Chapter Six
Alex
Mason plucks at his electric guitar, playing something that sounds vaguely familiar.
It’s whimsical, like something out of one of his fantasy games that should be played on a lute rather than a Fender.
I stare at him with my chin in my hand while I sprawl across his bed on my stomach, bored out of my mind. “Play ‘Hot Cross Buns.’ ”
He scrunches his nose and stops plucking. “Who the hell learns to play ‘Hot Cross Buns’ on the guitar?”
“Is it because you don’t know how?” I prod, indulging in one of my favorite pastimes: pestering him until he tosses me out. After getting a clean bill of health, I want to soak it in, grateful that I’m still able to. “We learned it on the recorder.”
He tucks the guitar under his arms and leans forward. “Don’t you have anything else to do? Like, I don’t know, go back to school?”
I shrug. “My professors excused me all week. I don’t have to go back until Sunday.”
“Home for a week and is incapable of entertaining herself,” he mutters and switches his tune to Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters.”
There’s a retort itching to come out. Something crude and sure to make him uncomfortable, but I don’t put a voice to it. Instead, I watch him play, the somber melody only adding to the real reason I’ve stuck around all week.
After running through the first chorus, he places his guitar back on its stand, spins in his chair, and wakes up his computer.
I would never admit it, but I’m kind of hoping he’s logging in to play a game.
Maybe one I can play with him. That’s how bored I am.
That’s how worried I was about him. How worried I still am.
“Have you told Jules you’re thinking about spending the summer backpacking through Italy?”
I groan and roll over on my back. “No.”
I remember the last time I told her I was leaving.
It was March our junior year. She was excited about the flowers poking out of the late winter snow.
Spring flowers always make her smile. It was a Sunday, and we had just finished lunch at her house.
Grilled cheese with bacon and tomato soup.
She was asking me about why I hadn’t signed up for softball, and I blurted out that I was leaving.
A two week leadership camp in Portugal, a two month internship in Greece, then France for the entirety of our academic year.
She was stunned silent for a beat and fired off a million questions.
When did I apply? How did I decide which countries to go to?
How was I going to pay for it? How long had I been keeping it a secret?
Once she ran out of questions, she pulled me in for a hug and told me how excited she was for me. I’ll never forget the look on her face. Masked disappointment shrouded by forced smiles and encouragement.
Mason hums as if he expected as much. “So I’m guessing you haven’t told her you plan to study abroad your last two years of school, either.”
I don’t answer because, no, I absolutely have not. Mainly because I know that flash of disappointment will become tenfold. I know she’ll tell me it’s okay, that I should go and be happy and have my adventures, just like she did the last time, but it’ll crush her on the inside.
Especially because I promised her I wouldn’t leave like that again.
I can hear Mason swivel again in his chair. “Alex.”
With another dramatic groan, I throw my arms over my face. “I know. I’m a horrible friend. I don’t want to talk about it. Next topic.”
Mason is quiet for a long time. Too long. But I remain unmoving, hoping for him to turn back to his computer or to pick up his guitar and surprise me with “Hot Cross Buns.”
Instead, he says, “When I die, don’t let them have my computer.”
My entire body goes rigid. It’s not the first time he’s brought up his untimely death, but that doesn’t make hearing him say it any easier. Especially after the scare he just gave us. “Why, is there porn on there?”
“Worse. Unfinished D&D campaigns.” Despite the morbid conversation, a smile tugs at my lips. “Seriously, though. My phone, too. I want you to take them.”
I cover my ears. It’s clear he really wants to have this discussion, despite my attempt at joking it off. Unfortunately for him, I do not. “I’m not talking about this, either.”
He gently pulls one of my hands away from my ears and peers down at me. “We’ve got to talk about it sometime.”
I pull my arm from his grasp and sit up. “We sure do not.”
He gives me a look I don’t like. Knowing. Pity. Acceptance. Then he fucking smiles. Like we aren’t talking about what he wants me to do if he dies. “The passwords will be inside—”
I cover my ears again and shut my eyes, too. “Don’t need to know.”
“You can’t avoid this, Al,” he says, loud enough for me to hear through my humming.
I don’t want to be in his room anymore. “Sure I can.” I scramble to change the topic, to get away, to avoid something that haunts me at all hours of the day.
