the camera. “You know it’s filming, right?”
“I know,” Mike says, eyebrows pulled down, his eyes black in the low quality of the video. He looks intense. Mike stands, “Will.” Gathers up his friend’s hands.
The kids in the background seem to collectively inhale.
“Mike?” Will echoes. Steve is drawn in, terribly, horribly, also holding his breath, phone sweaty in his hands; wipes his fingers on his jeans.
Mike raises one palm, slow, cups Will’s jaw. “I don’t wanna be best friends. I don’t.”
“Jesus,” Will exhales.
“No,” Mike breathes, “Listen. And you don’t judge. I’m always looking at your mouth, because I’m always thinking about this.” And Mike kisses Will.
Max screams. El jumps, and turns to peck Dustin on the cheek. Lucas (the one responsible adult, Steve has clocked him as a fellow babysitter) snakes forward to switch off the video. Lucas says, “Ok gang, that’s enough internet for one day,” as it loops to the beginning (“we listen and we don’t judge.”)
Steve rests the phone on his knee. “And, people watched this?”
Dustin rolls his eyes, “Yes. People watched our shit. Did you see how many?”
“No, how many?” Steve feels like he’s being indulgent.
“Three,” Dustin chirps.
“Three? Three, hundred?”
“No,” Dustin grabs the phone back. “Guess, Harrington. Guess.”
“Three thousand? That’s good, that’s respectable. Also, your girlfriend admitted to murder, so maybe the fewer people the better-”
“Million!” Dustin blurts. “We’re doing ‘trauma salad’ next!”
Steve’s still sitting, but he can feel his hands being pulled to his hips, like gravity. “What is ‘trauma salad’ and no. No, you are not.”