Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"

Автор книги: Ann Aguirre

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Yeah, I totally do. I’m worried he’s sick. I’m concerned he’ll fall behind in his classes and his grades will suffer. I’m … I’m … insane. Maybe I’ve caught some bizarre virus that causes unpredictable and uncharacteristic behavior. I don’t print out the map because clearly that’s too far when everything else I’ve done today is totally normal.

I just make a mental note of the route and jog to my bike. Before getting on, I text a message to Aunt Gabby, telling her I’m studying at a friend’s this afternoon. She’ll assume I mean Ryan, and I squelch a frisson of guilt over that. I’ll explain things to her soon. I will. Just as soon as I figure out how much to tell her. And how.

I swing by the Coffee Shop for snacks and drinks, then stow them in my backpack. Since I don’t want to arrive dripping sweat, I ride at a leisurely pace, so it takes me thirty-seven minutes to get to his place. And at first, I think the school must’ve gotten it wrong, but I recognized Shane’s handwriting on the form. So no. This is it. Nerves assail me as I walk my bike down the rutted drive, overgrown with curly dock, chickweed, and quack grass. I can’t even see a house from here, but I’m committed. At the end of the lane, there’s a decrepit trailer; the thing looks so run-down that I imagine it’s cold in winter, leaks during a hard rain, and must be an oven during the summer. It was once cream with brown trim, but that’s hanging off in rusty strips and the weather has discolored the lighter metal. The underpinning is loose, flapping in the breeze, and I’m nervous as I start forward.

Cinder blocks have been stacked up in lieu of steps long since rotted away. I lean my bike against a pile of tires out front, climb up, and knock. My heart thunders in my ears. I must be crazy for showing up uninvited. Now that I’ve seen where Shane lives, though, I’m more worried, not less. I’m scared he might be mad at me for barging in like this, but I have to make sure he’s okay, echo of a time when I desperately wished somebody would’ve checked up on me.

Mustering all my courage, I tap lightly on the door. Immediately, I hear movement inside and I brace for one of his parents to yell at me. Instead, Shane cracks the door, then freezes, staring at me in utter astonishment. The first thing I notice is that he has a second bruise, a newer one, to match the black eye Dylan gave him a few days back. And he didn’t get it at school.

“What’re you doing here?” he demands.

Yeah, he’s not happy. I decide only absolute honesty will serve. “I was worried about you. And I brought your homework.”

“Thanks.” His anger blurs into confusion. Shane looks like he can’t decide what he wants to ask next, a series of questions flickering on his face, but eventually he steps back. “You may as well come in, now that you’re here.”

Inside, it’s cleaner than I expected. The kitchen has old linoleum and there’s scratched paneling all over the place. Everything is worn, old-fashioned, and threadbare, but somebody looks after this place. I’d bet money that person is Shane. A small living room adjoins the kitchen. I imagine there’s a bath down the hall, which ends in two small bedrooms.

“Your parents won’t mind?” I ask, stepping in.

“My mom’s gone. And my dad isn’t here.”

By which I presume “gone” means for good and “not here” indicates at the moment. So he lives with his father, who’s probably the one who messed up his face. Otherwise, he doesn’t seem sick, so he must’ve skipped to hide the evidence. I close the door behind me, then dig into my backpack. First I produce his list of assignments, as promised. Next, I get out the drinks and food I brought, not much, just some chicken soup sealed in a cup, bottles of juice, and two pieces of fruit. He watches with an expression of blank astonishment.

Finally, he gestures. “Is that for me?”

“The soup and juice are. And the orange. I thought you were sick.”

“God,” he whispers. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

I try a smile. “I hope that’s a rhetorical question.”

“Seriously, how did you find me? And why did you ride all the way out here?” His jaw ticks and he glances away. I barely hear his last mumbled question. “Why do you care when nobody else does?”

“I already told you.”

“You didn’t answer anything,” he points out.

I really don’t want to admit that I skulked around the school office to find his address, so I respond to the last thing he said. “I remember how hard it was when I moved here.” I hesitate.

He’s quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s mad, if he believes me. We eat in silence while I try to decide if I should mumble an excuse and leave. There’s a darkness about him, a shadow in his eyes, and he doesn’t look at me while finishing the soup and peeling the orange. I take my time with the apple, conscious of how much noise I’m making as I chew. I can’t tell him that I’m slightly obsessed because he’s hot, and I’m intrigued because he’s a musician, and all the girl reasons behind why I’m here. So maybe—

“So you came because you were worried?” He asks like it’s never happened before. “Not because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want to be a … project.”

