Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"

Автор книги: Ann Aguirre

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“What’re you two up to tonight?” she asks.

I suspect she knows what we were doing, and I grin really big, trying to look innocent. “Watching a movie with Ryan and Lila. They’ll be over later.”

“That’s reassuring. I’ll be home by midnight. Do you want me to cook before I go out?”

I shake my head. “I can make grilled cheese or pasta.”

Lila and Ryan will probably eat at home, so popcorn will do for them. I glance at Shane. “Should we make something now?” It’s almost five. Depending on what we fix, it might be almost six by the time we finish.

“Yeah,” he mutters.

I can tell he’s uncomfortable that my aunt almost caught him on top of me, and for some reason, I want to laugh. We make spaghetti with a creamy tomato sauce; I puree some soft tofu to add protein. Along with a green salad, this is a decent meal.

“I need to cook for you sometime,” Shane says, as we sit down.

“What’s your specialty?”

“Slow-cooker pulled pork, but I guess that’s out. I can also make decent vegetable soup.”

“Nom. I’ll bring fresh bread.”

“Do you use a machine?”

I shake my head. “My aunt believes in old-fashioned kneading. Good upper-body workout.” Then I pretend to flex, which is obviously absurd, and Shane smiles.

God, I’d do anything to make him laugh. When I’m being silly, some of his shadows seem to melt away, and this is how he should be, full of sunshine and laughter. The somber darkness I sometimes glimpse in him isn’t natural. Yet I recognize it, and I wonder if that’s what pulls us together. I remember Ryan mentioning Shane’s “thick file” when he started at our school, but I’m in no position to judge, no matter what he’s done. The important thing is who he is now.

I can hear my aunt moving around, getting ready for her date. She comes out once to ask my opinion on her outfit, and I give her two thumbs-up on a red dress with silver accessories, then she hurries off to do hair and makeup.

Shane appears baffled. “I had no idea it was such a thing for a girl to get ready. Do you…?” He cuts the question, seeming to decide he shouldn’t ask me.

But I can finish it. Do I flutter for him the way my aunt does for Joe? “Yeah. Sometimes I can’t decide what shirt to wear or if I should go with or without lip gloss.”

“I don’t care about fashion,” he answers. “I’d take you with no shirt at all. Uhm. I mean.” Then he’s as red as the tomato sauce.

I laugh. “My aunt’s in the next room!”

Groaning, he buries his head in his hands. “Hopefully that’s the stupidest thing I’ll say tonight. It should be noted that I don’t like lip gloss.”

By the time we tidy up the kitchen, Joe has arrived and my aunt goes off with him, somehow managing not to say anything embarrassing before she does. I love her even more for that. Ryan and Lila arrive shortly thereafter, then there’s more laughter, a stupid comedy that I’ve seen four times, so it doesn’t matter if I sneak looks at Shane the whole night. We eat popcorn and throw it at each other, and by the time my aunt gets home, it’s just the two of us again.

“Looks like you had fun,” she comments, counting the cups mentally.

I can see that she’s relieved that we spent the evening as a group. Now she doesn’t have to worry that I’m pregnant; it’ll be a while before she has to deal with that concern. Shane tries to duck out the back without a lot of fuss, but there’s no way my aunt’s letting that happen.

“Reflective tape,” she tells him sternly. “Or I’m driving you home myself.”

Shane shoots me a horrified look. Yeah, if she sees where he lives, she’ll ask to meet his parents … and since they’re not around, she’ll call social services. Then he’ll end up in foster care, and I know that’s not what he wants. But if I’m being honest, this is a selfish move because I can’t stand the thought of him going away. Even if it would be better for him.

I know that makes me a horrible person.

“I’ll get the tape,” I say. “Shane’s got a bike in the shed. You’ll be careful, right?”

Relieved, he nods and he doesn’t protest when I stripe his arms and legs and one down his back for good measure. “See you tomorrow.”

