Текст книги "Fangirl"

Автор книги: Rainbow Rowell

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Basil didn’t move. “Good fences make good neighbors,” he whispered, just barely tipping his wand.

Simon’s fist slammed into a solid barrier just inches from the other boy’s unflinching jaw. He pulled his hand back, yelping, still stumbling against the spell.

This made Dev and Niall and all the rest of Basil’s cronies cackle like drunk hyenas. But Basil himself stayed still. When he spoke, it was so softly, only Simon could hear him. “Is that how you’re going to do it, Snow? Is that how you’re going to best your Humdrum?” He dropped the spell with a twitch of his wand, just as Simon regained his balance. “Pathetic,” Basil said, and walked away.

—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie

TWENTY-SIX

Professor Piper held out her arms when Cath walked in. “Cath, you’re back. I wish I could say that I knew you would be, but I wasn’t sure—I was hoping.”

Cath was back.

She’d come to tell Professor Piper that she’d made up her mind. Again. She wasn’t going to write this story. She had enough to write right now and enough to worry about. This project was leftover crappiness from first semester. Just thinking about it made Cath’s mouth taste like failure (like plagiarism and stupid Nick stealing her best lines); Cath wanted to put it behind her.

But once she was standing in Professor Piper’s office, and Professor Piper was Blue Fairy–smiling at her, Cath couldn’t say it out loud.

This is so obviously about me needing a mother figure, she thought, disgusted with herself. I wonder if I’m going to get swoony around middle-aged women until I am one.

“It was really kind of you to offer me a second chance,” Cath said, following the professor’s gesture to sit down. This is when she was supposed to say, But I’m going to have to say no.

Instead she said, “I guess I’d be an idiot not to take it.”

Professor Piper beamed at her. She leaned forward with an elbow on the desktop, resting her cheek against her fist like she was posing for a senior picture. “So,” she said, “do you have an idea in mind for your story?”

“No.” Cath squeezed her fists shut and rubbed them into her thighs. “Every time I’ve tried to come up with something, I just feel … empty.”

Professor Piper nodded. “You said something last time that I’ve been thinking about—you said that you didn’t want to build your own world.”

Cath looked up. “Yes. Exactly. I don’t have brave new worlds inside of me begging to get out. I don’t want to start from nothing like that.”

“But Cath—most writers don’t. Most of us aren’t Gemma T. Leslie.” She waved a hand around the office. “We write about the worlds we already know. I’ve written four books, and they all take place within a hundred and twenty miles of my hometown. Most of them are about things that happened in my real life.”

“But you write historical novels—”

The professor nodded. “I take something that happened to me in 1983, and I make it happen to somebody else in 1943. I pick my life apart that way, try to understand it better by writing straight through it.”

“So everything in your books is true?”

The professor tilted her head and hummed. “Mmmm … yes. And no. Everything starts with a little truth, then I spin my webs around it—sometimes I spin completely away from it. But the point is, I don’t start with nothing.”

“I’ve never written anything that isn’t magical,” Cath said.

“You still can, if that’s what you want. But you don’t have to start at the molecular level, with some sort of Big Bang in your head.”

Cath pressed her nails into her palms.

“Maybe for this story,” Professor Piper said delicately, “you could start with something real. With one day from your life. Something that confused or intrigued you, something you want to explore. Start there and see what happens. You can keep it true, or you can let it turn into something else—you can add magic—but give yourself a starting point.”

Cath nodded, more because she was ready to leave than because she’d processed everything the professor was saying.

“I want to meet again,” Professor Piper said. “In a few weeks. Let’s get back together and talk about where you are.”

Cath agreed and hurried toward the door, hoping she wouldn’t seem rude. A few weeks. Sure. Like a few weeks will fix the hole in my head. She pushed her way through a mob of gaudy English majors, then escaped out into the snow.

*   *   *

Levi wouldn’t put her laundry hamper down.