“Well, yeah.”

For another long moment, he’s quiet. Then he seems to come to some conclusion.

“Thank you.” Those are the most heartfelt words anybody’s ever spoken to me. Sincerity burns in his blue, blue eyes, and he’s beautiful, despite the bruises. I want to ask, but for now it’s just enough he’s not making me go.

“Since you’re here,” he adds, “want to work on some geometry?”

Not really. I’d rather stare at him or make out on the couch, but those options aren’t on the table. “Sure, thanks. But that’s not why I came. I mean, I don’t expect you to help me just because—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I want to.”

An hour later, I’m totally awed by Shane’s brain. He has this way of simplifying the theorems so they actually make sense. With his guidance, I’ve successfully managed to solve two problems on my own. I still can’t imagine why I would ever need to be able to figure out the length of one side of a mystery triangle, but if I’m ever kidnapped by a geometry-obsessed madman, maybe I won’t die.

“Make sense now?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think I got it. I’d love to pull my grade up to a C before midterms.”

“I’ll get you to a B by the time the grading period ends.”

I say without thinking, “If you do, I’ll love you forever.”

It’s the sort of joke I’d make with Ryan, just hyperbole, but with Shane, it gains layers. He gives me that look again, the one that x-rays through my skin down to my bones, until I feel like he can view my heart. That should be a terrifying, creepy feeling, but it’s more of a relief, like I don’t have to hide; there’s nothing about me that could scare him because he’s been through so much himself.

God, how I want that to be true.

“Then I better apply myself,” he says softly.

To what? Geometry? Or making me love you forever? Oh God. My stomach swirls.

“I never do this,” I tell him.

“Study?”

I huff out a breath. “No. Show up at someone’s house uninvited. It’s so rude.”

“I was just cleaning up a little.”

The place is already as spotless as it can be, given its condition, but I spot a shimmer of broken glass in the trash can. So his dad’s a drinker. I don’t say anything, but I register him noticing. Shane may not say much, but he’s the most observant person I’ve ever met. Which is why it’s odd that he hasn’t said anything about my hair. I mean, it’s stupid and self-centered to want him to, given the mess he’s dealing with, but I’m not 100 percent enlightened. I want him to think I’m pretty, and I wish he knew I’m fighting my way out of the fog for him.

“I should go—” I start, before it gets awkward.

But at the same time, he asks, “Would you—”

Then we both break off. Does he feel like I do? I hope he’s nervous and excited and scared, and it feels like the start of something he wants desperately. I wait for him to go on, urging with my eyes.

Finally he murmurs, “You want me to play something for you?”

Oh God, yes. Please. Because I’m afraid my voice will reveal pure breathless glee, I just nod.

Shane goes back to his bedroom and returns with the battered guitar he was playing in the music room. He tunes it with a few expert thrums and I focus on his hands: long fingered, scars on the knuckles, hard but graceful. I’d imagine lacing our hands together but I might hyperventilate.

The song is haunting, and he plays with his eyes shut, head tilted back. After a few bars, I recognize it as one Aunt Gabby plays sometimes—“Collide” by Howie Day. I’ve never listened to the lyrics so closely before, but when Shane sings it, I find it impossible to do anything else. His acoustic cover is quiet and slow, a hint of melancholy, so it feels like a breakup song, though I don’t think that’s what it’s about. The line about being tangled up with me? Yes. Please. By the time he strums the final note, holding it until it feels like a touch, I suspect I’d agree to anything.

“You’re really good,” I say.

Understatement.

“Think so?” And he’s not asking for an ego boost. For a moment, his heart shows in his eyes. I’ve seen yearning before, but never so raw, and this isn’t for me. He wants to be good, probably for the same reasons I push for good grades and lots of clubs. Like me, he needs to get out of here; he’s running toward something bigger and brighter.

“The best I’ve ever heard, who wasn’t already getting paid for it.” That’s actually not saying much. My car issues mean I don’t go to many concerts. But I’m sure he’s talented.

“I’ve got some original songs, too, if you’d like to hear one sometime.”

“Sure,” I say, as if I’m not inwardly screaming that he wants to see me again. On purpose. But the last thing I want is to get him in trouble. “Do you need me to head out? What time’s your dad—”

His fingers clench on the neck of his guitar and he gives me a measuring look, before apparently deciding to spill. “I won’t see him again for a while.”

“Where is he?” That’s not what I want to ask, and he knows it.

