Chapter 32
ISAK
When he gets into the truck Wednesday morning, Lachlan hands me a reusable insulated cup. “Thought you might want some hot chocolate.”
I take a sip. “Thanks.” It’s thick and delicious, and it warms more than my throat.
“What did you do last night?” he asks.
“Not much. Knitted my scarf. You?”
“I worked on Wendolyn’s website.”
“I still can’t believe you know W. G. Ansky. Do you like working for her?”
“Definitely. She’s very nice, and I like sending people cool stuff that they’re excited to get in the mail. Plus I like freeing up her time so she can write more.”
“Do you want to do that?”
“Have an Ad/VICE shop? No.”
“No, write.”
I stop at a red light, and Lachlan looks at me. “Why do you think I’d want to do that?”
Why is he deflecting? “I dunno. You seem to like words. How long is your Linguikk streak?”
The light’s still red. His brow furrows adorably. “How did you know I do Linguikk?”
“Because I’ve seen you doing it.”
That makes him wrinkle his nose. Whatever. I pay attention to him. More than he knows.
“I guess I like talking,” he says, and I laugh. “I keep thinking that it would be fun to have a job where I could go talk with people in all kinds of languages.”
“Like a tour guide?”
“Maybe. Or a travel writer. I’d love to travel.”
“I can see you doing that. You’re the definition of ‘never met a stranger.’” And that would get him out of his awful home.
I suddenly have a vision of us traveling the world, him writing and me acting or making some other kind of art. I shake my head to dislodge the idea.
At rehearsal, lots of people are out sick, or coughing like they probably should be out sick. In act two, Lachlan says, “and we kiss,” and moves on without getting close to me.
That night, he finds me on Linguikk and friends me.
Our interactions become more than us talking in the car.
He’s started greeting me outside of class, too.
And it just keeps going, like once we got the ball rolling, it’s picking up momentum.
Like now in the cafeteria, I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and startle and look up to see Lachlan’s smiling face.
“Hey.” My voice cracks on that one word. Dammit. I clear my throat and try again. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much.”
He always says that. Even if a ton of things are on his mind, he’ll diminish them.
“Want to join us for lunch?” I ask.
“Yeah, okay.” Lachlan Doyle sits down with Jody, Malik, me, and Zanita.
Pretty sure the earth stops moving.
He spends the lunch period talking with us until he has to go check on something for student government. When he leaves, Jody and Zanita whip their heads to me. “What was that?”
I shrug and sip my drink. “Why are you so surprised? He’s in the play with us. He’s my neighbor. We’re friends.”
Neither one of them looks like they believe that’s it, but the bell rings.
We’re almost home from school—no rehearsal on Wednesdays—when Lachlan asks, “If your house burned down, what would you save?”
“My mom,” I say.
“Okay, besides living things.”
“Important papers.”
“Stop being so practical.” Lachlan sounds exasperated, but I think he’s just playing.
“I think you want to be practical to some degree if you’re deciding what to save.”
“Okay, fine. But what is something, other than people or pets or important documents, that matters to you?”
“I’m not really sure,” I say slowly. Saying I’d take a silver rock would sound weird, right? “I feel like I could replace my clothes or books or whatever. I like the scarves I’ve made, but I can always make more. I don’t know. What would you take?”
Lachlan reaches inside his shirt, and at the sight of his collarbone, my breath hitches. Why am I like this? Even a glimpse of his neck awakens something in me. Like I’m a Victorian gentleman seeing a lady’s ankle.
He pulls out a necklace with a charm on a string. The one I made him at senior retreat. And now that I look, I see the friendship bracelet I made him poking out from under his wristwatch.
Damn. He’s still wearing them?
He clears his throat. “I like these things we made. And I have a book of poems I’d take.”
“Who’s the author?”
“Me.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Really?”
Lachlan nods, looking shy for what might be the first time in his life.
“Cool,” I whisper, and pull into my driveway.
“See you tomorrow,” he says.
“See you tomorrow.”
I keep taking Lachlan to school. His car is still waiting for parts, but it takes no effort on my part to drive him to school, and I’m loving our twenty-question chats.
While I’m on break from rehearsal on Saturday, I get a text.
Mom
Can you please go to the grocery store on your way home? We need milk, cereal, and something for dinner tonight.
Me
Sure
I’ll go after rehearsal
We get into the car when we’re done for the day, and I say, “My mom texted me about some things she needs from the grocery store. I can drop you off—”
“I’ll come with.”
I open my mouth. Then I nod.
He’ll volunteer to go on boring errands just to stay away from home.
Which is how I end up going to the grocery store with Lachlan Doyle, the Most Popular Boy in School?.
“So, what’s on her list?” Lachlan asks, sturdy fingers gripping the cart. He’s always been big and strong, but I feel like he’s gotten bigger this past year. Maybe he’s been eating more protein and exercising more or something.
I pull out my phone and open my mom’s text.
“Are you left-handed?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“Me, too. How come I never noticed that about you?”
“I feel like there are a lot of things that we haven’t noticed about each other,” I say.
“Like what? Are you ticklish?”
I glare at him.
He grins. “So you are.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Lachlan isn’t reaching toward me, but I put my elbows against my sides and my hands out defensively as if he’s going to attack.
If he were going to touch me—hold me—how I want him to, that’d be different. But tickling? No.
Thankfully, he listens to me. And … this is one of the reasons why I have a crush on him.
We walk down the cereal aisle. “What kind of cereal do you like?” I ask.
“I usually try to eat something kind of healthy.”
“Hmm.” I pull down a box of brightly colored sugar cereal with extra marshmallows and put it in the cart. He rolls his eyes.
We keep going through the grocery store, and it feels like the intimacy of staying together in the cabin. Like I could see myself in five years, shopping with my partner.
“What are your favorite things to have for dinner with your family?” I ask without thinking.
Lachlan’s look darkens.
Bad question, Isak.
“Um. We don’t really eat dinner as such. Together, I mean.”
Of course not. They probably all eat frozen dinners in their rooms, since they can’t stand each other. His family is all about image. If no one can see the bad shit that’s going on, then they don’t care.
My heartbeat is thundering in my ears. “Sorry. You know I understand,” I whisper. “I’ve grown up next door to you. I can hear. I mean, I’ve spent more time wondering if we should call the cops—”
“Shut up,” Lachlan hiss-yells, then reddens.
I’ve never heard him raise his voice. Even when he does, it’s quiet. It still makes me jerk back.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I’m … Lachlan, I’m sorry—”
He puts his palms over his ears. “I can’t talk about this.”
“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. All I wanted to say was that if you needed a friend. Someone to talk to. I’m here.”
“Yeah, well, thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need anyone.”
Except … he does. And he knows it. He knows that he’s hiding from me. I can see it in his eyes.
I want to help him, but I can’t force him to do anything.
“We can talk about something else,” I finally say.
“Please.”
We don’t talk at all on the way home, and I don’t hear from him the rest of the weekend.