“I can carry it,” Cath said. Her head was still in Professor Piper’s office, and she wasn’t in the mood for … well, for Levi. For the constant good-natured game of him. If Levi were a dog, he’d be a golden retriever. If he were a game, he’d be Ping-Pong, incessant and bouncing and light. Cath didn’t feel like playing.

“I’ve got this,” he said. “You get the door.”

“No, seriously,” she said. “I can carry it.”

Levi was all smiles and fond glances. “Sweetheart, get the door. I’ve got this.”

Cath pressed her fingertips into her temples. “Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?”

He grinned. “It just came out. It felt good.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Would you prefer ‘honey’? That reminds me of my mom.… What about ‘baby’? No. ‘Loveboat’? ‘Kitten’? ‘Rubber duck’?” He paused. “You know what? I’m sticking with ‘sweetheart.’”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Cath said.

“Start with the door.”

“Levi. I can carry my own gross, dirty laundry.”

“Cath. I’m not going to let you.”

“There’s no letting. It’s my laundry.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“I don’t need you to carry things for me. I have two functioning arms.”

“That’s not the point,” he said. “What kind of creep would I be if I let my girl carry something heavy while I walked along, swinging my arms?”

Your girl? “The kind that respects my wishes,” she said. “And my strength, and my … arms.”

Levi grinned some more. Because he wasn’t taking her seriously. “I have a lot of respect for your arms. I like how they’re attached to the rest of you.”

“You’re making me feel fragile and limp. Give me the laundry.” She reached for it.

He stepped back. “Cather. I know you’re capable of carrying this. But I’m not capable of letting you. I literally couldn’t walk next to you empty-handed. It’s nothing personal; I’d do this for anyone with two X chromosomes.”

“Even worse.”

“Why? Why is that worse? That I’m respectful to women.”

“It’s not respectful, it’s undermining. Respect our strength.”

“I do.” His hair fell in his eyes, and he tried to blow it away. “Being chivalrous is respectful. Women have been oppressed and persecuted since the beginning of time. If I can make their lives easier with my superior upper-body strength, I’m going to. At every opportunity.”

“Superior.”

“Yes. Superior. Do you want to arm wrestle?”

“I don’t need superior upper-body strength to carry my own dirty laundry.” She put her fingers on the handles, trying to push his aside.

“You’re deliberately missing the point,” he said.

“No, that’s you.”

“Your face is flushed, did you know that?”

“Well,” she said. “I’m frustrated.”

“Don’t make me angry-kiss you.”

“Give me the laundry.”

“Tempers rising, faces flushed … This is how it happens.”

That made Cath laugh. And that was irritating, too. She used most of her inferior upper-body strength to shove the hamper into his chest.

Levi pushed it back gently, but didn’t let go. “Let’s fight about this the next time I try to do something nice for you, okay?”

She looked up at his eyes. The way he looked back at her made her feel wide open, like every thought must be closed-captioned on her face. She let go of the hamper and picked up her laptop bag, opening the door.

“Finally,” he said. “My triceps are killing me.”

*   *   *

This was the coldest, snowiest winter Cath could remember. It was the middle of March already, technically spring, but it still felt like January. Cath put on her snow boots every morning without thinking about it.

She’d had gotten so used to the snow, to being a pedestrian in the snow, that she hadn’t even thought to check the weather today—she hadn’t thought about road conditions and visibility or the fact that maybe this wasn’t the best afternoon for Levi to drive her home.

She was thinking about it now.

It felt like they were the only car on the interstate. They couldn’t see the sun; they couldn’t see the road. Every ten minutes or so, red taillights would emerge out of the static ahead of them, and Levi would ease onto the brakes.

He’d stopped talking almost an hour ago. His mouth was straight, and he was squinting at the windshield like he needed glasses.

“We should go back,” Cath whispered.

“Yeah…,” he said, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, then clenching a fist around the gearshift. “But I think it might be easier now to keep going. It’s worse behind us. I thought we’d beat it to Omaha.”

There was a metallic ringing as a car passed them on the left.