“Want to order pizza?” I ask when I get to our shared bathroom.
I half expect him to follow me, to force me to sit and talk about contingency plans and instructions on things I’m allowed to give away and where he wants his ashes spread and something about his savings account.
All topics he’s broached before but now feel even more ominous.
I’m relieved when he calls out, “Put pineapple on my half,” and lets me run away.
“You realize that breaking away from the group was a horrible idea,” Mason says dryly, as if I didn’t just almost derail his entire campaign.
“Eh.”
“And,” Mason presses on after a deep breath, “while they hide behind the crates in the alley, you slip inside the bakery, only to find the owner dead and a troll crouched behind the counter, ready to pounce. Do you—”
“That’s so dumb,” I interrupt, unable to hold back a bark of laughter. “Why would there be a troll hiding inside the town bakery? It doesn’t make sense.”
Mason’s sigh is loud through my headset. Even though he’s in his bedroom and I’m in mine, I can practically see him pinch the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t have to make sense.”
I try to envision a large troll hiding in a bakery and roll my eyes. Then I feel like maybe my Tabaxi rogue may be a little hungry. “Can I steal some pastries while I’m here?”
Everyone in the chat groans.
“Why would you want to steal some pastries?” someone asks. He sounds a lot more exasperated than my brother. Which is saying a lot.
“Because I’m a thief,” I remind them all.
“Fight or flee?” Mason asks.
“Pastry.”
More groans. I hold back a chuckle and a quip about how this is what he gets for inviting his sister to play his stupid game just as my phone vibrates on my desk. A quick glance tells me it’s Jules.
Jules: Are you home?
Me: Yeah, just playing a little D&D with the nerds.
Jules: Can I come over?
Me: Always. Door’s unlocked.
“Oh my God, just roll the dice,” Mason begs.
Thinking Jules was going to be with Tyler for a while before coming over, I pull one of my headphones away from my ear so I can hear when she gets here, excited to spend Thanksgiving break at home together.
I roll the virtual dice, hoping more than anything that I’ll be able to steal some Danish in this otherwise fairly serious game.
When I hit the parameters to swipe a pastry or two, I spin in my chair and pump my fist. “Yes! I’m going to steal as much as my catlike hands can carry.”
“You’ve successfully stolen the bread,” Mason continues, cutting through my diabolical laughter, “but in doing so, the troll lunges, slashing at you with its twisted, gnarly claws with deadly precision.”
And if that doesn’t just shut me the hell up. “Wait, what? Am I dead?”
I can practically hear his shrug through my headset. “Maybe. Forty-four points of damage. What do you do?”
No one says anything while I consider my options. I’m still learning, and as much as the group likes to give me crap, they’re patient when it comes to my learning curve.
That is admittedly kinda cool. Once I have it figured out, I pump my fist again because holy hell, what a great skill. “Aha! Uncanny dodge! Still alive and kicking!”
“Of course you are,” Mason mumbles. He probably had my outcome calculated way before me, being my teacher and DM and all, and even though it’s said with an annoyed tone, I know he’s happy my little detour didn’t cost the crew their rogue.
“You manage to evade the troll and disengage, so you narrowly escape another, surely fatal, blow.”
Okay, so, maybe I’m starting to see the appeal of this game.
“Hey.”
The soft greeting has me spinning in my chair and fully pulling my headphones down around my neck. I mute my mic. “Hey. You got here fast. How was Ty—” My smile vanishes when I see her standing in my doorway. She won’t look at me, but that doesn’t hide the fact that she’s clearly been crying.
I toss off my headset and cross the room. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and I know exactly what happened before she says it. “We broke up,” she says, confirming my suspicions.
Her eyes are red and brimming with tears and she has such a sad, pained expression that it makes my stomach bottom out. “Oh, Jules.”
We meet halfway, and I pull her against me just as she falls forward. She presses her face into my shoulder and starts to cry. I rub her back in slow circular motions until she loosens her hold on the back of my shirt.
“Dude, where’d you…” I look over my shoulder, and my eyes meet Mason’s. He stands frozen in the doorway of our joint bathroom and glances between me and Jules, his expression full of concern. I shake my head. Thankfully, he seems to understand and quietly retreats back to his room.