He kisses me quickly, then he’s gone. I watch out the window until he’s out of sight, then I turn to find my aunt studying me. “You’re in love.”

“Shut up, so are you.”

Her cheeks pinken. “Maybe.”

“It’s a good year for us, huh?”

“Possibly the best yet,” she admits.

*   *   *

Saturday, I pack a picnic, which we eat in the park. Afterward, Shane sings to me; he’s brought his guitar this time, and I fool around, recording him on my phone. I tell him it’s because I want to sell the video when he’s famous, but the truth is, I just want to watch it when I’m not with him. How lame am I? Afterward, we stop in at the Coffee Shop, and the barista asks if Shane’s interested in doing a regular Sunday performance, once a month. He’s excited, so he’s in a fantastic mood by the time he has to go to work.

That weekend sets the tone for the next few. Shane and I hang out in between work, school, and homework, but often we drag Ryan and Lila along with us, as they get along better than expected. The recycling drive goes well, though it doesn’t set any records. I’m pleased that my social studies teacher approves the extra credit scheme.

Halloween rolls around, but I don’t hit the party out at the Barn. Instead, I have friends over, the first time it’s been more than Ryan and me; we used to do a scary movie marathon. He seems a little sad, but resigned, I guess, that things have changed for good. And I think it’s a positive change. The house is noisy with the freshmen and sophomores, Ryan and Lila, me, Shane, and even Conrad and Gwen make an appearance. Mostly the night involves eating candy, giving sweets to little people, and watching horror movies. My aunt is smart enough to hole up in her room and just ride it out. The next day, I learn that the cops raided the Barn and all minors who were present and drinking have community service … except the football team. Funny how that works out.

At school, I watch Dylan and he observes me with cold determination, but he hasn’t been able to find anything out about me; his silence can’t mean anything else. Excellent. I’m relieved that my case files are actually confidential. I hesitate to say so, but things might be okay. Life is good. It’s odd to think that, but with Shane’s arms around me, his chin on my shoulder, it’s hard to feel otherwise. People know his name from his gig at the Coffee Shop, and music geeks are constantly coming up to him, trying to get him to join a garage band.

In fact, we have three grungy guys in front of us now. They’re trying to talk him into it. “Come on, dude. Your guitar work is awesome, but I play bass, and Andrew is pretty good on the drums.”

“What does the quiet guy do?”

The first dude grins. “He brings beer.”

Yep, they sound like committed artists. I look at Shane, curious if he’s interested.

Who says, “Thanks, but I don’t have time.”

I’ve learned my lesson, though. No matter how awesome a musician I think he is, I don’t try to talk him into joining them. Shane knows his own needs best. He smiles at me as we walk away from the wannabe–rock stars.

That night, I get a surprise—an unknown number texts me: hey, princess.:)

Shane’s the only one who calls me that in a sweet way. But I check just to be sure. Shane? You got a phone?

Yep.

Maybe I’m too suspicious but this could be Dylan, trying to trick me. I don’t know how he’d get my number, but he could’ve bribed one of the freshmen or sophomores who have it. They haven’t been friends long enough for me to be sure they’d side with me.

So I type, what question did you ask me in detention?

Explain to me why this was worth a tardy.

Good. He’s talking about the Post-it I left for him. While Dylan could know about that, I don’t see how he could answer what Shane said to me. Then I get another text: Right answer? They sell cheap prepaid ones at the P&K. Figured it was time.

Me: Yep. You should leave your number for Jace at the Coffee Shop. If you wanna play w/ him.

Shane: Not really. I don’t play well with others.

Me: You play with me fine. It’s only after I hit send that I realize how that sounds. Oh, crap. There’s no way he’ll let that go.

Shane:… are we sexting?

Me: OMG. I’m leaving now.

Shane: Night, princess.

