if he lightly grazes my arm one more time, I just might explode and cause the walls of this cramped, stifling shed to blast apart.
By the fourth time Toby yawns, I snort. “You’re passing out.”
“Long day at school, auditions, then work …” He blinks his wet eyes, rubs them, then shakes his head with resolve. “No, I’m fine. I can stay up. Let me just …” He adjusts himself on the bed, turning so his head is on the pillow and his feet are toward the foot of the bed, his back pressed up against the wall. “There. Better. Weren’t you gonna tell me somethin’ about—” Another yawn cuts him off. “—about somethin’?”
I smirk as I glance back at the TV, then start flipping through channels. “You’d just mentioned having a stepbrother. I was just saying … I don’t know what that’s like, having any kind of brother or sister. It’s always just been me and me, my whole life. No one to really rely on. Or depend on. Or confide in.” I think back on my life in California, which feels like a faded dream. Did it even happen? Did I actually grow up there? Can I even count those superficial friendships I made as a child, or were they as fleeting as anything else? “Nothing feels permanent in my life. And when it’s always changing—who my friends are, where my school is, what town I’m living in—it’s difficult to grow attached to anything. Guess I’ve just never gotten the sense that I … that I belong anywhere at all.”
After a moment of listening to the TV’s white-noise murmur, I turn to Toby. He’s drifted off, his deep breathing so soft, I barely hear it. With a click, I shut off the TV, casting the shed into total darkness save one or two blinking lights from his computer. I peel off my shirt and pitch it at the desk chair, then kick off my boots and gently lie back on the bed, one of my legs hanging off the side, my socked foot on the floor. My head rests on the very edge of what’s left of Toby’s pillow, and after a moment, his soft breaths tickle my ear. It makes me smile in the dark, listening to him sleep so peacefully.
Why is it so much easier to smile in the dark? Why is it so much easier to be myself when no one’s looking?
How the hell am I going to pull off doing this play?
I close my eyes and ignore the less-than-gentle pit-pat of my eager heart. I can only pray whatever I dream up in the night is something that won’t result in me waking up with a huge boner making a teepee out of my pants.
Morning comes in the form of a harsh light in my eyes. It cuts a path straight across the pillow from the narrow window above his desk. I lift a hand to shield my face, annoyed. I seem to be in the exact position I fell asleep: on my back, a leg half-hanging off the bed, my head on a sliver of pillow. Toby, however, is curled up and facing the wall, his back to me. I watch him for a while as his back gently expands and contracts with his every breath. A sleepy smile slowly spills over my face, watching him. Not a bad sight to behold first thing in the morning, all things considered. I shift my weight carefully, so as to stretch my stiff back and neck.
I fall off the bed instead.
Toby shoots up like a bomb just went off. He turns and peers over the edge of the bed, alarmed. “You alright??” he asks, groggy and deep-voiced. “Did I push you off the bed? I kick sometimes in my sleep. Ugh, I was worried about that.”
“No. Not your fault.” I sit up and rub my elbow. “Got punished by gravity for turning over, I guess.”
“Lemme help you up.” Toby reaches for my hand.
“Nah, it’s fine,” I insist as I start to push myself off the floor.
“C’mon, I insist.” He takes hold of my hand before I’m ready.
Instead of the floor, my foot finds a baseball that materializes out of nowhere. It slips right out from under me, flying into the wall. My hand—still gripped by Toby—pulls me right back to the bed where I land with unexpected grace on top of Toby.
I do half a push-up, looking down on his bewildered face.
Toby looks up at mine,