28

When it’s almost over
Promise me you’ll be there.
When it’s almost over
Promise me you’ll care.

— Llama Parade

I FOUND THE COURAGE TO SPEAK to Lando the following week at school. “Hi.”

He looked around. “You talking to me?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he said. “Because I thought it was best if I left you alone. So I’m going to do that now.”

My heart felt like a stake was in it as I watched Lando walk away. I wanted him to leave me alone. But I also completely and totally didn’t want him to leave me alone. My brain had never felt so dysfunctional, and normally it was pretty high functioning.

I trudged to the cafeteria and sat down with Zion at our usual table. “Why you being so mean to my brother, huh?” he said the moment my butt touched the seat.

I slumped in my chair. I didn’t want to eat anything. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because he said that you totally dissed him.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah.” Zion crossed his arms. I found his little defensive act on behalf of Lando really sweet.

“I don’t understand you guys,” I said. “One minute you’re defending each other and the next you’re about to beat each other up. Then you’re defending each other again.”

“We’re brothers.”

“Well, I guess I don’t get brothers. And I definitely don’t get why Lando cares about how I treat him.” I glanced over at Lando’s table. “Look at all the friends he has.”

“So you can’t be his friend?”

“Of course I can be his friend.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be his friend!”

“Why? Do you hate him?”

I let my head fall onto the lunch table with a satisfying thwap. “I don’t hate him at all,” I mumbled. “I completely the opposite of hate him.”

I finally looked up at Zion, my forehead throbbing. He had his mouth open in a small circle the size of a Cheerio.

“Please don’t tell anybody,” I said. “Especially not him.”

“He thinks you don’t like him at all.”

“Good,” I said. “It’s better that way.”

“I don’t think so. I think you’re torturing yourself for no reason. It’s better to be friends than nothing at all.”

I squinted at him. “Have you called Trilby since homecoming?”

Zion’s eyes shot down to his sandwich. “No.”

“Why not? Didn’t you guys have a nice time together?”

“I guess.”

“Why don’t you call her? I think she likes you.”

Zion shook his head. “There’s no way she could like me.”

“Then why did she agree to go to homecoming with you?”

“You heard her. Because she always thought she’d never get to go to dances, being a homeschooler and all.”

“So . . . you think she was using you? You’re starting to sound like my grandma.”

“Josephine?”

“Yeah. You sound like an old lady.”

“No. I sound like you, which means you’re the one who sounds like an old lady.”

I saw Henry sitting in a rocking chair as I walked through Stagecoach Pass after school that day. I walked up the steps. “Hey, Henry.”

He sat there staring, his mouth hung open, completely still. “Henry?”

He didn’t move. I nudged him with my foot. “Henry?”

He slowly turned his head to me. “Hm?”

“Are you okay?” I sat down in a rocking chair next to him.

“Hm?” he said again then stared off at nothing.

“Henry?” I said more sharply this time.

He looked at me again. “Oh, hi,” he said slowly.

“Hi. Do you know who I am?”

“Aven Cavanaugh.”

“No, I’m Aven Green. I’m going to go get my dad.”

As I walked down the steps, I heard Henry say, “But you don’t have a dad.”

Dad and I helped Henry upstairs to his apartment. Henry was so confused, I wasn’t sure he knew who Dad was.

While Dad helped Henry get into bed, I walked around the tiny apartment, like something in there might offer a clue about Henry’s past. But it was bare—no pictures, no decorations, no personal touches. Just the minimum amount of furniture a person needed to live. There should have been photographs of friends and family and souvenirs he’d collected on vacations and gifts he’d been given by people who loved him. The thought of him growing up in the orphanages made my chest hurt. And the thought of him living here in this sparse apartment all these years broke my heart.

Henry didn’t even have a TV. There was only a small shelf of books. I scanned over the titles, but they were mostly old touristy type books about Arizona. I imagined some of them had come from the souvenir shop who knows how long ago. It was like a hotel room Henry had only planned on staying in a short time.

I sat down on Henry’s small worn sofa and waited for Dad. He came out of Henry’s room and sat next to me. He sighed as he rubbed his eyes and forehead.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

“I don’t know. He seems to be getting worse all the time.”

“Some days are good.”

“Yeah, but those are getting fewer and farther between.” Dad put an arm around me and squeezed. “I don’t want you to worry about it, Sheebs. You have enough to worry about right now.”

But I was worried about Henry. And I was worried he would die without ever knowing where he had come from and whether he had any family out there searching for him.