“He’s a truck driver. He didn’t even have a place until the court dumped me on him. He just put up at short-term motels between long hauls.”

Judging by the crappy accommodations, Shane isn’t close to his dad, as the guy didn’t go out of his way to provide. “I shouldn’t even say anything, but—”

“Don’t say it. I’m not reporting him.”

“Why?” I demand. “He can’t get away with hurting you.”

“I made him a deal,” Shane says, surprising me. “He bought this place … and signs off on any paperwork. In return, I look after myself.”

“But … your face…” I really thought his dad had hit him. But he’s not even here?

“You’ve seen the front porch. Try going out the door when you have an arm full of stuff.”

“You’re trying to convince me you fell.”

He smiles. “I really did. I promise. After I broke my history project, I said screw it.” So it’s the project in the trash, not liquor bottles? “I didn’t feel like going today. My dad is many things … and a good father isn’t one of them, but he doesn’t punch me in the face. He’d just rather not see me.”

“Why not?” I ask, despite my resolution not to pry.

He shrugs, but the careless gesture reveals a world of vulnerability. “I remind him too much of my mom. It hurts, I guess.”

“Because she’s gone.” I have no idea what that means, though. Did the woman move to California to find herself, or—

Before I can speculate, he says softly, “Yeah. Her funeral was the worst day of my life.”

Wow. So, forever gone.

Without even thinking about it, I move over beside him on the sagging couch, gently nudging his guitar aside to cover his hand with mine. This is new to me; I’m more familiar with distant kindness, leaving Post-its and moving on. I don’t know much about making real connections, but for Shane, I’ll crawl out of my comfort zone. He wraps his fingers around mine, and I think, I could live in your eyes.

“What happened?” Belatedly, I realize he might not want to talk about it, but if he doesn’t, he can say so. I won’t back off the bravery with a babbling disclaimer.

“Things were okay when I was younger. My dad was never around a lot. He’s always driven a big rig, as long as I can remember. But when he came home, my mom would light up and it was like Christmas. He always brought presents…”

“That sounds nice.” I don’t remember a time when my mom and dad were together and happy. She left right after I was born. Things were better when my dad had custody, but I’ve never been part of a typical family unit. I know how it feels to lose a parent, though. Later, I’ll tell him so, but right now, I don’t want to interrupt.

“I was always closer to Mom for obvious reasons.”

I nod.

“She got sick when I was twelve.”

There should be some words in the world that could make it better somehow, but if they exist, I don’t know them. So I just cling to his hand, gaze locked on his bruised face. His eyes are just swimming, not in tears, but sadness. His chin drops.

“We went through rounds of radiation, aggressive meds, chemo. Year after year. She had two remissions before it finally got her.”

No wonder the football team didn’t have the power to bother him.

He goes on, “My dad bailed when I was fourteen. He couldn’t stand watching her die.”

“That was a pussy thing to do,” I say. That’s not a word I normally use, but it applies.

Wry smile. “You’re telling me. But my mom forgave him. Said he just loved her too much to let her go. And that’s what I had to do … so she could finally, y’know.”

“Rest?” I supply, unsure.

“Yeah,” he says tiredly. “Dad wouldn’t come back to Michigan City, said he couldn’t. I was on the verge of going into the system for the last time when I cut this deal with him.”

“The last time?”

He hunches his shoulders. “I didn’t handle it well after my mom died. A friend of hers let me stay with him while he looked for my dad, but I wasn’t … cooperative. Or law abiding.” I can see that he regrets it, probably feels like he let his mom down.

“You went a little crazy. It’s understandable.” I’m guessing whatever he did, like get into fights, shoplift, drink, maybe drugs, it isn’t as bad as what I’m hiding.

“So I’m lucky I avoided a permanent stay in juvie,” he concludes. “My dad came through.”

“And bought you all this.”

My disdain must’ve penetrated because his brows draw together. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. It’s all he could afford. My mom’s medical bills…”

“I am such an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“It is a dump. But it’s better than foster care. I just … I couldn’t deal with a new family right now. I just wanted to be by myself.”

I wonder if that’s really what he needs, but it’s not my place to judge. I had years of court-mandated therapy and I don’t feel fixed. I just feel like a different kind of broken.

He goes on, “Promise you won’t tell anyone. I’m not sure if this is strictly legal.”

Most likely it falls under the heading of neglect, though if he’s been looking after his terminally ill mother for years, he’s not a kid in the usual sense of the word. I respect his desire for privacy.

“I promise.”

His silence makes it clear he’d prefer not to say more.

