“More like that whole atheist thing.” Josh sees my surprise and adds a verbal asterisk. “Don’t tell the press. My father can’t afford to lose the Jewish vote.” But he rolls his eyes as he says it.
“Your dad doesn’t practise, either?”
“No, he does. My parents both do, in that whole go-to-temple-twice-a-year way. But politics and media, can’t be too careful.” His tone suggests that he’s quoting something they’ve told him at least a thousand times.
I pause. And then I decide to push the subject one step further. “Your dad is running for re-election this year. That must be weird.”
“Not really. In our house, there’s always something that needs campaigning. It’s just a pain in the ass, that’s all.”
I expected this reaction. I’ve always assumed that the dark shadow he carries – the one that defies the rules and manipulates the system, the one that’s inked into the very skin of his arm – has something to do with his parents. But I know better than to keep questioning him. Kurt has given me both practice and patience when it comes to getting someone to open up. Because of this, I’m also skilled at subject changes.
“You know,” I tease, “you still haven’t told me why you’re here. You were…passing by? Wanted to brag about getting a week off from school?”
“Oh. Uh, right.” Josh sort of laughs and glances out my window. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go out.”
Holy.
Shit.
“I’m on my way to Album,” he continues, referring to a nearby comics shop. “Since we were talking about that new Sfar earlier, I thought if you weren’t busy, you might want to come along.”
…Oh.
My heart beats like a cracked-out drummer. Josh, don’t do that to a lady. I’m still clutching the book about the shipwreck, so I set it down to wipe my sweaty palms. “Sure. I’m meeting Kurt in two hours for dinner, but yeah. Sure.”
At the mention of Kurt, Josh winces slightly. Which makes me wince. But then, as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity, he leans over and nabs my book. Reads the back cover. And then holds it up along with a single raised eyebrow.
“I like stories about adventure. Especially if there’s some kind of disaster involved.”
The eyebrow remains arched.
I laugh. “I read the ones with happy endings, too.”
Josh gestures towards my shelves. “You read a lot.”
“Safer than going on a real adventure.”
Now he’s the one who laughs. “Maybe.”
Leave it to me to admit cowardice to the object of my long-time infatuation. I jump to my feet in embarrassment. “Speaking of adventure.”
Josh watches me remove a pair of platform sandals from underneath my bed. I turn my head to smile at him and catch his eyes dart from my cle**age to the ceiling. He closes them as if cursing himself. My pulse quickens, but I feign ignorance. I slide into my shoes. “Ready?”
He nods without meeting my gaze. I grab my bag, and we head for the door. He pulls out the textbook, pushes it across my floor, and shuts the door behind us.
It pops open.
He slams it again.
It pops open.
I yank it closed while tugging the handle down just so. We watch it. It stays.
“Sorry. My door sucks.”
“Um, actually.” Josh’s hands are in his pockets again. His shoulders are practically up to his ears as we head towards the exit. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault that your door sucks.”
“It is?” I’m not sure why, but this delights me. “What’d you do?”