“SO THIS IS WHERE you live?” Tyler says as he steps into my living room. I spent the morning cleaning and straightening and organizing. I couldn’t believe how disgusting I’d let it become. “Dani said it was normal. I didn’t believe her, though.”
“What do you mean, why wouldn’t it be normal?”
“You’re such a control freak, I figured you probably lived in a sterilized bubble, or something. Guess you’re really human after all,” he says, this sly grin on his face.
“Thanks, I guess. Come on in.”
We get set up around the coffee table. We tag-team it. Tyler’s the point person for calculus. I’m in charge of English and chem. Both of us suck in history, so we decide to tackle it together. We’re at it for hours. It feels good to work hard again, to be good at something again.
As it begins to get dark outside, I’m aware of a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, but for once the cause is not worry, it is simply to tell me how hungry I am. “Wanna take a snack break?” I ask Tyler.
“Good God,” he says, closing his laptop. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I raid the kitchen, which is admittedly devoid of much within a valid expiration date these days. “Tater Tots and Pizza Rolls?” I call out to Tyler, finding the only halfway respectable items left in the freezer.
“Perfection!” he yells back.
Twenty minutes later I’m dumping the sizzling Tater Tots and Pizza Rolls onto two plates, which I bring to the table. “Brain food is served,” I announce.
He takes a seat next to me, and I suddenly realize how nice it is to have someone else around. “Where is everybody?” he asks. “I thought you had, like, ten siblings or something?”
“Two.” I laugh, blowing on a Pizza Roll before putting it in my mouth. “But it’s just me now.”
“What do you mean? It can’t just be you,” he says, selectively searching for the perfect Tater Tot.
“It is,” I admit.
“How?” he says, clearly still not taking me seriously.
I shrug. “I honestly don’t know.”
He stares at the table for a few seconds before he looks back at me. “But how?” he repeats, popping the Tater Tot in his mouth at last.
“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been lying to everyone about it, so I’m not sure anyone really knows. I’m probably getting kicked out soon, though, so I won’t be able to hide it much longer.”
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “I don’t know the details, obviously, but you can stay at my house if you need a place. My mom would be cool with it, I know she would.”
“You would really do that? Even though you’re Dani’s friend?”
He stares at me, unblinking, as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “For such a smart person, you can be so completely dense sometimes.”
“Why? Or is that a totally dense question?”
“Yes, it is. Because I can’t believe you still can’t seem to comprehend the fact I’m your friend too, Brooke.”
“Oh” is all I can say.
“Oh? That’s it? You’re not gonna tell me I’m your friend too?”
“No, you are. You definitely are, you’re one of my only friends.”
“Dork,” he says, tossing a Tater Tot at me.
I catch it and throw it back at him.
“Okay, change of subject. What are these?” he asks, tapping his finger against a stack of photos from my birthday party that have been sitting there for months. Jackie had them printed and gave me copies. I haven’t even looked at them yet.
“Nothing, just stupid pictures from my birthday,” I tell him, trying not to remember how great that day was.
“Thanks for inviting me, by the way,” he jokes as he shuffles through them, smiling at some, and then he stops and flips one over so I can see. It’s the photo of me and Dani. Our first picture together. She has her arm around me and we’re both smiling so hugely. I take it from him, but I can only stand to look at it for a second before I have to give it back. He studies the picture closer and says, “You two are so cute.”
“ ‘Were,’ you mean,” I correct.
“You miss her?” he asks.
I let my head fall into my hands for a moment. “Yeah,” I groan. When I look up, he’s grinning at me. “What?”
He sighs and pops a Tater Tot in his mouth. Then he slides the plate closer so I can snag one for myself, never answering.
“How do you manage to stay so damn calm all the time?” I ask him, wondering if I could ever learn to be like that.
He shrugs. “I’m simply on a mission to not have a bunch of wrinkles by the time I’m twenty-five. I plan on looking this good for a long time. I told you before, I don’t do stress. Unlike you”—he touches the spot in the center of my forehead, between my eyebrows, with his index finger and pushes ever so slightly—“a girl who’s on her way to getting a big, fat worry line right there.”
I laugh, shake my head. “I guess I pretty much blew it with her,” I admit to him, and to myself.
“Listen, she’s just hurt. And if she didn’t still care, she wouldn’t still be complaining about you to me. Every. Single. Damn. Day.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. I also say, you need to come out of hibernation and start fixing things.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” I tell him.
“Just apologize. And be honest with her—that’s all she wanted in the first place. You realize that, right?”
“I guess so,” I admit.
“So, suck it up. Do that, and I bet she’d be willing to give it another go—but don’t tell her I told you to,” he warns me, flinging another Tater Tot in my direction.