Chapter 26 #2
Drew swoops in with impressive speed. "Haru, I actually need your help with that thing we discussed. Remember, about the...international perspective?" He's clearly improvising, but it works.
"Oh! Of course," Haru says, still looking confused but allowing himself to be steered away after an apologetic glance at me.
I'm left standing awkwardly near James's table, and apparently, I don’t know what to do. I'm about to walk away when I feel a light tap on my arm.
"You can work with me if you want," a young voice says. "I don't have a partner."
A lanky teenager stands with a buzz cut and ear piercings on both sides. Their disinterest isn't even hidden well. Despite the offer, their posture screams, 'I don't actually care if you join me or not.'
"Sure." Finally, someone who doesn't know about the breakup. "I'm Caleb."
"Alex," they reply with a shrug. "Let's grab a table before all the good candy's gone. Umm… Your shirt… It's almost funny."
The 'Resting Grinch Face' tee was worth wearing if it got me almost praise from the grouchy teenager.
Alex leads me to a table in the corner, as far from the center of activity as possible. We claim a gingerbread house kit and a few bags of candy before retreating to our island of mutual discomfort.
Tearing open the packaging, struggling for something to say, I come up with. "So. How long have you been staying here?" Idiot.
"Two months," Alex replies, focusing intently on sorting candy by colour. "You're the rich guy, right? James's boyfriend?"
The frosting package I'm trying to open nearly slips from my hands. "I'm not... we're not... anymore."
"Figured," they say with a knowing nod. "You've both got that 'recently dumped' vibe going."
"Is it that obvious?" My wince could be heard across the room.
"Only to other experts in emotional disaster." Alex tears open a bag of gumdrops with more force than necessary. "My parents kicked me out when they found my hormone blockers. Told me I could come back when I was 'normal' again."
The casual revelation of such trauma leaves me momentarily speechless. "That's... I'm sorry."
Alex shrugs again. "Whatever. Most of us here have similar stories. At least my sister still talks to me. Sneaks me texts when our parents aren't looking."
Glancing around the room with a new understanding. Every kid here has a story like Alex's. Every kid here has been rejected by the people who should love them most.
"My father tried to bribe James to break up with me. Seventy-five thousand dollars to walk away."
Alex pauses their candy sorting. "Damn. Did he take it?"
"No." Certain of this despite everything. "But my father made me believe he did. And I... I believed him without talking to James first."
"That was stupid," Alex says bluntly.
My laugh surprises me. Apparently, we're being brutally honest now." Yeah. It really was. I should have trusted James."
"I meant stupid he didn’t take the money but whatever… So why not apologize?"
"It's not that simple…" I start, then stop. "Actually, maybe it is. I've been too proud to try."
Alex rolls their eyes. "Adults are so dramatic. In here, we don't have the luxury of holding grudges. Too many of us have already lost people we care about."
Their words hit harder than any lecture from Drew or Gavin. Looking across the room to where James is helping an even younger teen assemble the walls of their gingerbread house, his expression is patient and gentle.
"I think I've been an idiot."
"Probably," they agree, handing me a piping bag of frosting. "Now make yourself useful and glue this roof together while I plan our attack."
For the next half hour, I follow Alex's increasingly bizarre decorating instructions, creating what they describe as gingerbread-house-meets-alien-autopsy.
We cover one side in green frosting sludge, use licorice to create strange tentacles emerging from windows, and top it with a UFO made from stacked cookies and peppermint sticks.
As we work, I watch the room. Gavin has assembled a team of three shy-looking teens who are gradually coming out of their shells as he demonstrates how to create "candy carnage" on their rooftop.
Tyler and Ethan have joined forces with a pair of girls who are designing what appears to be a gingerbread haunted house. And James...
James moves through the room as if he belongs, stopping to help various groups, laughing at their creations, and offering suggestions. The guarded, perpetually grumpy James I know from campus is nowhere to be seen. Here, he's open, relaxed, and generous with his smiles.
"He practically lived in the library when he first got here," Alex says, following my gaze. "Marcus says he applied to like twenty scholarships. Got most of them, too."
"You know a lot about him?"
"He comes back every week. Helps with college applications, tech stuff. Fixed my laptop when it died." Alex applies more green frosting to our monstrosity. "He doesn't talk much about himself, but the older kids have stories."
Don't ask. Don't be that guy who— "What kind of stories?" Pathetic, Huntington. Pumping a teenager for information about your ex.
Alex side-eyes me. "None of my business. Or yours, probably."
They're right, of course. But watching James here, seeing him in a place that clearly means so much to him, I realize how little I actually know about his life before me.
I knew the basics: foster care, no family, scholarship student, but I never really asked about the details, what made him into the person he is.
"I messed up," I'm speaking to the air more than to Alex.
"So fix it," they reply, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.
Maybe it is. Or maybe it's already too late.
Halfway through the decorating session, I find myself alone at the snacks table, refilling my water cup. James approaches for the same purpose, then freezes when he realizes I'm there. For a moment, I think he's going to turn and walk away. Instead, he stiffly reaches for a cup.
"How's your house coming along?" Great. Lead with small talk. That'll fix everything.
"Fine," he replies curtly, not meeting my eye.