“What’s that noise?” she asked.

“Tire chains.” Levi didn’t sound scared. But he was being so awfully quiet.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking about the weather.”

“My fault,” he said, sparing a second to smile at her. “I didn’t want to let you down. Think I’ll feel worse if I actually kill you.…”

“That would not be chivalrous.”

Levi smiled again. She reached out to the gearshift and touched his hand, running her fingers along his, then pulling them away.

They were quiet again for a few minutes—maybe not that long. It was hard to judge time with everything so tense and gray.

“What are you thinking about?” Levi asked.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. You’ve seemed thinky and weird ever since I got to your room. Is this about me meeting your dad?”

“No,” Cath said quickly. “I kind of forgot about that.”

More quiet.

“What then?”

“Just … something that happened with a professor. I can tell you when we’re not in mortal peril.”

Levi felt on the seat for her hand, so she gave it to him. He clutched it. “You’re not in mortal peril.” He moved his hand back to the gearshift. “Maybe … stranded-in-a-ditch-for-a-few-hours peril. Tell me. I can’t really talk right now, but I can listen. I’d like to listen.”

Cath turned away from the window and faced him. It was nice to look at Levi when he couldn’t look back. She liked his profile. It was very … flat. A straight line from his long forehead into his longish nose—his nose veered out a bit at the tip, but not much—and another straight line from his nose to his chin. His chin went soft sometimes when he smiled or when he was feigning surprise, but it never quite mushed away. She was going to kiss him there someday, right at the edge of his jaw where his chin was most vulnerable.

“What happened in class?” he asked.

“After class, I went … Well, okay, so you know how last semester, I was taking Fiction-Writing?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t turn in my final project. I was supposed to write a short story, and I didn’t.”

“What?” His chin tucked back in surprise. “Why?”

“I … lots of reasons.” This was more complicated than Cath thought. She didn’t want to tell Levi how unhappy she’d been last semester—how she hadn’t wanted to come back to school, how she hadn’t wanted to see him. She didn’t want him to think he had that much power over her.

“I didn’t want to write it,” she said. “I mean, there’s more to it than that, but … mostly I didn’t want to. I had writer’s block. And my dad, you know, I didn’t come back to school, finals week, after he had his breakdown.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well. It’s true. So I decided not to finish my final project. But my Fiction-Writing professor didn’t turn in my grade. She wants to give me a second chance—she said I could write the story this semester. And I sort of said that I would.”

“Wow. That’s awesome.”

“Yeah…”

“It’s not awesome?”

“No. It is. Just … it was nice to have it behind me. To feel like I was through with that whole idea. Fiction-Writing.”

“You write fiction all the time.”

“I write fanfiction.”

“Don’t be tricky with me right now. I’m driving through a blizzard.” A car materialized ahead of them, and Levi’s face tensed.

Cath waited until he relaxed again. “I don’t want to make up my own characters, my own world—I don’t have that inside of me.”

Neither of them spoke. They were moving so slowly.… Something caught Cath’s eye through Levi’s window; a semi truck had jackknifed in the median. She took a stuttering breath, and Levi found her hand again.

“Only fifteen miles,” he said.

“Does he need help?”

“There was a State Patrol car.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“I’m so sorry about this,” Levi said.

“Stop,” she said. “You didn’t make it snow.”

“Your dad’s going to hate me.”

She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. His forehead wrinkled, almost like it hurt.

Cath listened to the windshield wipers and watched the front window for whatever was coming next.

“Are you sure?” Levi asked after a few miles. “About the fiction-writing? Are you sure you don’t have that inside you? You’re fathomless when it comes to Simon and Baz—”

“They’re different. They already exist. I just move them around.”

He nodded. “Maybe you’re like Frank Sinatra. He didn’t write his own songs—but he was a genius interpreter.”

“I hate Frank Sinatra.”

“Come on, nobody hates Frank Sinatra.”

“He treated women like things.”

