Free Tag Along by Tom Ryan

with in my real life. He’s the perfect teenager , all clean-cut and rosy-cheeked. The kind of guy who scores the winning goal in the important soccer game, says his prayers before supper and is always nice to his parents. He’s the exact opposite of Rick, in other words, but there’s something about him that makes him easy to be around.
    He’s right about the shortcuts. He leads me through backyards and across parking lots and before I know it, we’re back at the Ledge. Sure enough, Roemi and Andrea are nowhere to be seen.
    â€œShit!” I say, realizing that my backpack isn’t where I left it. I look around frantically, but it’s gone.
    â€œThose guys must have taken it,” said Paul.
    â€œI sure hope so. My wallet’s in there, my keys—everything.” I sit on a rock. “This is turning out to be kind of a bullshit night.”
    â€œYeah, I guess so,” he says.
    â€œNo offense.”
    â€œWell,” he says, “there’s no way I can carry that ladder home, even if you help me. I’ll have to try and sneak out of the house and drive back to get it before my dad gets up for work tomorrow.”
    I nod, depressed about my backpack.
    â€œSo why don’t we go see if we can find those guys?” he says. “They must be looking for us if they took your pack.”
    â€œYeah, you’re probably right.”
    Paul leads the way out of the woods, and we wander along quiet suburban sidewalks. It’s so different from being in the city, where every block has people on it, and every building is lit up.
    â€œSo where are we going?” I ask.
    â€œNot really sure,” he says. “I figure we’ll walk to the strip and see if they’re wandering around or something.”
    The strip, no surprise, isn’t much busier than the back streets. A few cars drive past us, pulling out of fast-food drive-throughs, blasting shitty top-40 music. The more we walk, the more preoccupied Paul becomes. He’s just drifting along as if he doesn’t remember I’m with him.
    â€œCan I ask you something?” I say. He looks at me and nods.
    â€œWhy did you help me back there? At the convenience store, I mean.”
    He thinks about it for a second. “I guess I could tell that you really needed help, and you looked like the kind of person who doesn’t ask for it very much from people. All I had to do was pretend to look at chips with you. And hold your hand. Not too tough.”
    I nod and we continue walking. “Why aren’t you at the prom with your girlfriend?” I blurt out.
    He stops in his tracks and turns to me. We’re standing at the bottom of a little grass embankment that rises up to a Walmart parking lot. It’s kind of gross. A patch of matted dead grass, cigarette butts all over the ground. A crushed beer can sits next to a garbage bin.
    Paul doesn’t say anything for a second. Then he bursts out laughing and drops to the ground. He lies down on his back and stretches out, surrounded by little bits of garbage and bald patches in the grass. I sit down next to him and try not to think about how many dogs have pissed in this spot.
    â€œI don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” He sits up and looks at me. “Okay, I do know.” He starts laughing again. I wonder if he’s having a nervous breakdown.
    â€œI do know,” he says again. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not like you know anyone around here, so what the hell. I have panic attacks. Do you know what a panic attack is?”
    I nod.
    â€œWell, I have them sometimes. I used to have them all the time, when I was a kid.” He pauses, chewing on his lip. “I usually had them the night before a test or during report-card week. Anything that was kind of stressful could set me off. My parents wanted to send me to a summer camp when I was about eleven, and I had such a bad