Then it dawns on me. “I’ve been pestering the crap out of you.” I should’ve known there would be a reason he avoids people, but I only thought about how he made me feel. It’s been a long time since I was so selfish, since I let myself be. Ryan was right after all when he dubbed Shane antisocial. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He’s smiling. “I haven’t had friends the past few years. It was too hard. I was taking care of my mom, no time to hang out. Most of them got tired and went looking for fun.”

Friends? Well. If that’s what he needs, what he sees in me … I die a little inside because this feels like Ryan all over again. Maybe I’m just destined to play that role. I muster a smile.

“I think you’re fun,” I say.

“You pick up garbage for a good time.”

I shake my head. “That’s giving back to the community.”

If Ryan taught me anything about friendship, it’s that hugs are acceptable. And I could use one after hearing Shane’s story. So I reach for him, winding my arms around his neck. At first he’s stiff, like he doesn’t know what to do, then he gets it, softening into me, and his arms curl around my back. It feels so good I almost moan.

Friend. He wants a friend. I’ll get right on that.

He murmurs into my hair, “I came here looking to finish school quietly. Stay out of trouble. Maybe write some new songs. I never expected you.”

CHAPTER NINE

Come Wednesday, I’m still wondering what Shane meant. Today, when I get to my locker, the Post-it isn’t blue; it’s green, and it’s written in normal ballpoint pen. I told her. You’re still everything. Despite my best intentions, I glance over at Ryan. He looks worse than he did yesterday; I can tell the conversation with Cassie wasn’t easy. I’m glad he manned up, but I’m not sure what he expects from me. It would be easy and safe for me to walk across the hall and into his arms, just slip into the relationship he let everyone think we already had.

But that doesn’t feel like the right choice. I mean, it’s not that I want to hurt him, but this isn’t as easy as Ryan wants it to be. Quietly, I take down the Post-it and stick it inside my binder. I don’t know if I’m keeping this one, but I won’t throw it away in front of him. Despite what he’s done, he was my best friend for years.

Lila joins me, her gaze following mine. “Ouch. I think he’s really in love with you.”

“Maybe he should’ve realized that sooner,” I mutter.

“Hey, I’m not advocating a reconciliation. Do what you need to.”

He shapes the word please as we stare at each other across the hall. Please, what? Forgive you? Talk to you? Deliberately, I turn away.

“See you at lunch,” I say to Lila, heading off to class.

Shane’s in Geometry today, a fact that makes me happy. He smiles at me as he takes his seat, but there’s no chance to talk. Mackiewicz dumps another quiz on us, but this time, I can do some of the work, possibly even enough for a passing grade. If I can show something other than an F, dated later than the prior two, Aunt Gabby will be less disappointed. When I hand forward my paper, I’m relatively confident that I didn’t fail.

Shane waits for me after class. Dylan and his crew linger for a few seconds, but when they see he’s not forever alone, they move on. They’re cowards like that. It’s one thing to pick on a kid, another to deal with his friends. While the teachers will look the other way in some instances, when you start involving lots of other parents, that becomes impossible. Which is why Shane shouldn’t wander the halls by himself until the jocks lose interest in him.

“Lunch?” I ask.

“Sure. Just let me stop by my locker.”

“Not a problem.”

I tell myself it’s for his benefit that I follow him around the corner; he’s situated in the opposite corner of the school from me. He stows his backpack, then turns. “Ready.”

Today I banked that he wouldn’t have anything with him, so I packed enough food for two. I get the feeling his dad is so underwater with medical bills that he’s not sending much living allowance. That would be why Shane’s perpetually hungry. I stop at my locker, too, on the way to the lunchroom. When we walk in, Theo waves, like he was watching for me.

“Friend of yours?” Shane asks.

“Not exactly. He’s the kid we sat with the other day.”

“Oh, right. Seems like he’s into you.”

“Maybe.” I suspect it’s more that he enjoys the attention they’re getting due to our presence at their table.

At the moment, people are talking about Ryan and me, Lila and me. The lesbian rumor seems to be dying out, at least. Soon, somebody will get drunk or pregnant, crash a car or steal one, and then that’ll be the new focus. It can’t come soon enough for me. I head over, smiling, and the girls, at least, seem truly happy to see me. I introduce Shane to Kimmy, Mel, and Shanna. He’s polite, but I see he’s feeling a bit WTF about the whole thing. As he said, his master plan was to lay low, write songs, and get out of school unnoticed. Between Dylan Smith and me, that’s becoming impossible. I can’t control Dylan, but I’m not letting him pick on Shane anymore if there’s anything I can do about it. And I do have one card to play but I’d rather not, unless he forces me to it. We’ll see.