“Okay—” Levi adjusted himself in the seat, shaking his neck out. “—not Frank Sinatra, then … Aretha Franklin.”

“Blech. Diva.”

“Roy Acuff?”

“Who?”

Levi smiled, and it made Cath kiss his fingers again. He gave her a quick, questioning look.

“The point is…,” he said softly. Something about the storm made them both talk softly. “There are different kinds of talent. Maybe your talent is in interpretation. Maybe you’re a stylist.”

“And you think that counts?”

“Tim Burton didn’t come up with Batman. Peter Jackson didn’t write Lord of the Rings.”

“In the right light, you are such a nerd.”

His smile opened up. The truck hit a slick spot, and he pulled his hand away, but the smile lingered. A coffeepot-shaped water tower slowly moved past his window. They were on the edge of town now; there were more cars here, on the road and in the ditches.

“You still have to write that story,” Levi said.

“Why?”

“To bring your grade up. Don’t you need to keep your GPA up for your scholarship?”

She’d only just told him about the scholarship a few nights ago. (“I’m dating a genius,” he’d said, “and a scholar.”)

Of course she wanted to keep her GPA up. “Yeah—”

“So, write the story. It doesn’t have to be great. You don’t have to be Ernest Hemingway. You’re lucky you’re getting a second chance.”

Cath sighed. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know where you live,” he said. “You’re going to have to give me instructions.”

“Just be careful,” Cath said, leaning in quickly to kiss his smooth cheek.

“You can’t shave your head. You’ll look mental.”

“I look worse than mental with this hair. I look evil.”

“There’s no such thing as evil hair,” Simon giggled. They were lying on the floor of the library between two rows of shelves. Baz on his back. Simon propped up on one shoulder.

“Look at me,” Baz said, pushing his chin-length hair back from his forehead. “Every famous vampire has a widow’s peak like this. I’m a cliché. It’s like I went to the barber and asked for ‘a Dracula.’”

Simon was laughing so hard, he nearly fell forward onto Baz. Baz shoved him up with his free hand.

“I mean, honestly,” Baz said, still holding back his hair, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s like an arrow on my face. This way to the vampire.”

Simon swatted Baz’s hand away and kissed the point of his hairline as gently as he could. “I like your hair,” Simon said against Baz’s forehead. “Really, really.”

—from Carry On, Simon, posted March 2012 by FanFixx.net author Magicath

TWENTY-SEVEN

When they pulled crunchily into Cath’s driveway, Cath exhaled, completely, for the first time in two hours.

Levi leaned back and let his head fall against the seat. He opened and closed his hands, stretching his fingers. “Let’s never do that again,” he said.

Cath unbuckled her seat belt and slid toward him, pushing her arms around his shoulders. Levi smiled so wide, she wished it hadn’t taken an adrenaline rush for her to feel like she could hug him like this. His arms moved around her waist, and she held him tightly, her face in his coat.

Levi’s mouth was close to her ear. “You shouldn’t reward me for endangering your life, you know. Think of the precedent you’re setting.”

Cath held him even tighter. He was good. He was good, and she didn’t want to lose him. Not that she felt like she was going to lose him on the interstate. Just, in general. In general, she didn’t want to lose him.

“I wouldn’t have thought twice of driving through this back home,” he said quietly, “by myself. But I shouldn’t have done this with you. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

The street was silent, and the cab of the truck was dark gray and white-bright, and after a few minutes, Levi’s hand trailed up her back and down again.

“Cather,” he whispered, “I really like you.…”

*   *   *

When they got out of the truck, the windshield was covered with snow. Levi carried her laundry. Cath let him. He was nervous about meeting her dad, and she was nervous about her dad, period. She’d talked to him every day since Christmas break, and she’d been home to visit—he seemed like he was doing fine, but you never knew with him.…

When Cath opened the door, he was right there in the living room. There were papers everywhere, onionskin taped to the curtains and walls, all his ideas sorted into buckets. And her dad was sitting on the coffee table, chewing on the end of a Sharpie.