"James—"
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Not here."
"I want to—"
"Problem?" Gavin appears at my side with impeccable but unwelcome timing.
"No problem," James says, tone clipped. "I'm getting water."
"Cool, cool," Gavin says, looking between us with obvious concern. "Just checking. Tyler was wondering if we should order pizza soon, and I saw you two talking, and thought maybe you were, you know, 'talking' talking, which would be awesome because everyone thinks you guys should—"
"Gavin, we're fine. Go ask Marcus about the pizza."
James uses the distraction to slip away, rejoining Haru and their teenage partner. Watching him go has frustration building in an emotional feedback loop. Every time I try to get close, something or someone intervenes.
"They mean well," a voice says behind me. I turn to find Marcus watching the scene with a knowing expression.
"They're making it impossible to have a simple conversation."
Marcus chuckles. "You think any conversation between you and James right now would be simple?"
He has a point. "Probably not."
"Walk with me," he suggests. "I need to grab more napkins from storage."
Following him down a hallway lined with bulletin boards covered in flyers, event announcements, and photos of smiling teens at various activities. Marcus unlocks a supply closet and pulls out a package of napkins.
"James was eighteen when he came here," he says without preamble. "Aged out of his last foster home and had nowhere to go. Most kids in his situation would have been focused on basic survival, but James was not. He was obsessed with getting into university.”
I listen silently, hungry for any information about the James I never knew.
"He worked two jobs, studied until midnight most nights, and still found time to help other kids with their homework.
" Marcus smiles at the memory. "He built his first website for us, replacing the awful thing I'd cobbled together.
That's how he started connecting with other organizations, offering his services. "
"He never told me any of this."
"James doesn't talk much about his past." Marcus closes the supply closet. "Not because he's ashamed, but because he's always looking forward. Always planning the next step."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Marcus levels me with a measured look. "Because I see how you look at him. And I see how he's trying not to look at you." He pauses. "James doesn't let people in easily. When he does, it means something."
The weight of what I've lost is heavy on my shoulders. "I made a mistake." The pain behind my ribs hurts so much. "I thought something awful about him without letting him explain himself."
"We all make mistakes," Marcus says. "The question is what you do next."
Before I can respond, a cheer erupts from the common room. Marcus grins. "Sounds like judging time. You ready to see some truly hideous gingerbread architecture?"
The judging is chaotic and hilarious. Each team presents its creation with exaggerated pride, explaining its "artistic vision" to increasingly loud laughter and applause.
One gingerbread house that looks like it's been hit by a meteor, another transformed into what the creators call ‘Santa's Underground Fight Club,’ and one that appears to be mid-exorcism, complete with frosting projectile vomit.
Our alien autopsy house earns appreciative groans, especially when Alex demonstrates how the licorice tentacles can be manipulated to "grab" tiny gingerbread men. When they describe our concept, they give me credit for some ideas that were entirely theirs. It’s a small thing that feels good to me.
James and Haru's team has created a gingerbread house that appears to be collapsing into a sinkhole they've created on their board, with tiny candy people fleeing in terror. It's clever and genuinely funny, and I find myself laughing along with everyone else when they present it.
For a moment, James's eyes meet mine across the room, and we share a smile before he catches himself and looks away.
The winners are Tyler and Ethan's haunted house team, whose creation includes a working drawbridge made of cookie sticks and string. As prizes are distributed and pizza boxes begin arriving, I see Alex standing off to the side, watching the celebration with carefully concealed longing.
"You should join them," My head nods toward the pizza line.
"I'm good here," they reply with forced nonchalance.
"Your house was better than theirs, you know. The tentacles were inspired."
A ghost of a smile flickers across their face. "Yeah, well. Judge must be blind."
"Next year we'll win for sure." The words tumble out before their implication hits. "If you want a partner again, that is."
Alex studies me for a moment. "You planning to come back?"
"Yes. This place is important. And not because of James."
They nod slowly. "Cool. Maybe bring better candy next time, though. The selection was weak."
Laughing, I put my hand out towards them. "Deal."
Alex thinks for a long second, then ever so casually shakes my hand.
As the event winds down and frat guys begin gathering their things, I search the room for James again. He's deep in conversation with Marcus near the front entrance, their heads bent together over a laptop. Whatever they're discussing looks serious, and I decide not to interrupt.
Instead, I walk to Drew. "I want to help with this place. The building needs serious work."
"Okay," he says, evaluating my expression. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking my family knows every major donor and contractor in this state, and it's time I put that network to good use."
"For the kids?" Drew asks, echoing our earlier conversation.
"For the kids. And maybe... eventually... to show James I understand what matters to him." Taking a deep breath, this needs to be said right. "But even if he never forgives me, this place deserves support."
Drew claps me on the shoulder. "Now you're thinking like a Delta Psi. Let's make it happen."
As we join the others heading toward the cars, I look back one last time. James is watching me from the doorway, his expression unreadable. I raise a hand in a small wave. After a hesitation, he returns it, the barest acknowledgment, but more than I've gotten in days.
It's not forgiveness. It's not reconciliation. But it's something. A beginning, maybe.
And as Alex so bluntly put it, "so fix it."