look at him and he’s grinning. I wonder if he really does have a therapist.
“Nah,” he says, as if I spoke the question out loud. “I don’t have a therapist. Too rich for my blood.”
Not mine but I don’t tell him that. Part of me wants to tell him to go away, but in a strange way, I’m actually grateful for his company. He’s not all in my face or flipping out, and honestly it seems to me having a breakdown with company is somehow slightly less terrifying than doing it alone.
So we sit on the curb. He rocks back and forth, kind of humming a song under his breath. I don’t say anything, and for a moment I let myself feel what I’m feeling without trying to hide from it. Nick doesn’t scream or run away from me, and it’s the most emotionally exposed I’ve ever felt in front of a boy. But the thing is, I don’t get struck by lightning. I don’t turn to ashes. And he doesn’t laugh at me.
I watch little ants crawl all over my sneakers, and sniffle, and wipe under my eyes. “Did you know ants can lift up to fifty times their own weight? That’s like an eighty-pound kid lifting four thousand pounds.”
Nick blinks, his features void of emotion. “And you’re telling me this, because…?”
I shrug. “My head is full of useless facts.” I glance sideways at him. “You really want to go to a therapist?” I ask him. “I could spot you a loan.” I don’t know what prompts me to say that. I sense he really does want to and it makes me like him a little better.
He laughs out loud and the sound gives me a tiny jolt of pleasure. “I don’t take handouts.” His voice is light but I sense some acidity under it. “Not even to improve my emotional health.”
I nod. “You just get drunk instead?”
His lips straighten in a thin line and he looks away from me. My glow vanishes and I blush, wondering who I think I am, trying to act all mature and capable of witty repertoire. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I probably deserved it.” He smiles but it fades fast and its absence makes him look kind of sad. We’re both quiet for a moment as we sit on the curb. It’s surprisingly comfortable. I don’t feel the need to get up or escape from him.
“So,” he finally says. “Let me guess why you’re so unhappy. You just got your first period?” His eyebrows wiggle up and down.
A laugh spurts from my mouth like water from an unclogging tap, and I quickly put my hand over my lips. “That’s a totally jerky thing to say.” I try to sound mad, but don’t cut it.
“I know.” He grins and his eyes light up and they’re blue and much nicer when he’s not drunk and smelly. “Okay then. Let me guess. You got an A minus on a test? Or worse, a B plus?”
I turn my head, trying to hide my smile, wondering how he knows I’m a brainiac. And then I look down at my loose jeans and hoodie and remember it’s kind of obvious. Look at me. I ooze geek. It’s not like he’s thought about it before this moment. A sigh slips out again.
He stands then and holds out his hand to pull me up. When we touch, a thrill races through me and my cheeks blaze. Man, what is wrong with me today? I would be a mess if boys talked to me all the time.
“Things aren’t always as bad as they might seem.” He checks his watch. “You are aware, Tess, that you skipped out of school in order to have this near-fatal collision? And that skipping is frowned upon by the faculty?”
Technically, I am skipping, but for once, rules don’t matter. I’m entitled to an emotional health day. Like the days when Mom called in sick for Kristina so they could go to movies or to the spa. They asked me to join them, but I’d always said no. Afraid I’d somehow be caught. I sense those days are over now.
“What about you?” I say. “You’re obviously skipping too.”
He jumps off the curb to the road. “Sort of. I’m heading off for my tee time.”
“Tea or tee?” I make the motions of drinking from a cup
“Nah,” he says, as if I spoke the question out loud. “I don’t have a therapist. Too rich for my blood.”
Not mine but I don’t tell him that. Part of me wants to tell him to go away, but in a strange way, I’m actually grateful for his company. He’s not all in my face or flipping out, and honestly it seems to me having a breakdown with company is somehow slightly less terrifying than doing it alone.
So we sit on the curb. He rocks back and forth, kind of humming a song under his breath. I don’t say anything, and for a moment I let myself feel what I’m feeling without trying to hide from it. Nick doesn’t scream or run away from me, and it’s the most emotionally exposed I’ve ever felt in front of a boy. But the thing is, I don’t get struck by lightning. I don’t turn to ashes. And he doesn’t laugh at me.
I watch little ants crawl all over my sneakers, and sniffle, and wipe under my eyes. “Did you know ants can lift up to fifty times their own weight? That’s like an eighty-pound kid lifting four thousand pounds.”
Nick blinks, his features void of emotion. “And you’re telling me this, because…?”
I shrug. “My head is full of useless facts.” I glance sideways at him. “You really want to go to a therapist?” I ask him. “I could spot you a loan.” I don’t know what prompts me to say that. I sense he really does want to and it makes me like him a little better.
He laughs out loud and the sound gives me a tiny jolt of pleasure. “I don’t take handouts.” His voice is light but I sense some acidity under it. “Not even to improve my emotional health.”
I nod. “You just get drunk instead?”
His lips straighten in a thin line and he looks away from me. My glow vanishes and I blush, wondering who I think I am, trying to act all mature and capable of witty repertoire. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I probably deserved it.” He smiles but it fades fast and its absence makes him look kind of sad. We’re both quiet for a moment as we sit on the curb. It’s surprisingly comfortable. I don’t feel the need to get up or escape from him.
“So,” he finally says. “Let me guess why you’re so unhappy. You just got your first period?” His eyebrows wiggle up and down.
A laugh spurts from my mouth like water from an unclogging tap, and I quickly put my hand over my lips. “That’s a totally jerky thing to say.” I try to sound mad, but don’t cut it.
“I know.” He grins and his eyes light up and they’re blue and much nicer when he’s not drunk and smelly. “Okay then. Let me guess. You got an A minus on a test? Or worse, a B plus?”
I turn my head, trying to hide my smile, wondering how he knows I’m a brainiac. And then I look down at my loose jeans and hoodie and remember it’s kind of obvious. Look at me. I ooze geek. It’s not like he’s thought about it before this moment. A sigh slips out again.
He stands then and holds out his hand to pull me up. When we touch, a thrill races through me and my cheeks blaze. Man, what is wrong with me today? I would be a mess if boys talked to me all the time.
“Things aren’t always as bad as they might seem.” He checks his watch. “You are aware, Tess, that you skipped out of school in order to have this near-fatal collision? And that skipping is frowned upon by the faculty?”
Technically, I am skipping, but for once, rules don’t matter. I’m entitled to an emotional health day. Like the days when Mom called in sick for Kristina so they could go to movies or to the spa. They asked me to join them, but I’d always said no. Afraid I’d somehow be caught. I sense those days are over now.
“What about you?” I say. “You’re obviously skipping too.”
He jumps off the curb to the road. “Sort of. I’m heading off for my tee time.”
“Tea or tee?” I make the motions of drinking from a cup
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