The next day, he smirks at me, waggling his phone, like there’s something really dirty on it. The blush nearly sets my face on fire. On the plus side, his new phone means I get the sweetest messages at random points in the day … and sometimes when he’s on break at work, too. He starts leaving Post-its on our locker, too—nothing embarrassing, little things I did that make him happy. Shane takes some shit for it, but I bet other girls wish their boyfriends were more like him. Mind you, I don’t stop leaving compliments for people having a crappy day, but not gonna lie, it’s easier to see the bright side with Shane shining just for me.

I have never, ever been this happy. I’m terrified. I’m on fire with joy. I’m … alive, for what feels like the first time, ever. I’m not pretending anymore, hoping nobody notices that I’m the freak who doesn’t fit, who has darkness graven down to the bone.

A week before my aunt’s big holiday in Chicago, as promised, I talk to Lila about sleeping over. She cocks her head. “Seriously? Your aunt is going away for the weekend and you want to waste one of those nights at my place?”

“Want is a strong word,” I mumble. “But it’s one of the conditions to my getting even one night on my own.”

“She’s protective of you, huh?”

“Do your parents leave you home alone that long?”

“Ha, never. Maybe not even when I’m thirty. But they don’t trust me. It seems like you and your aunt get along pretty well. And you’re not the type to throw a wild party the minute she leaves.”

Lila doesn’t have all the facts. The reason my aunt doesn’t want to leave me alone so long has nothing to do with rapport or trust. But I don’t go into that.

“Will your parents mind?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all, they love you. My dad thinks it’s awesome that you have a plan, even if it’s a hippie goal. Which night were you thinking?”

“Saturday.”

Shane works that night, so we’ll have more time together if he sleeps over on Friday, like he did before. And though I’m not positive, I might be ready to do more than kiss. How much more, I’m not sure, but I’m scared and excited, my heart trembling like a butterfly at the idea. I remember how it felt to curl up in his arms.

Finally the week I’ve been looking forward to arrives, when my aunt’s going away with Joe. School and work seem like distractions from my ultimate goal: Friday night. Shane will arrive at my house at eight, and he’s bringing clothes for work the next day. As I ride my bike home that afternoon, I’ve got a hundred questions swirling in my head: what I should wear, if we should cook or order from Pizza the Action, but pizza isn’t very romantic. It’s chill, for when you’re hanging out with a bunch of people, but you’d never be, like, Please, baby, take me out for a slice.

But when I get home, things are so not okay. My aunt is home from work early, which almost never happens. This makes me think she’s sick, and her depressed expression reinforces that impression. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Joe’s got strep,” she answers.

“Oh, shit.”

So obviously, the weekend she—and I—have been looking forward to isn’t going to happen. No trip to Chicago, no swanky hotel, no theater tickets, no champagne, and for me—worst of all—no overnight with Shane. This isn’t Joe’s fault, but I’m totally frustrated. Instead of a romantic weekend where I kinda planned to fool around with Shane, I get to cheer my aunt up.

“I need to call Lila and cancel our sleepover.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” she protests.

“I want to. You shouldn’t sit around by yourself, feeling crappy. You need chocolate therapy and a bunch of girl movies. Strep is contagious, right? So you can’t even see Joe.”

“Don’t remind me.” She brightens. “Hey, maybe Lila wants to come over here instead?”

“I’ll ask. Let me drop my stuff in my room, change clothes, and call her.”

“No problem. Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger aren’t going anywhere.”

For the first time, I notice she’s watching 10 Things I Hate About You, for probably the hundredth time; it’s her self-comfort I’m-so-depressed-I-hate-my-life movie. Mine is currently Pitch Perfect. But I like this one, too.

I rush to my room, close the door behind me, then text Shane. Abort, abort! My aunt’s staying here this weekend.

Shane: Shit.

Me: I know, right?

Shane: Do you still want me to come over?

Me: No. She needs me to hang out with her this weekend. I’m sorry.

Shane: It’s cool. Maybe I’ll call Jace.

Me: You got his number? I thought you don’t play well with others.

Shane: I’m trying.

