And she’s gone as short with me as I’m being with her.
“Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
I sit next to her and we drink our sodas, the Llewelyn women. Same way of sitting, same way of bouncing one foot as if we’re listening to music. Still alike, even with all this space between us.
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
“No.”
“How old is he?”
“My age.”
“He looks older.”
“He’s not.”
“Is he going to college?”
“I think he’s taking a gap year. He came here to work with Outward Bound because he wants to help people.” I don’t mention that it was originally that or juvie. “He’s a really talented photographer. He takes photos where there isn’t much beauty and makes them beautiful.”
I’ve clearly made him sound like a mother’s dream, because my mom, who could earn her living as a psychic due to her ability to see through people—especially me—goes, “Wow. Sounds serious.”
“It is and it isn’t. It’s only for the summer.”
“I remember my first time,” she says.
“Oh God.”
“His name was Ryan and he was a year older, and I thought he was the most amazing thing ever. I was going into my senior year, and he went off to college in Texas and said he wanted me to still be his girlfriend. I think he only called me, like, twice after he left. He was always too busy, and later I found out he’d come home to see his parents but hadn’t told me. I was devastated. He tried to win me back over the summer, but by that point I was done.”
“Do you wish you’d waited for someone else?” I ask, thinking about my dad, about the life that might have been.
“No. At the time, he was everything. But that’s a very personal decision. I haven’t been with a lot of men, Claude, but I’ve been lucky that they were good men.”
She falls quiet and I know she’s waiting for me to say something.
“I’m not talking about him with you.” But I wish I could say, I think I love this boy. But I don’t want to love this boy because I’m going to have to say goodbye in two weeks and I’ll probably never see him again. So I’m trying not to love him. I’m trying to just hook up with him and have fun with him and not get too attached. That’s how I’m supposed to do it, right? That’s how Alannis does it, and she’s been dating since she was twelve.
“You don’t have to, as long as you know you can always talk to me.”
We stare down at our bouncing feet.
She says, “Addy’s coming to see us.”
“When?”
“Sunday.”
I don’t know what makes me ask, “Dad isn’t coming, is he?”
“No.”
“Good.”
DAY 19
I sit on the living room floor playing Jenga with Jared, Wednesday, Emory, and Grady. His white hair falls in his eyes and he’s wearing three skull rings on his left hand. His fingers are long and thin and make me think of a spider.
Emory says, “I was fifteen the first time. I thought it was mind-blowing. But I look back now, experienced man of nineteen that I am—”
Wednesday coughs loudly in his direction as she sits forward, tapping on the blocks, light enough so that she doesn’t knock over the tower.
Emory bumps her arm and she pulls her hands back, away from the tower, which wobbles but doesn’t fall. She play-slaps him on the shoulder. “Asshole.”
He laughs. “As I was saying. I look back now and I’m like, Yeah, it was actually a disaster. Neither of us knew what the hell we were doing.”
Miah walks in from the bathroom and settles himself next to me. “What’d I miss?”
Wednesday says, “How You Lost It. Specifically when and, if you feel like offering it up, who.” She smiles at Miah, at me, and my whole body goes rigid because of course she’s doing this on purpose. She says, “I was seventeen. His name was Nicholas. I waited as long as I could. My sisters are saving themselves for marriage, and I’m pretty sure my family assumes I am too. I can’t talk to any of them about it because I’d probably be cast out or something.”
I go, “Is that why you cast yourself out first? Before they could?”
She freezes, fingers on a block. “Maybe.” One of the blocks gives, and she pushes it out and places it on top, then sits back. “What about you?” She looks at Miah.
“What about me?” He leans back, studying the tower through one eye and