pile of dirt.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Sure.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry. For real.” He came and wrapped his arms around me, his cheek against my dirty hair.
He sighed. “That was a close one, though.”
“Was it?” I didn’t get it. Mega clean freak?
“I know that wasn’t normal.”
“I don’t care about normal,” I said, looking around the room for the first time. You couldn’t technically call it a bedroom, because there was no bed. There wasn’t really any furniture at all except for a small desk covered in clothes, trash, Spin magazines, and a broken Walkman with headphones. A crooked lamp stood in one corner, one of the bulbs burned out. There was a black electric guitar—missing most of its strings—propped up against a tiny amp. A big faded rug covered most of the floor. An old brown mini-fridge huddled against another wall, where a pile of books was stacked on top. Okay, so James definitely wasn’t a clean freak. I knew that he didn’t live here year-round, I knew he was away at school most of the time, so he probably kept his important possessions and other furniture there, but still—not a single photo or poster on the walls?
I stared at the bareness, wondering. Something was so wrong, but I couldn’t place it. The walls were off-white and old-looking and totally barren, but that wasn’t the problem. I wobbled a bit and it hit me: no windows. There were no windows anywhere. It was a face without eyebrows, too weird.
“Sorry there’s nowhere to sit. I’m not here often.”
“Where do you sleep?” I had to know where I wouldsleep if I slept over. If I slept over tonight, for instance.
“On the floor, in the walk-in.” He pointed to a sliding closet door over on the far wall. “I like confined spaces when I sleep. Creature comforts.”
I sat down on the rug and patted the spot in front of me. James sat too, stretching his long, thin legs out. He messed with his hair, and then he reached around me and tucked in the tag of his blue shirt, under the neck. I felt his touch, and it was awesome.
“Thanks for coming over,” he said.
“Thanks for…inviting me?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m like an island.”
“Like Aruba?”
“More like Cape Fear.”
I gestured to the room, to the empty walls. “So, what? You hate fresh air?”
“L.A.’s too bright. And I sleep too late.”
“I sleep till dinner and I still have windows. There’re these things called blinds. Ask Naomi about them.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he said. “So, how were the hats?”
“The party was a total stain. Pun intended. Libby looked great, but she’s dating one of those jerks who spilled their wine on me, so I know she’s a mess.” I rolled my eyes and said, “And now Morgan’s pissed at me for—” and then I stopped myself, realizing I didn’t want to talkabout this in front of James. “So, whatever. It was lame I even went. I should’ve come here.”
“No, I should’ve come with you. Or at least made Naomi go. We suck at going to parties.”
“Me too. I never want to go out, but when Libby says ‘party jump’ you just say ‘how high?’ and pull it together.” I noticed I was tapping my foot, which I only did when I was nervous. “She’s, like, my best friend.”
“Sure,” he said, and then to stop the tapping he started stroking my foot. “Well, next time I’ll come for protection.”
“Just from Morgan, please.” Then I nodded and said, “Or for Morgan. From me.”
And that was it, the conversation about my night was over. I could tell James had zero intention of offering up his own evening’s activities, but for some reason I felt okay about it. Things seemed somehow simplified up in this little glowing box.
I leaned back and lay flat on the floor, using a sweatshirt hoodie for a pillow. “What’s boarding school like?”
He moved over and lay alongside me, both of us facing up. There was a cobwebbed ceiling fan,
“Thanks,” he said.
“Sure.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry. For real.” He came and wrapped his arms around me, his cheek against my dirty hair.
He sighed. “That was a close one, though.”
“Was it?” I didn’t get it. Mega clean freak?
“I know that wasn’t normal.”
“I don’t care about normal,” I said, looking around the room for the first time. You couldn’t technically call it a bedroom, because there was no bed. There wasn’t really any furniture at all except for a small desk covered in clothes, trash, Spin magazines, and a broken Walkman with headphones. A crooked lamp stood in one corner, one of the bulbs burned out. There was a black electric guitar—missing most of its strings—propped up against a tiny amp. A big faded rug covered most of the floor. An old brown mini-fridge huddled against another wall, where a pile of books was stacked on top. Okay, so James definitely wasn’t a clean freak. I knew that he didn’t live here year-round, I knew he was away at school most of the time, so he probably kept his important possessions and other furniture there, but still—not a single photo or poster on the walls?
I stared at the bareness, wondering. Something was so wrong, but I couldn’t place it. The walls were off-white and old-looking and totally barren, but that wasn’t the problem. I wobbled a bit and it hit me: no windows. There were no windows anywhere. It was a face without eyebrows, too weird.
“Sorry there’s nowhere to sit. I’m not here often.”
“Where do you sleep?” I had to know where I wouldsleep if I slept over. If I slept over tonight, for instance.
“On the floor, in the walk-in.” He pointed to a sliding closet door over on the far wall. “I like confined spaces when I sleep. Creature comforts.”
I sat down on the rug and patted the spot in front of me. James sat too, stretching his long, thin legs out. He messed with his hair, and then he reached around me and tucked in the tag of his blue shirt, under the neck. I felt his touch, and it was awesome.
“Thanks for coming over,” he said.
“Thanks for…inviting me?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m like an island.”
“Like Aruba?”
“More like Cape Fear.”
I gestured to the room, to the empty walls. “So, what? You hate fresh air?”
“L.A.’s too bright. And I sleep too late.”
“I sleep till dinner and I still have windows. There’re these things called blinds. Ask Naomi about them.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he said. “So, how were the hats?”
“The party was a total stain. Pun intended. Libby looked great, but she’s dating one of those jerks who spilled their wine on me, so I know she’s a mess.” I rolled my eyes and said, “And now Morgan’s pissed at me for—” and then I stopped myself, realizing I didn’t want to talkabout this in front of James. “So, whatever. It was lame I even went. I should’ve come here.”
“No, I should’ve come with you. Or at least made Naomi go. We suck at going to parties.”
“Me too. I never want to go out, but when Libby says ‘party jump’ you just say ‘how high?’ and pull it together.” I noticed I was tapping my foot, which I only did when I was nervous. “She’s, like, my best friend.”
“Sure,” he said, and then to stop the tapping he started stroking my foot. “Well, next time I’ll come for protection.”
“Just from Morgan, please.” Then I nodded and said, “Or for Morgan. From me.”
And that was it, the conversation about my night was over. I could tell James had zero intention of offering up his own evening’s activities, but for some reason I felt okay about it. Things seemed somehow simplified up in this little glowing box.
I leaned back and lay flat on the floor, using a sweatshirt hoodie for a pillow. “What’s boarding school like?”
He moved over and lay alongside me, both of us facing up. There was a cobwebbed ceiling fan,
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