This is where I wish I was brave enough to key I love you. But I’d never send it before saying it in person. I should tell him … at the right moment. And it’s too soon. How long have we actually been together? Maybe two months. That’s definitely too fast. I’ll scare him.

Me: See you Monday. Miss you.

Shane: You too, Princess.

Then I actually call Lila, so she knows it’s important. She picks up on the third ring. “This is retro. Why didn’t you text me?”

“Change of plans. You want to spend the weekend with us instead?”

“Oh, snap. What happened?”

I explain about Joe, strep, and how my aunt now has epic sad-face. “So now we’re gonna watch movies endlessly and eat chocolate. I can’t promise my aunt will shower. Hopefully by Sunday.”

“God, what would she do if he broke up with her?”

“I have no idea.”

And it kind of scares me because Aunt Gabby is my rock. Joe might have the power to break her heart, which makes me want to ride my bike across town and stand under his window yelling at him, even if he’s sick. I restrain the impulse like I always do.

But I have to defend her. My aunt isn’t the type to lose it over a guy. “She hasn’t taken a vacation in years. She’s just disappointed.”

“Yeah, I’d be bummed, too, especially if I bought new clothes to wear.”

“She did.”

“Then I get it. Hang on, let me ask my mom.”

I hear snippets of their conversation, then Lila comes back. “She wants to talk to your aunt to make sure it’s okay with her, and that the whole weekend isn’t too long.”

“And make sure we’ll be adequately supervised,” I guess.

“You know my mother so well.”

Moving down the hall as we talk, I gesture for my aunt to pause the movie. “Mrs. Tremaine wants to speak with you.”

“Oh. No problem.” I hand her the phone. “Yes? Okay, Lila.” Then a few seconds later, “Yes, this is Gabby. No, it’s no trouble at all. In fact, it was my idea. We’d love to have Lila over for a girls’ weekend. She’s so much fun, so great to be around.” Then she pauses, listening. “All right, drop her off around seven. Sounds fine. I can bring her home on Sunday. All handled,” she adds, returning my cell.

“You are a joy,” I tell Lila when she comes back.

“My mom thinks there’s an alien running my body now. The sad part is, I think she likes the parasite better than the old me.”

“You’re still you. See you later.”

I disconnect, put away my school stuff, and change clothes. Then I join my aunt for an orgy of sweets and feel-good movies. It turns out to be a really fun weekend, even more so after Lila arrives. By the time she leaves on Sunday, my aunt is in a better mood, and I’m not totally sorry things worked out like this. I mean, I wanted Shane here. But girl time was fun, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When I head to school on Monday, it’s a short week, only three days, since Thursday is Thanksgiving. I’m looking forward to the break. Green World is canceled for the holiday, and I don’t have to work on Thursday, obviously. Shane has the day off, too, but I haven’t invited him over yet. I should clear it at home first. So Monday night, after my shift at the Curly Q, I bring it up with Aunt Gabby. “I was wondering, is it okay if Shane spends Thanksgiving with us?”

“What about his family?”

“It’s just his dad … and he’s a truck driver. He can’t get time off, and they’ve scheduled him for a long haul this time.”

“That sucks.” I nod, hoping she doesn’t ask anything else about Shane’s father. “No grandparents nearby?”

I shake my head, though Shane hasn’t mentioned them. Maybe they’ve passed away? “We can’t leave him alone for the holidays.”

“I don’t mind, if he’s okay sleeping on the couch.”

So instead of a two-day weekend with Shane, unsupervised, I’m getting four days with my aunt in the house. I’ll take it. Impulsively I hug her. “You’re the best.”

“So you occasionally tell me,” she mumbles, smiling.

“Is Joe coming over?”

“Not this year. He’s driving to Missouri to see his folks … if he feels up to it.”

“Yeah, the demon strep. How’s he doing?”

“I haven’t seen him all week. He was off work for four days.”

“Well, I hope he feels better and has a good holiday.”

