need a brush.” I’m still laughing. It feels good.
* * * * *
The rain lets up long enough for Azel to walk me the rest of the way home. He follows me into the lobby. I take off my jacket and ring it out over the rubber doormat.
Azel lapses into a thoughtful silence. “Are you going to take some time off?” His silence doesn’t last long.
I fix another smile on my face. “I have to go back sooner or later.” Skipping school isn’t going to rewind time. Resting won’t fix my head. “I left my paints on the thirteenth floor.” My books, my brushes.
“I could pick them up for you.”
I hesitate. I feel dizzy.
“Unless—” Uncertainty crosses Azel’s face. “You’re one of those types who doesn’t let anyone touch her tools?”
“No, no.” I force a laugh. Why does it sound so loud—? “It’s just—postponing the inevitable.”
“Which is?”
“Well,” I say, gently, “I can’t keep running forever.”
Azel frowns. “I suppose not.”
I want to ask what’s on his mind—because his eyes look faraway. I don’t think I have the right to pry. I don’t know him. But he’s been kind to me.
“Do you want a towel?” I ask.
He lifts his head. “Sorry?”
“For your hair?” I shouldn’t make fun, but—it looks like a rat’s nest. For the first time, I feel lucky mine’s so short.
Azel grimaces. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Come on, then.” I start up the stairs.
If someone had told me four months ago that I’d start the school year socializing with Jewish nihilists and Arabian gymnasts—well, I’m sure I would have told that person, as kindly as I knew how, that they were a few bulbs short of a Christmas tree. But here I am: unlocking the door to a dingy apartment; turning on the studio lights and calling it home. Azel steps out of his sneakers before he follows me inside. Bewildered, I try not to stare.
“Do you want tea?” I ask. It’s quiet in here. Jude must be out job hunting again.
“No.” Azel pauses. “Thank you.”
Definitely not Kory, that’s for sure. Every time Kory comes over, I have to safeguard the pantry.
I head into the bathroom. I pull open the cabinet on the wall and drag free a scratchy towel. A spider—or something like it—scurries past on the floor. I’m glad Jude’s not home for a change. Every time he spots a bug, he pulls out the pesticide.
I head back out. Azel’s standing stock-still in the sitting room, his hair untied. I hand him the towel. With a quiet “Thank you,” he drags it fiercely through his hair. His curls fluff up, shaggy and shapeless. I’m laughing again.
“Would you stop that?” Azel says, flustered.
“You have sisters, and you’re not used to teasing?”
“You’re not exactly my sister, are you?”
My face feels hot again. “No.”
Azel falters.
“Thanks again,” I say to the floor.
“Of course.” He gives back the towel.
I roll it up. “You’re sure you don’t want tea?”
“I—what time is it?”
I glance at the clock on the paint-stained wall. “Eleven-thirty.”
“Then I’d definitely better get going,” Azel says. “My little sister wants me to meet her for lunch.”
“That’s—” That’s cute , I almost say. I smile instead.
Azel tucks his hands in his pockets. When did he change clothes? The sick bay? His jacket’s blue cotton. His trousers, black, bag around his ankles. His gaze is inquisitively soft. I can believe he’s from another country. Who has the bravery to look someone straight in the eye, and when caught, not turn away?
“Don’t be a stranger,” he decides. “Okay?”
More pity. But I can understand it.
We’re only human, after all.
* * * * *
Jude comes home a little after noon. I’ve just finished drying the floor.
“Want a snack?” I ask him.
“No thanks.” He runs a scarred hand through
* * * * *
The rain lets up long enough for Azel to walk me the rest of the way home. He follows me into the lobby. I take off my jacket and ring it out over the rubber doormat.
Azel lapses into a thoughtful silence. “Are you going to take some time off?” His silence doesn’t last long.
I fix another smile on my face. “I have to go back sooner or later.” Skipping school isn’t going to rewind time. Resting won’t fix my head. “I left my paints on the thirteenth floor.” My books, my brushes.
“I could pick them up for you.”
I hesitate. I feel dizzy.
“Unless—” Uncertainty crosses Azel’s face. “You’re one of those types who doesn’t let anyone touch her tools?”
“No, no.” I force a laugh. Why does it sound so loud—? “It’s just—postponing the inevitable.”
“Which is?”
“Well,” I say, gently, “I can’t keep running forever.”
Azel frowns. “I suppose not.”
I want to ask what’s on his mind—because his eyes look faraway. I don’t think I have the right to pry. I don’t know him. But he’s been kind to me.
“Do you want a towel?” I ask.
He lifts his head. “Sorry?”
“For your hair?” I shouldn’t make fun, but—it looks like a rat’s nest. For the first time, I feel lucky mine’s so short.
Azel grimaces. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Come on, then.” I start up the stairs.
If someone had told me four months ago that I’d start the school year socializing with Jewish nihilists and Arabian gymnasts—well, I’m sure I would have told that person, as kindly as I knew how, that they were a few bulbs short of a Christmas tree. But here I am: unlocking the door to a dingy apartment; turning on the studio lights and calling it home. Azel steps out of his sneakers before he follows me inside. Bewildered, I try not to stare.
“Do you want tea?” I ask. It’s quiet in here. Jude must be out job hunting again.
“No.” Azel pauses. “Thank you.”
Definitely not Kory, that’s for sure. Every time Kory comes over, I have to safeguard the pantry.
I head into the bathroom. I pull open the cabinet on the wall and drag free a scratchy towel. A spider—or something like it—scurries past on the floor. I’m glad Jude’s not home for a change. Every time he spots a bug, he pulls out the pesticide.
I head back out. Azel’s standing stock-still in the sitting room, his hair untied. I hand him the towel. With a quiet “Thank you,” he drags it fiercely through his hair. His curls fluff up, shaggy and shapeless. I’m laughing again.
“Would you stop that?” Azel says, flustered.
“You have sisters, and you’re not used to teasing?”
“You’re not exactly my sister, are you?”
My face feels hot again. “No.”
Azel falters.
“Thanks again,” I say to the floor.
“Of course.” He gives back the towel.
I roll it up. “You’re sure you don’t want tea?”
“I—what time is it?”
I glance at the clock on the paint-stained wall. “Eleven-thirty.”
“Then I’d definitely better get going,” Azel says. “My little sister wants me to meet her for lunch.”
“That’s—” That’s cute , I almost say. I smile instead.
Azel tucks his hands in his pockets. When did he change clothes? The sick bay? His jacket’s blue cotton. His trousers, black, bag around his ankles. His gaze is inquisitively soft. I can believe he’s from another country. Who has the bravery to look someone straight in the eye, and when caught, not turn away?
“Don’t be a stranger,” he decides. “Okay?”
More pity. But I can understand it.
We’re only human, after all.
* * * * *
Jude comes home a little after noon. I’ve just finished drying the floor.
“Want a snack?” I ask him.
“No thanks.” He runs a scarred hand through
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