“Cath,” he said, smiling. “Hey … is it Cath time already?” He looked at the windows, then down at his wrist; he wasn’t wearing a watch. Then he saw Levi and stopped. He took his glasses off his head and put them on, standing.

“Dad, this is Levi. He gave me a ride.” That hadn’t come out right. Cath tried again: “He’s, um … Levi.”

Levi held out his hand. “Mr. Avery, nice to meet you.” He was drawling. Maybe his accent was a nervous tic.

“It’s nice to meet you,” her dad said. And then—“Levi.”

“I’m really sorry about taking Cather out in this weather,” Levi said. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

Nothing registered on her dad’s face. He looked toward the windows. “Is it messy out? I guess I haven’t been paying attention.…”

Levi’s face went nearly blank. He smiled politely.

Her dad looked at Cath and remembered that he was going to hug her. “Are you hungry?” he said. “Is it dinnertime? I’ve been in a Franken-fog all day.”

“Did you guys get the Frankenbeans account?” she asked.

“Still pitching. Eternally pitching. So, Levi,” he said, “are you staying for dinner?”

“Oh,” Levi said. “Thank you, sir, but I better get back while there’s still some light.”

Cath wheeled around. “Are you kidding me? You’re not driving back to Lincoln in this.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Four-wheel drive. Snow tires. Cell phone.”

“No,” Cath said harshly. “Don’t be an idiot. We’re lucky that we got here okay—you’re not going back.”

Levi bit his lips and raised his eyebrows helplessly.

Her dad walked past them to the door. “Jesus,” he said from the porch. “She’s right, Levi—I’m just going to keep saying your name until I remember it, is that okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cath pulled on Levi’s sleeve. “You’re staying, all right?”

He licked his bottom lip nervously. She wasn’t used to seeing him nervous. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

“Okay,” her dad said, walking back into the living room, “dinner…” He still looked like he was in a Franken-fog.

“I got it,” Cath said. “You keep working. You look like you’re on to something.”

He smiled at her gratefully. “Thanks, honey. Just give me another half hour to sort through this.” He turned back to his concepts. “Levi, take off your coat.”

Cath started taking off her boots and hung her coat on a hook. She pulled on Levi’s sleeve again. “Take off your coat.”

He did.

“Come on,” she said, walking into the kitchen. Everything seemed in order. She glanced into her dad’s room and into the bathroom. No toothpaste poetry.

“I’m sorry,” Levi said when they got into the kitchen.

“Shut up,” she said. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I should go.”

“Not as nervous as I’d be if you were driving home in a blizzard. Jesus. Sit down. It’s okay, okay?”

He smiled a Levi smile—“Okay”—and sat down on one of the stools.

“It’s weird to see you here,” she said. “Like, worlds colliding.”

Levi ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out a bit of snow. “Your dad seems unfazed.”

“He’s used to guys being around.”

Levi cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“My sister…,” Cath said, feeling her cheeks warm.

She opened the refrigerator. Her grandmother had obviously been here. All her dad’s crusty condiment bottles were gone, and there were Tupperware containers labeled with grease pencil. Plus fresh milk and eggs and yogurt. She opened the freezer.… Healthy Choice meals, probably the same Healthy Choice meals as the last time Cath was home.

She looked over at Levi. “How do you feel about eggs?”

“Awesome.” He smiled. “I feel awesome about eggs.”

One of the Tupperware containers had Italian sausage with red peppers. Cath emptied it into a pan and decided to make poached eggs. Just to show off. There was bread for toast. And butter. This wouldn’t be half bad.

“Can I help you?” Levi asked.

“No. I’ve got this.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, then smiled back down at the stove. “Let me do something for you for once.”

“Okay…,” he said. “What’s your dad doing in there?”

She told him. She told him about Fucking Kelly and Gravioli—and the time they’d gone to the Grand Canyon on a family vacation, and their dad had sat in the rental car with a notebook and a Sharpie.