I set lunch on the table, daring him to protest when I portion out his half. Today it’s apple raisin salad, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, carrot sticks, and two brownies. He doesn’t protest in front of the sophomores; they’re talking about a movie they’re seeing this weekend. When Lila joins us a few minutes later, followed by Tara and Kenny, Shane’s mouth quirks into an adorable smile.

I see why he’s amused. Our table doesn’t have a single free seat, and it’s heretical in that it has freshmen, sophomores, and juniors all mixed up. We don’t have any seniors; we’re not that cool, but we’re the most integrated of the lunch crowd. By comparison, Ryan’s table looks a little sparse.

“I’m Lila,” she says, taking a bite of what passes for an enchilada in this school.

Oops. I should probably have done that myself. If I’m honest, maybe I didn’t want to because she’s pretty striking. I’m happy when he doesn’t seem wowed; he’s low-level friendly, nothing else. Let’s see, Shane met Tara and Kenny at Green World, so that’s handled. Part of me wishes I had him to myself, but this is better. The more people know who he is, the less likely the jocks can get away with harassing him.

“I’m pretty excited about the cleanup tonight,” Tara says.

By looking at her, you’d never guess; you’d think she’s afraid to get her hands dirty. Her nails are always perfectly manicured, and you can tell her family has money, so I find her participation in Green World fascinating. Past experience with rich kids tells me most of them are spoiled and don’t care about giving back. Today, her designer outfit is pristine; she’s spent hours on her personal grooming. Tara is pretty, but she wears more makeup than she needs. I saw her without it once, and her mahogany skin is flawless.

Kenny, on the other hand, is a total gamer geek. All of his clothing has the logo of some game franchise, and he never goes without his Mario hat. He’s also got a crush on Tara the size of Texas, which explains his interest in the environment.

“What cleanup?” Theo asks.

I glance at Shane. This is a chance to evangelize, but he might think I’m weird. Then I remember that he’s already been to one of our meetings. It’s not like this information will surprise him, so I explain the purpose of the group. By the time I finish, the sophomores look interested.

Mel asks, “Is it something that would help on a college app?”

“Absolutely.” I’m smiling.

“What time today and where?” Kimmy wants to know.

Wow, did I just recruit four new members? The flyers I posted at the start of school got defaced and torn up. Until now, I’d considered ditching tonight’s cleanup, though it was my idea. Frowning, I abandon that plan; it’s chicken, and as long as there are other people around, there will be a buffer between Ryan and me. I can do this. I will do this.

“I can help,” Lila says unexpectedly.

“That would rock. We’ll get done a lot faster with more bodies.”

“Anything for my college app,” she mutters, like she’s embarrassed to be seen caring.

I write down the place and time in a grid I draw in my notebook, then fold the paper until it tears neatly into multiple squares. When I glance up, Shane is watching me with a riveted expression, a carrot stick hovering halfway to his mouth. I want to say, What? But that will ruin the moment because he’s not going to tell me what he’s thinking with everyone else sitting here.

Friend. He needs a friend. Well, I’m doing my best to surround him with people.

I summarize the plan and add, “If you can’t get a hold of biodegradable trash bags, that’s all right. I have extras.”

“Of course you do,” Lila says, grinning. “I bet you were adorable riding in with all the boxes balanced on your bike.”

I glare at her. “Hey, that was not easy.”

“I’m not mocking you, Princess. I like your determination. It’s … odd.” That shouldn’t sound complimentary, but somehow, between her warm eyes and her sincere smile, it does.

The remainder of lunch is spent on logistics with the sophomores texting their parents to explain they’ve gotten involved in a community cleanup project and will need rides later. Shane doesn’t say much, nor does he volunteer to help. I’m a little sad about that. But he does walk me to my locker.

“Why did she call you ‘princess’?”

Awesome. Sighing, I mumble an explanation about the nickname and conclude, “So yeah, the Post-its. I should probably stop with that.”

People whose names I don’t remember wave to me as I go down the hall. This is strange. I mean, the ones I’ve tried to cheer up have always acted quietly pleased, but they never go out of their way when they see me. What’s changed?

Before I can puzzle on that too long, Shane says, “I hope you don’t.”

Huh. Ryan always found it silly and slightly embarrassing. I mean, not enough to complain about it, but he also never got the point; he told me once it was a huge waste of time and paper. Obviously I disagree.

