that meant Declan had canceled the appointments. He knew it was over because Adam had signed a piece of paper saying Ronan wouldn’t visit him on campus. He knew that meant Ronan would return to waiting at the Barns for him.
It felt like sadness was like radiation, like the amount of time between exposures was irrelevant, like you got a badge that eventually got filled up from a lifetime of it, and then it just killed you.
Adam Parrish and the Crying Club.
“We’re still okay,” Adam said. “This isn’t about that.”
Is there any version of you that could come with me to Cambridge?
No.
Adam went on. “I’m not trapped here on campus. I can still come to you on break.”
Ronan watched a leaf skitter along the labyrinth, scuttling effortlessly from outer ring to inner before being joined by several others. They huddled together and shivered in the breeze for a moment before hurrying off somewhere together.
“Tell me to go to school closer to you and I will,” Adam said in a rush, the words piled together. “Just say it.”
Ronan pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, checking for nightwash, but it wasn’t bad yet. “I’m not that big of an asshole.”
“Oh, you are,” Adam said, trying for humor. Failing. “Just not about that.”
The French horn had gone silent and all that was left was the sound of the city that would slowly kill Ronan if he let it. He stood up.
It was over.
You are made of dreams and this world is not for you.
11
7:07 A.M.: WAKE UP, ASSHOLE. YOU’RE ALIVE.
Ronan was awake.
He stared at a list written in dark, cramped handwriting and taped on the slanted plaster wall above his childhood bed at the Barns. After he had failed to answer any texts or calls for four days post-Cambridge, Declan had paid a surprise visit and found the middle Lynch brother in bed eating expired baked beans in the same jeans he’d been wearing on the road trip.
You need a routine, Declan had demanded.
I have a routine.
I thought you said you never lied.
7:15 A.M.: GET DRESSED AND SHAVE THAT BEAUTIFUL BALD HEAD.
It had been a long time since Ronan had gotten a proper Declan lecture. After their father died, Declan had become legally responsible for his brothers until they hit eighteen. He’d hectored Ronan constantly: Don’t skip class, Ronan. Don’t get another ticket, Ronan. Don’t stay out late with Gansey, Ronan. Don’t wear dirty socks twice in a row, Ronan. Don’t swear, Ronan. Don’t drink yourself into oblivion, Ronan. Don’t hang out with those using losers, Ronan. Don’t kill yourself, Ronan. Don’t use a double Windsor knot with that collar, Ronan.
Write your routine, Ronan. Now. While I watch. I want to see it.
7:45 A.M.: THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY.
8: 00 A.M.: FEED ANIMALS.
9: 30 A.M.: REPAIR BARNS OR HOUSE.
12: 00 P.M.: LUNCH THAT WEIRD GAS STATION.
1: 30 P.M.: RONAN LYNCH’S MARVELOUS DREAM EMPORIUM.
What does this one mean, Ronan?
It meant practice makes perfect. It meant ten thousand hours to mastery, if at first you don’t succeed, there is no try only do. Ronan had spent hours over the last year dreaming ever more complex and precise objects into being, culminating in an intricate security system that rendered the Barns largely impossible to find unless you knew exactly where you were going. After Cambridge, though, it felt like all the fun had run out of the game.
I don’t ask what you do at work, Declan.
6: 00 P.M.: DRIVE AROUND.
7:15 P.M.: NUKE SOME DINNER, YO.
7:30 P.M.: MOVIE TIME.
11:00 P.M.: TEXT PARRISH.
Adam’s most recent text said simply: $4200.
It was the amount Ronan had to send to cover the dorm room repairs.
*11:30 P.M.: GO TO BED.
*SATURDAY/SUNDAY: CHURCH/DC.
*MONDAY: LAUNDRY & GROCERY.
*TUESDAY: TEXT OR CALL GANSEY.
These last items on the list were in Declan’s handwriting, his addendums subtly suggesting all the components of a fulfilling grown-up life Ronan had missed when crafting it. They only served to depress Ronan more. Look how each week was the same, the routine announced. Look how you can predict the next forty-eight hours, seventy-two hours, ninety-six hours, look how you can predict the rest of your life. The entire word routine depressed Ronan. The sameness. Fuck everything.
Gansey texted: Declan told me to tell you to get out of bed.
Ronan texted back: why
He watched the morning light move over the varied black-gray shapes in his bedroom. Shelves of model cars; an open Uilleann pipes case; an old scuffed desk with a stuffed whale on it; a metal tree with