Today Tonight Tomorrow - Rachel Lynn Solomon Page 0,52

mom and Natalie will be my priority. So… I almost feel like I need to say goodbye and close the book on that whole situation. And—and if I won the money, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about dipping into what I’ve saved for school.”

This is what breaks my heart most of all: that he thinks he needs to use the prize money for someone who’s been so awful to him.

He’s crying. Not full-on sobs, just soft little hiccups that make the bandanna on his arm bob up and down. Neil McNair is crying.

And that’s what does it. The bed creaks as I sit down next to him, a good several inches of space between us. Still, I can feel the heat from his body.

Slowly, I lift one hand and place it on his shoulder, waiting for his reaction. It’s an odd boundary to cross. I’m even more aware of his breaths, their erratic rhythm. But then he relaxes into my touch, as though it feels good, and it’s such a huge relief that I haven’t misstepped, that I’ve reacted to this like a friend would. So I run my palm back and forth across the fabric of his T-shirt, his skin warm underneath. Then it’s not just my palm, but my fingertips, too, my thumb tracing circles on his shoulder. A hug would have been too much, too out of character, but this—this, I can do.

The entire time, I’m radically aware I am sitting on Neil McNair’s bed. This is where he sleeps, where he dreams, where he texts me every morning.

Texted me every morning.

This close, I can tell his freckles aren’t just one color, but a whole spectrum of reddish brown. Long lashes brush the lenses of his glasses. They’re a shade lighter than his hair, and I’m mesmerized by them for a moment—how delicate they are, a hundred tiny crescent moons.

When his eyes flick open to meet mine, I immediately drop my hand from his shoulder, as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be. Something my fourteen-year-old self with “destroy Neil McNair” as her ultimate goal would be very, very disappointed by.

Besides, an average amount of shoulder-comforting time has passed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and we’ve been quiet for so long that his words jolt me. He has nothing to apologize for. I should stand up. It’s strange sitting on his bed like this, but even though I’m no longer touching him, I can’t seem to make myself move. “I didn’t know I was still so messed up about this. My parents, they got divorced a couple years ago,” he continues, swiping at the tear tracks on his face. “We’ve all been in therapy, which has helped a lot. And my mom’s started dating again. Christopher, that’s her boyfriend. It’s extremely weird that my mom has a boyfriend, but I’m happy for her. And I’m not ashamed of not having money,” he adds. “I’m ashamed of what he did to us.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I say again. Softly. “Truly.”

“It’s the last day,” he says. “It’s not anything you can use against me now.” He gives what sounds like a forced laugh. “Or the crying.”

“Never,” I say emphatically. I want him to know it is okay to cry around me, that it’s not a sign of weakness. “I swear. I wouldn’t have. Even if we were going to school on Monday.” I wait for him to meet my eyes again. “Neil. You have to believe I’d never have done something like that.”

Slowly, he nods. “No, you’re right.”

“We can change the subject,” I say, and he lets out an audible exhale.

“Please.”

I spring to my feet, unable to handle the reality of being on Neil McNair’s bed any longer. It feels warm in here, despite the low thermostat setting. The bookshelves feel like a much safer part of the room.

“When you said you were a fan… wow. You might have more copies than my parents.”

He kneels next to me, examining the books. “Don’t laugh, but—they were like this adventure I felt like I’d never get to have,” he says. “We’ve gone on every car trip imaginable in the Pacific Northwest, but I’ve never been on a plane. The Excavated books were a way for me to experience it all. It used to make me sad that I didn’t have that… but I knew I would someday.”

“Next year,” I say softly. “I hear college is something of an adventure.”

He spends a lot of time assessing the bookshelves, pulling a

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