ruffles the top of his head and kisses Nathan’s temple. “But you’ve still got me worried.”
“Do you want me to order?” Mr. Allan asks his wife, his phone already in his hand.
“Yes, honey. Just get a large cheese and a large pepperoni.”
“Got it. Huh? Oh, yes. I’d like to place an order …” Mr. Allan says into the phone before he starts walking down the hallway, his voice trailing off with him.
“So, how long have you been at Wake, Ben?” Mrs. Allan asks. I guess that means that Nathan hasn’t told them anything. Not that I thought he would; it’s just … nice to know he kept that secret.
“A few months now. I moved here in January.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
I shrug. “It’s nice. Different.”
“I was so nervous about Nathan going to a new school when we came here. It’s got to feel strange having to start all over. New friends, new classes, new teachers.”
“Yeah.” I lean back against the counter, eyeing Nathan.
“Do your parents like it here?”
“I live with my sister.” For some reason it feels impossible to lie to Mrs. Allan.
She doesn’t ask for details, like it’s not this super strange thing to her. But maybe it isn’t, plenty of people live with their siblings, I guess. “Does your sister like it?”
“Yeah, but she’s lived here for a while.” I can see her trying to connect the dots in her head. Whether or not she comes to the right conclusion, I’m not sure. Seems doubtful.
“I’m glad you and Nathan are friends. It’s tough to go through high school alone.”
“Okay, okay.” Nathan stands up. “Enough of the interrogation.”
“I was just asking questions,” Mrs. Allan protests.
“And Ben’s had a very busy day, so we’re going to go watch TV.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Allan,” I say, before Nathan grabs my hand.
“You too, Ben.” Then she has to shout because we’re already halfway down the hall. “We’ll call you down when dinner gets here!”
“Thanks, Mom!” Nathan shouts, and he takes me right back to his room. “I’m going to use the bathroom real quick, okay?”
“Okay.” I watch him vanish back down the hallway, and it dawns on me that I’m in Nathan Allan’s room all by myself.
My eyes catch all the titles lining his flooded shelves. I really just want to spend the better part of a day organizing all of these for him. There are at least five copies of Pride and Prejudice, all their covers battered and worn. I flip through one, but see that he’s written things in the margins, faded highlighter decorating entire passages.
I put it back down quickly. That feels too personal, almost like I’m peeping into his diary. The rest of the books range from fantasy to contemporary stories. I can even recognize a few of them.
There doesn’t seem to be any sort of organization though. Not by series, or author’s last name, or title. Even the heights of all the books are off. His desk is neat, at least, the screen saver of his laptop playing in the background.
There’s a calendar with nearly all the days crossed off as we get closer to the end of April, and a handful of pictures have been pinned to the corkboard that hangs on the wall. Ones of Nathan and his mom, another one of all three of them downtown. They remind me so much of the pictures Mom took. Photos of a happy family at play.
Except when I look at Nathan and his parents, I feel like I see an actual family.
“Hey.”
I jump at Nathan’s voice. Oh God, what if he thinks I was looking through his things? I mean, I guess technically I am, but just the pictures. I wasn’t going through his drawers or anything.
“We took that last year.” He motions to the wall of photos, and it’s hard to tell which one he’s really talking about before he walks over, his fingers brushing it. It’s one with him, Sophie, and Meleika in the water. “They couldn’t believe I’d never been to a beach. Those aren’t exactly common in Colorado.”
“Is that where you lived before?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “It was weird. Never actually been to one before, but the sand was really warm, and it felt nice under my feet.”
“That’s before you get in the water,” I say. “After that it just starts sticking to you and you’ll never get it all off.”
“Fair enough. Can’t say I’ve really felt the urge to go back.”
I feel the brush of his fingers, and