and that’s exhausting. They don’t feel each other the way they used to, either. He doesn’t feel her exhaustion. She doesn’t feel him nod. Something has been lost in the long gulf of their separation, and he doesn’t know whether he wants it back or not.)
It would be different if they could spend some time in the same place. He’s sure of that. She’s still his best friend, and if they could sit in the same room, not talking, not doing anything but existing, they could get through this. He knows they could.
“Good morning,” he replies. “Did we forget to sleep again?”
“I didn’t forget, exactly,” says Dodger. “I had other things to do.”
“Other things like . . . ?”
“There was a Nightmare on Elm Street marathon on TV.”
Roger sighs. “You say you don’t read because you don’t like being lied to by books. Why are you addicted to lousy horror movies? Are you trying to punish me for my sins?”
“Always,” says Dodger. “Anyway, it’s not like you can see my nightmares. How would you know if I were trying to punish you? Just be glad I like something.”
“I have to put up with you when you’re exhausted.”
“Fair point.” She yawns. “Who’s in charge right now?”
“You are. I’m already at school.”
“Lucky dick with your free period.” She opens her eyes, giving Roger an unobstructed view of her ceiling. The cartoonish plastic stars from her childhood are gone, replaced by a solid field of dark blue, spattered liberally with glow-in-the-dark paint. She’s charted the cosmos on her bedroom ceiling. It’s lovely. Sometimes when he has trouble sleeping, he’ll ask her to turn off her lights and let him count the painted stars. He’s never gotten to the end before passing out.
“You could have had a free period too, if you hadn’t decided to do a half-day at Stanford.”
“Because you would totally have been able to pass that up if you had the option. Shadowing Professor Vernon while he teaches the geniuses of tomorrow? Heaven.” Dodger’s field of vision shifts as she slides off the bed and begins rooting around in the clothes littering her floor. “Although I guess that wouldn’t tempt you.”
“No, but the language offerings would. I know why you do what you do. I just wish you’d sleep more while you were doing it.”
“You’re one to talk, Mom.” Over the years since they started speaking again—swearing never to cut contact for any reason short of coma, death, or intensive cramming—they’ve both gotten very good at dressing without looking at themselves. Neither has a mirror in their bedroom. Roger can see this becoming a problem when they hit college. Presumably the dorms will come with mirrors on the closet doors, or with roommates who want to be allowed to hang their own things on the walls. That’s one more bridge to be crossed when they get to it. Assuming they both survive their last year of high school, which seems absolutely likely and utterly impossible at the same time.
To the cat that’s lived in the shelter for half of its life, the box is the only reality. Adoption is unthinkable. Roger thinks high school is like that box. It’s learning, yes, and he appreciates that, appreciates the time and effort and concern shown by the adults devoted to hammering knowledge into his thick skull. He knows it hasn’t always been easy on them, especially with the range of required subjects they spread out in front of the student body every day. He’d be valedictorian if it weren’t for physical education, which has damaged his GPA—not to the point of putting him completely underwater, but enough that two people were able to squeak past him in the student rankings. One of them is Alison, and that makes him more okay with it.
Dodger got off easier than he did. Her California curriculum included options like “aerobics” and “swimming” after freshman year, and she’s been able to avoid the horrors of team sports and endurance running. She didn’t do well on her Presidential Fitness Tests, but then, who does? Jocks and people whose native intelligence is in their bodies, not their minds. He can’t be mad at those folks for blowing the bell curve—it’s not like he doesn’t do the same to half his classes. That doesn’t mean he can’t be a little bitter.
“Plans for the day?” Roger wants another cigarette. Dodger gets mad when he smokes while he’s inside her head. She says it’s rude to subject other people to his filthy habits,