Her dad had worked on a lot of agricultural clients over the years, this being Nebraska, and Levi actually recognized a line he’d written for a fertilizer: Bigger yields, brighter fields—trust next year to Spurt.

“Your dad’s a Mad Man,” he said.

Cath laughed, and Levi looked sheepish. “That’s not what I meant.”

They ate at the dining room table, and by the middle of dinner, Cath felt like maybe she didn’t have to be so nervous. Levi had relaxed into a slightly more polite version of his usual everyone-must-love-me self, and her dad just seemed happy that Cath was home.

Her eggs were perfect.

The only sour note was when her dad asked about Wren. Cath shrugged and changed the subject. He didn’t seem to notice. He was a little twitchy and tappy tonight, a little distant, but Cath decided he was just lost in work. His color was good, and he told her he’d been jogging every morning. Every once in a while, he seemed to surface enough to give Levi an appraising look.

After dinner, Levi insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes. As soon as he was in the kitchen, her dad leaned over. “Is that your boyfriend in there?” Cath rolled her eyes, but she nodded.

“For how long?”

“A month,” Cath said. “Sort of. Longer. I don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-one.”

“He looks older.…”

“It’s the hair.”

Her dad nodded. “He seems nice.”

“He’s the nicest,” Cath said as sincerely as she could, wanting him to believe her. “He’s a good guy, I swear.”

“I didn’t know you’d broken up with Abel.”

Once the dishes were done—Cath dried—she and Levi were going to watch a movie, but her dad winced when she started moving his papers off the couch.

“Do you guys mind watching TV upstairs? I promise, Cath, I’m all yours tomorrow. I just—”

“Sure,” she said. “Not too late, okay?”

He smiled, but he was already turning back to his notebook.

Cath looked at Levi and motioned her head toward the stairs. She felt him on the steps behind her, her stomach tightening all the way. When they got to the top, Levi touched the back of her arm, and she stepped away from him into her bedroom.

It looked like a kid’s room now that she was imagining it through his eyes. It was big, a half story, with a slanted roof, deep-pink carpet, and two matching, cream-colored canopy beds.

Every inch of the walls and ceiling was covered with posters and pictures; she and Wren never really took things down as they got older. They just put new things up. Shabby Simon Snow chic.

When Cath looked up at Levi, his eyes were sparkling, and he was biting his bottom lip. She pushed him and he burst into laughter.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

She sighed. “Okay…”

“No, seriously. I feel like this room should be preserved so that people of the future know what it was like to be a teenage girl in the twenty-first century.”

“I get it—”

“Oh God,” Levi said, still giggling. “I can’t take it—” He started walking back down the stairs, and then, after a second, he walked back up and re-burst into laughter.

“Okay,” Cath said, walking over to her bed and sitting down against the headboard. Her comforter was pink and green plaid. She had Simon Snow pillowcases. There was a Sanrio mobile hanging over her head like a dream-catcher.

Levi strolled over to her bed and sat down in the middle. “You look so blindingly cute right now, I feel like I need to make a pinhole in a piece of paper just to look at you.”

She rolled her eyes, and Levi swung his feet up, pushing them through hers so their legs crossed at the shins. “I still can’t believe your dad sent me up to your room the first time he met me. All he knows about me is that I took you out into a blizzard.”

“He’s just like that,” Cath said. “He’s never kept us on much of a leash.”

“Never? Not even when you were kids?”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “He trusts us. Plus, you saw him—his mind wanders.”

“Well, when you meet my parents, don’t expect my mom to let us out of her sight.”

“I’ll bet Reagan loved that.”

Levi’s eyes widened. “There is no love lost between my mom and Reagan, believe me. Reagan’s older sister got pregnant her senior year, and my mom was pretty sure it ran in families. She had her whole prayer circle working on us. When she found out we broke up, she actually raised her hands to heaven.”

Cath smiled uncomfortably and pulled a pillow into her lap, picking at the fabric.