After eating a quick dinner, I head to my room, happy with how this worked out. Tuesday morning, I pounce on Shane at our locker.

He hugs me, looking startled. “Good news?”

“You’re coming home with me Wednesday. It’s cool with my aunt if you stay until Sunday.”

His eyes widen. “You didn’t—”

“I explained that your dad got stuck with an unexpected job and you’re at loose ends for Thanksgiving.” With my eyes, I warn him not to say anything else. If Dylan can’t make trouble for me, he might go after Shane. And he does have a secret he’s keeping.

I glance around, and sure enough, a member of Dylan’s crew is leaning against the lockers nearby. It’s not like I haven’t noticed his people watching me, but I spend all my time being good. They won’t catch me doing anything he can use.

He nods. “Should I bring anything?”

“Nah, we’ll handle it. Hope you like Tofurky.”

“I can honestly say I have no idea.”

“Don’t worry, there will be plenty of other trimmings. Cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans and mushrooms, fruit salad, fresh yeast rolls, pumpkin pie, and homemade vanilla bean ice cream.”

“Wow. Sounds like you guys go all out. I … haven’t had that in a while.”

“Before I came to live with my aunt, me either.” That’s more than I usually tell anyone about my time with my bio-mom, but I want Shane to know I understand, at least somewhat.

“Thanks, Sage. This will be awesome.”

People push past us, reminding me I need to get to class. There’s still Tuesday and Wednesday before the fun begins. I’m nervous thinking about having him at my house—what if I do something embarrassing or he catches me going into the bathroom with bed head and morning breath—but I’m excited, too. Shane squeezes me before letting go, just as the bell rings, and we run in opposite directions. I slide into my chair just in time.

I wish I could say the time races like white-water rapids, but it’s more like honey in cold weather. But the clock hands can’t actually run backward, so eventually, it’s Wednesday afternoon. Shane and I head out to the bike rack, but I draw up short.

The tires on my bike have been slashed. I get the message loud and clear. If Dylan can’t ruin me socially, he can hurt me in other ways. There are no security cameras, so it would be my word against his, and he occupies a higher social echelon. Plus, Principal Warick’s banging his mom, so he has reason to keep Dylan happy. That means he’s practically untouchable.

“Well, that was a dick move right before Thanksgiving. It’ll be days before you can get that fixed.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

I’m sure that was the point—to make me feel helpless and crippled. And it upsets me because it works. I would love to let Shadow Sage answer this challenge. I could escalate so fast, it would make Dylan’s head spin. I imagine slipping a cotton cord into his gas tank, then lighting it up. The flame would burn inward, like a fuse, until it caught the fuel inside. That would make a really satisfying explosion. I’m enjoying the thought when Shane’s hand wraps around mine.

“Don’t just leave it here. Some asshole might make it worse over the weekend.”

His touch recalls me to the person I’ve chosen to be. So instead of doing something horrible, I unlock my bike and push it home on the shredded tires. A quick check in the shed tells me that I don’t have the supplies to fix this myself. I’ll have to take it to the repair shop, and it’ll take a chunk out of my college fund.

Shane grabs the basket and starts attaching it to his bike, distracting me from thoughts of revenge. “What’re you doing?”

“I’ll handle the shopping. It’s the least I can do.”

Since I’m barely keeping my shit together, I don’t argue. I dart inside to get the grocery money from the coffee can in the cupboard, then I hand over the list and he’s off. Long after he’s gone, I sit in the shed, staring at my shredded tires. It’s just a bike, right? It’s not like Dylan hurt me. A little voice whispers, You don’t have to blow up his truck. You could hit him in a quieter, deeper way. Right now, I’m restraining the urge, but only just. It takes all my self-control to bury the desire to wreck him and pin on a smile by the time Shane gets back.

*   *   *

Late Thursday, after my aunt has retired in a food coma, Shane and I are curled up together on the couch. He’s got an arm around my shoulders and I’m leaning against his chest. I’m sleepy, but not tired, and I’m 100 percent reluctant to end what has been the most perfect Thanksgiving ever. I’ve buried my anger beneath food and the sweetness of spending time with my favorite people.

