Ignite Me - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,59

said he didn’t want to fight back anymore—”

“Yeah, well.” Kenji nods. “Apparently that doesn’t mean he wants to lose all his friends at once.”

I shake my head. “He’s not being fair.”

“I know,” Kenji says. Sighs again. “Anyway, it’s good to see you, princess, but I’m tired as hell. And hungry. Grumpy. You know.” He makes a haphazard motion with his hand. Slumps to the floor.

He’s not telling me something.

“What’s wrong?” I sit down across from him and lower my voice.

He looks up, meets my eyes.

“I miss James, okay? I miss that kid.” Kenji sounds so tired. I can actually see the exhaustion in his eyes. “I didn’t want to leave him behind.”

My heart sinks fast.

Of course.

James.

“I’m so sorry. I wish there’d been a way we could’ve brought him with us.”

Kenji flicks an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt. “It’s probably safer for him where he is,” he says, but it’s obvious he doesn’t believe a word of it. “I just wish Kent would stop being such a dick.”

I cringe.

“This could all be amazing if he would just get his shit together,” Kenji says. “But no, he has to go and get all weird and crazy and dramatic.” He blows out a breath. “He’s so freaking emotional,” Kenji says suddenly. “Everything is such a big deal to him. He can’t just let things go. He can’t just be cool and move on with his life. I just . . . I don’t know. Whatever. I just wish James were here. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

Kenji makes a weird face. Waves his hand at nothing. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

I look up and find that everyone else has dispersed.

Castle, Ian, Alia, and Lily are heading to the locker room, while Winston and Brendan wander around the facility. They’re touching the rock wall right now, having a conversation I can’t hear.

I scoot closer to Kenji. Prop my head in my hands.

“So,” he says. “I don’t see you for twenty-four hours and you and Warner go from let’s-hug-in-super-dramatic-fashion to let-me-give-you-an-ice-cold-shoulder, huh?” Kenji is tracing shapes into the mats underneath us. “Must be an interesting story there.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re seriously not going to tell me what happened?” He looks up, offended. “I tell you everything.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Don’t be fresh.”

“What’s really going on, Kenji?” I study his face, his weak attempt at humor. “You seem different today. Off.”

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “I told you. I just didn’t want to leave James.”

“But that’s not all, is it?”

He says nothing.

I look into my lap. “You can tell me anything, you know. You’ve always been there for me and I’ll always be here if you need to talk, too.”

Kenji rolls his eyes. “Why do you have to make me feel all guilty about not wanting to participate in share-your-feelings-story-time?”

“I’m n—”

“I’m just—I’m in a really shitty mood, okay?” He looks off to the side. “I feel weird. Like I just want to be pissed off today. Like I just want to punch people in the face for no reason.”

I pull my knees up to my chest. Rest my chin on my knees. Nod. “You’ve had a hard day.”

He grunts. Nods and looks at the wall. Presses a fist into the mat. “Sometimes I just get really tired, you know?” He stares at his fist, at the shapes he makes by pressing his knuckles into the soft, spongy material. “Like I just get really fed up.” His voice is suddenly so quiet, it’s almost like he’s not talking to me at all. I can see his throat move, the emotions caught in his chest. “I keep losing people,” he says. “It’s like every day I’m losing people. Every goddamn day. I’m so sick of it—I’m so sick and tired of it—”

“Kenji—,” I try to say.

“I missed you, J.” He’s still studying the mats. “I wish you’d been there last night.”

“I missed you, too.”

“I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“I thought you didn’t like talking about your feelings,” I tease him, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t bite.

“It just gets really heavy sometimes.” He looks away. “Too heavy. Even for me. And some days I don’t want to laugh,” he says. “I don’t want to be funny. I don’t want to give a shit about anything. Some days I just want to sit on my ass and cry. All day long.” His hands stop moving against the mats. “Is that crazy?” he asks quietly, still not meeting my gaze.

I blink hard against the stinging in my eyes. “No,” I