“Does it bother you when I talk about Reagan?” he asked.

“I’m the one who brought her up.”

“Does it?”

“A little,” Cath said. “Tell me more about your mom.”

“I finally get you up to a room, and now we’re talking about my ex-girlfriend and my mom.”

Cath smiled down at the pillow.

“Well…,” he said. “My mom grew up on a ranch. She quilts. She’s active in her church.”

“What kind?”

“Baptist.”

“What’s her name?”

“Marlisse,” he said. “What’s your mom’s name?”

“Laura.”

“What’s she like?”

Cath raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “She was an artist. I mean, maybe she still is. She and my dad met at an ad agency right out of college.”

He knocked one of his knees against hers. “And…”

Cath sighed. “And she didn’t want to get married or get pregnant or anything like that. They weren’t even dating seriously, she was trying to get a job in Minneapolis or Chicago.… But she got pregnant—I think it ran in her family, too, there were generations of pregnancies—so they got married.” Cath looked up at him. “And it was a disaster. She didn’t want one baby, so two was a nasty surprise.”

“How do you know all that? Did your dad tell you?”

“She told us. She thought we should know who she really was and how she’d ended up in such a lamentable situation, I guess so that we wouldn’t make the same mistakes.”

“What did she expect you to learn?”

“I don’t know,” Cath said. “Stay away from men? Maybe just ‘use a condom.’ Or ‘stay away from men who don’t know how to work a condom.’”

“You’re making me appreciate the prayer circle.”

Cath laughed for half a breath.

“When did she leave?” he asked. He already knew that her mom had left. Cath had told him once in a way that let him know she didn’t want to elaborate. But now …

“When we were eight,” she said.

“Did you see it coming?”

“No.” Cath looked up at him. “I don’t think anyone would ever see that coming. I mean, when you’re a kid, you don’t expect your mom to leave, no matter what, you know? Even if you think she doesn’t like you.”

“I’m sure she liked you.”

“She left,” Cath said, “and she never came back. Who does that?”

“I don’t know … someone who’s missing a piece.”

Cath felt tears in her eyes, and tried to blink them away.

“Do you miss her?” Levi asked.

“No,” Cath said quietly, “I couldn’t care less about her. I miss Wren.”

Levi pulled his legs back and leaned forward, crawling up Cath’s bed until he was sitting next to her. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest. “Okay?”

She nodded and leaned into him hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure how she’d fit. He traced circles on her shoulder with his thumb.

“You know,” he said, “I keep wanting to say that it’s like Simon Snow threw up in here … but it’s more like someone else ate Simon Snow—like somebody went to an all-you-care-to-eat Simon Snow buffet—and then threw up in here.”

Cath laughed. “I like it.”

“Never said I didn’t like it.”

*   *   *

As long as they were talking, it was easy. And Levi was always talking.

He told her about 4-H.

“What do the H’s stand for?”

“Head, heart, hands, health. They don’t have 4-H in South Omaha?”

“They do, but it stands for hard, hip-hop and Homey-don’t-play-that.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. You missed out on a lot of competitive rabbit breeding.”

“You raised rabbits?”

“Prize-winning rabbits,” he said. “And one year, a sow.”

“It’s like you grew up on a different planet.”

“Head, heart, hands, health … that’s really nice, don’t you think?”

“Are there photos of you somewhere with rabbits?”

“And blue ribbons,” he said.

“I might have to make a pinhole camera just to look at them.”

“Are you kidding? I was so cute, you’ll have to wear special glasses. Oh, hey, I just remembered the 4-H pledge—‘I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service, and my health to better living, for my club, my community, my country and my world.’”

Cath closed her eyes. “Where are those glasses?”

Then he told her about the state fair—more rabbits, more sows, plus a year of serious brownie-making—and he showed her photos of his four blond sisters on his phone.

Cath couldn’t keep track of their names. They were all from the Bible. “Old Testament,” Levi said. He had one sister Cath’s age and one who was still in high school.