Lazily I flip through the brand-new memories: Shane helping us cook, him scarfing down our traditional feast, and then us breaking out the artificial tree. It’s kind of ridiculous but Aunt Gabby always puts up our god-awful white Christmas tree after we eat Thanksgiving dinner. Now it’s twinkling behind us, throwing interesting shadows on the walls. We could be watching a movie, but I turned on the radio instead.

“This was … a phenomenal day,” he whispers.

It’s raining now, just a gentle patter, and I bet it’s chilly outside, but snuggled up against Shane, I can’t imagine ever being cold. “I’m glad you had fun. I know our traditions are a little weird. My aunt doesn’t believe in killing trees, so we’ve had this kitschy fake one forever. It grows on you.”

“No, I liked it. All of it. But especially this part.” He pulls me a little closer, so he can kiss my temple, and the tenderness of the gesture curls my toes.

“Me too,” I admit.

“So, I was wondering … are we official?”

“Are you asking if I’m your girlfriend?” Though I’m trying to be cool, inwardly I’m screaming my head off.

“Yeah. I mean, you had that problem with Ryan, where you were always together, and people thought you were a couple but you really weren’t. And people have been asking me, and I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to do to you what he did, so I thought—”

“We’re official.” I put him out of his misery, though I’ve never seen Shane ramble so much. It’s tempting to let him continue. “And it was never like this with Ryan. We never kissed.”

“Good,” he whispers, surprising me. “I wish I could have all your firsts, because you’re getting all of mine.”

Instead of saying something profound, I make a weird noise because I literally have no words. I am awesome at romance. Two points. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. When he kisses me, I forget why I needed to talk or what I meant to say.

Half an hour later, I reluctantly make up the sofa for Shane and head for my room. It’s hard to leave him, but I’d die of humiliation if my aunt came out to use the bathroom and caught us rolling around. So I savor a final good-night kiss and go to bed on my own. I’m not expecting any problems—this was such a good day, but for the first time in weeks, I have the Dream. I wake with a scream strangling in my throat, sweat pooled on my back, and the sense that the scene has changed. My bio-mom was there, like always, and I’m left shivering, hands tucked inside my sleeves. With my fingertips, I count, inspecting the scars that won’t go away. When I first moved in, my aunt bought vanishing creams, but … they didn’t help. Anyway, the worst marks are those that don’t show up on my skin.

For some reason, Dylan Smith has become one of the demons in my head, too. Maybe because he got away with slashing my tires, it’s like he has power over me now. I know from experience that I can’t go back to sleep, however, so I get a book and I’m curled up on my daybed, reading, when someone knocks on the door. The clock tells me it’s 5:22, not a normal time for anyone else to be awake. My aunt won’t stir for three more hours since the shop opens at ten; and she’s not looking forward to Black Friday, the only day of the year when they’re open until eight at night.

“Come in,” I call softly.

I’m not surprised to see Shane standing there, his hair adorably tousled. Overnight, he’s grown some scruff, and in this light, it has a hint of ginger. Somehow this makes him even cuter. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Parrying one question with another is a standard defensive strategy, and I instantly regret it. But I’m so scared of what he’ll think of me when I crack the fragile, painted eggshell I show the world and expose the gooey mess within.

“Well, I saw your light, and it’s pretty early. We were up late.”

It’s true; I’m running on five hours of sleep. “You can come in if you want.”

Shane steps into my room, but leaves the door open, so we don’t get accused of dirty deeds, if my aunt wakes up unexpectedly. His blue gaze flicks around, taking in the pictures I’ve cut from magazines and framed, the tangle of beads and Christmas lights that I’ve draped around my mirror. This room is cheerful, but I wonder what he thinks of it the second time. The throw pillows are piled on the floor beside the bed, so he steps over them in coming closer.

