“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said.
He was hoping I’d open up, reveal how hard it had all been—that this would be the moment we finally bonded. But instead I smiled and said, “Okay, thanks, Patrick.”
I put my hand over his hand, then slipped it off my shoulder. The hall was clearing out and there was no easy way to escape him, so I just closed my locker and started walking away. It wasn’t until I was outside, cutting across the school’s back lawn, that I was sure I was free.
* * *
Upperclassmen could go off campus for lunch, but there were really only two choices—McDonald’s or Jerry’s, this pizza place with an owner who was five hundred years old and spit when he talked. I went through the break in the chain-link fence and over a few strip malls to TCBY, because I was pretty sure no one would be there. That, and because frozen yogurt has great healing properties, like vitamin C or homemade chicken noodle soup. It’s a fact.
For some reason Chris Arnold, Amber’s ex, was working behind the counter. I felt bad for him. He was so tall he always hunched forward, like he was trying to make himself shrink to fit the space.
“You work here?” I asked. “What happened to the curly-haired guy?”
“I just started,” he said. “He uh…got the flu. He’s still real sick.”
“But don’t you have to go to class? It’s the middle of the school day.”
“Yeah, it’s this new part-time thing where you can work during your lunch hour. I actually combined it with my study hall so now I work two periods straight, then after school.”
Was that even legal? I wanted to ask him more but the door jingled open behind me. I braced myself to see Kristen and Amber, or the cheerleading squad, or worse—Patrick Kramer. But when I turned around it was Tyler. He tucked both his thumbs under his backpack straps, pulling them away from his chest.
“Did you follow me?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
He put his backpack on a table by the door. Before I knew it I was hugging him, my face buried in his sweatshirt. I felt normal for the first time all day.
“You heard then.”
“I heard, yeah. How are you doing?”
Horrible. I feel like everyone’s talking about it. I’m terrified she won’t wake up. Part of me wants to be at the hospital, and part of me wants to be at school, because the hospital is the most depressing place, consumed by third-circle-of-hell-level waiting.
“I’m okay,” I said instead.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine, I’m miserable. Everything feels off.”
“Do you want to see her? I could drive you to the hospital.”
“I can’t go back there right now.”
We stood facing each other, an aggressively cheerful Backstreet Boys song blasting over the radio. He dug his hands deep into the pocket of his sweatshirt and shrugged, like he wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to hug him again but I didn’t know how.
“You were going to eat TCBY for lunch?” he asked.
“Don’t say it with so much judgment.”
“No, no! It’s a good choice, considering the circumstances. But we could also go to my house and I could make us grilled cheese sandwiches. It’s kind of my specialty.”
“You’re suggesting we cut?” I raised my eyebrows.
Tyler glanced around the dingy, tiled room. Chris was trying to transfer rainbow sprinkles from a two-gallon jug into a plastic dish that was obviously too small. Half of them scattered across the floor. He seemed too preoccupied to notice what I’d said.
“Yeah, I’m suggesting that. Don’t say it with so much judgment.”
I smiled and slipped past him, racing him to the door. He maneuvered around me and got there first, putting his hands on the doorframe to block my way. I tried to squeeze through the narrow space, but everywhere I went he threw up his knee or moved his hip and penned me in. It took me punching him in the side before we broke off, laughing.
* * *
In the entire history of our friendship, I’d only been to Tyler’s house a handful of times, and we’d mainly stayed in the backyard. Whenever we hung out, it was usually at my house or during school, when we’d sit at the picnic tables outside the cafeteria. After his mom got remarried I stopped suggesting it, because his cheeks would immediately do that red splotchy thing, and he’d fumble out an um, uh, there’s nothing to do there. He didn’t need to explain it. I knew he’d tried to be out as much as possible, that his stepdad’s mere presence was enough to make him nervous. Craig had once called him a loser for getting a B on a math test.
“My not-so-secret secret ingredient is a tomato slice,” he said, plopping one down on top of the cheese and bread. He slid the whole sandwich onto the pan and we waited, watching as it sizzled against the heat.
“I’ve never had the Ty Scruggs signature grilled cheese. Today is a big day.”
The place was different than I’d remembered it. The living room had two floral sofas and was barely decorated except for the fireplace, which had a Buddha statue and candles. In front of it was a meditation spot for Ty’s mom, with a circular pillow on the floor and a pile of burnt incense. She taught at Om Yoga on River Street.
“You know my dad’s talking about tearing down the treehouse?” I said.
Ty froze, holding the spatula in midair. “He can’t. That place is a national monument. It would be like destroying Mount Rushmore.”
“He’s says the wood’s all rotted. That it’s becoming a safety hazard.”
“But we were just up there a month ago when we watched Pulp Fiction. It seemed fine.”
“That’s what I said. Sara tried to lay a guilt trip on him, like it was an attack on her childhood. Remember when she used to crush us in Monopoly? She was like, eight, and she was already smarter than us.”
Tyler pressed the sandwich down with the spatula. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “I don’t want to say I understand what you’re going through, because I don’t. I’m just sorry. About everything.”
“You didn’t do it,” I said, letting out a low laugh.
Tyler turned his back to me as he opened a cabinet and pulled out plates. There were only four of everything inside—four plates, four mugs, four bowls. The upper shelves were empty. I swiveled around on the kitchen stool. The fridge didn’t have a single magnet on it—no photos, no calendar pinned in place. The bookcase had a few vases and a framed picture of a sunset, but I didn’t remember it feeling so bare.