“Unlikely,” I say, smiling as I parrot his word back to him.

“Cute. Uh. I’d like to come tonight if you could use another pair of hands.”

“Wear gloves,” I say, touching his fingers. “These are guitar-playing gold.”

His smile melts me. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“But I thought you weren’t interested in coming to another meeting?”

“That was before I realized how relentless you are.”

My cheeks flush, burning with heat. I can’t meet his gaze, so I stare at his battered army boots instead; yeah, these are totally tan. “I told you I was sorry about that.”

“Hey.” He tips my face up with warm fingers, and for a crazy moment, I think he might kiss me. “I was kidding. I mean, you are hyper-focused, but not in a bad way. I probably need someone who won’t let me hide.” Shane runs his other hand through his tousled curls. “God, somehow you got my life story out of me in one afternoon. I never … I don’t talk to people like that. I just don’t.”

I didn’t even realize it was rare; that’s how right it felt. But maybe he needed to open up … and I was there. Could’ve been timing more than anything to do with me. Still, the glow of satisfaction starts in my toes and radiates all the way up to my neck. I’ve never felt this way before, not this exact combination of giddiness and abject terror.

Shane drops me at my classroom, then takes off for his. Down the hall, I see Dylan and crew lying in wait, but Shane’s smart this time. He spots Mr. Johannes walking ahead and falls into step with him. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but he’ll get to class without being harassed.

Chemistry is boring but bearable, and luckily, Ryan is all business this time, though at the end of the period, he asks, “Are you coming to the cleanup?”

“Of course. It was my idea.”

“I’m glad.” That’s all he says, but there’s more trembling on the tip of his tongue. He swallows it as I pack up my things and hurry toward the door.

“Sage.” It’s the science teacher, who I never call Tom.

“Yes, sir?”

“I just wanted to tell you I’ve noticed an improvement in your participation in the experiments. Your grade will reflect the additional effort.”

I smile at him. “Thanks.”

“Carry on.”

To my surprise, Shane is already waiting for me outside chemistry. That’s … unprecedented. He must’ve persuaded his teacher to let him out a few minutes early; that’s some impressive smooth talking. God, I hope I’m not beaming the way I feel.

“You can’t continue feeding me every day,” he says.

Wow, not what I’m expecting.

He goes on, “I don’t want you to see me as a stray dog.”

“I don’t!”

“Well, you’re always feeding me. It’s nice, but … things will pick up. Dad’s paying on the hospital bills, and I’m looking for work to help with my daily living expenses.”

“Maybe I can help you find something.”

A frown knits his brows together. “Don’t worry about it, I can handle my own business.”

“But—”

“You can be annoyingly persistent, you know that?” Yeah, he’s aggravated.

I can’t just drop it, though. Seeing Shane now reminds me of when things were the worst for me. My skin itches over at the idea of offering the same indifference I got.

“I’ve kind of been there,” I explain quietly. “I wasn’t old enough to work, but it would’ve been nice if somebody … cared.”

Shane sighs, but there’s a faint softening to his impatience. “Fine.”

“Is there any kind of work you won’t do?” Relief brightens my voice.

He shakes his head. “I can’t afford to be picky. I’d like to buy some groceries.”

“Don’t you get lonely out there?” I ask.

The pause tells me he’s thinking about his answer as we walk. Finally he says, “I’ve been alone a long time. Lately I just have time to notice.”

I guess he means his mom wasn’t much company toward the end and he was run ragged taking care of her. He doesn’t seem to be angry, not like I was. Or maybe he burned it out back in Michigan City when he was staying with his mom’s friend. I ponder whether this guy was her boyfriend, if he loved her after her husband left. It would take a lot of courage, I decide, to fall for someone you know will leave you, sooner rather than later.

He adds, “That’s why I was in the library the other night. I wanted to be near people. It’s really quiet out in the country at night. And, yeah…” His voice drops. “Lonely.”

That feels like big admission. Warmth swells in my chest over the fact that he trusted me with it. As I recall, he was hiding in an upstairs conference room for privacy, but I understand what he’s saying. It’s different knowing folks are nearby, even if they’re not in the room with you. That trailer in the middle of nowhere must be super-creepy at night. And that’s the difference between an empty home and one that houses somebody who loves you.

I nod. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Not exactly.”

“You can come with me.” Then I realize I have the same problem that I had getting a frap with Lila the other day. I have a bike; Shane does not. So I make the ultimate sacrifice. “Do you know how to ride?”