Shane perches on the edge of the bed, studying me with a faint frown. “You know me better than I do you. And I feel like an asshole for just realizing it.”

My chest hurts. I rub it, trying to reduce the tight sensation. Too sharply, I remember the group home and the way one of the workers had to restrain me. See, they’re trained on how to hold an out-of-control kid. I can still feel Mr. Rennick’s arms around me, hard and impersonal, to keep me from hurting anyone, myself included. I remember the crunch that came before, when I hit the girl I caught going through my things, crimson spattering from her nose. I remember the burn of the knuckles I scraped on her teeth and the raw feel of my throat from constant screaming. Rage has a scent, bitter and metallic.

“What would you like to know?” The question tastes like blood because I don’t know if I can be honest with him. But I’ll try. That’s how much I trust Shane.

“I know your dad died when you were seven … and you lived in a bad part of Chicago when you were with your mom.” He pauses as if to think. “Then you came to live with your aunt when your mom took off?”

No, he’s skipped a whole section in my life, one I prefer to pretend never happened. “There was some time in government housing between the two. Gabby is my dad’s half sister, and it took time for social workers or whoever to make the connection.”

Please let that be enough for now. Please.

“How long?” he asks.

This much, I can manage. It’s like tiptoeing around the edges of a chasm. If I fall in, I’ll lose the person I’ve built in the last three years. She might have started as a persona I created so Aunt Gabby wouldn’t send me away, but little by little, I feel like this Sage could be real. I want to live her life, not the one I left behind. People can do that, right? Make up their minds to change and be better. It’s possible. Please, let it be.

“Until I was thirteen.” That’s not strictly true. I can’t give him the timeline without telling him everything, though, and I’m not ready to do that. I want to live in this dream a little longer.

“So, like, foster homes or what?”

“And a group home, when the foster home didn’t work out.” I don’t explain why.

And he must sense my reticence because he doesn’t ask. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I guess you understand how come.”

“Yeah,” I say softly, gratefully. “I get it. And I’ll help you anyway I can.”

“I know you will, Princess.”

I used to make fun of girls who let guys give them quasi-adorable pet names, but I don’t say a word. It makes me happy that he’s reclaimed one that used to bother me. I melt a little, and Shane reaches for me. His arms feel warm and strong, his hands splaying over my back. He holds me for a while, then he says, “This might seem weird at this hour, but I need to borrow your laptop.”

“Not a problem.” I get it for him and hand it over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I need to apologize to Mike, the guy I stayed with in Michigan City. He was nothing but nice to me, and I was an asshole.”

“Your mom’s friend. But why are you sending this at five in the morning?”

Shane taps my nose gently. “No ’net at home, remember? I’ll have to make a special stop at the library if I don’t do it now, while it’s on my mind.”

“That makes sense.”

He nods, logging in to Gmail. I realize I don’t have his email address, so I peek at it, memorizing music4life, along with four numbers. At first I think, it’s a PIN, then I decide that’s probably the year he was born. After I do the math, I realize it’s too long ago.

“What’s 1994?”

Shane lifts his shoulder in a sheepish shrug. “The year Kurt Cobain died. I used to be really into Nirvana, I opened this account when I was younger.”

“Mine’s Ecogrrl60167,” I mumble. “So I can’t talk.”

“Isn’t that the zip code here?”

“Yep. I’m creative that way.”

“I don’t know if he’ll care, but I feel like a dick for what I put him through. None of it was his fault. I just … went nuclear or something.”

“You were in shock.” I don’t know if that’s the right word for what he went through. He spent years watching his mom die, taking care of her, but not knowing when it would end. Then … it did. It would be hard to deal with that.

Shane hesitates, pausing between words, deleting and erasing, and I glance away from the laptop, not wanting him to think I’m reading over his shoulder. A few minutes later, he sighs and says, “There, sent. An e-mail’s not enough, considering all the nights cops dragged him out of bed because of me.”