4. Boys are allowed to cry too
CHAPTER FOUR
boys are allowed to cry too
Today, I found a goldmine. After school, Mom went into the attic to get down our winter clothes and the big coats, and she let me go with her.
It’s always cold up there, and I have to be careful to only walk on the wood parts of the floor because Dad says I’ll fall through the ceiling if I step on the fluffy parts, so I’m not allowed to go up by myself.
But the attic is so cool.
There are all kinds of boxes with decorations and Dad’s special trains and my old toys. There are even some of Mom’s and Dad’s really old toys. I once asked Mom if she kept her pet dinosaur up here. She didn’t think that was very funny, but I did.
Sometimes, I get to look through the attic boxes, and Mom or Dad will tell me stories about the stuff inside. Today, we found one full of yellow books that Mom said she read when she was my age. They’re all these mysteries, and a girl named Nancy solves them.
Mom helped me bring the box downstairs because it weighed a ton, then she said I could have the books. It took forever, but I finally put them in order and lined them up on their own shelf in my room.
I can’t wait to start, and even though I just finished putting them away, I pull out the first one.
“Moooooom,” I yell down the stairs, “can I read in the treehouse?”
It turns out Forrest kept his promise and stopped his parents from tearing down the treehouse. They even told my mom I can keep using it.
Good thing, since it’s mine.
“Just for an hour. I’m making dinner,” she calls back. “And put on a sweatshirt first.”
I don’t need a sweatshirt, but I take it with me anyway so I don’t get in trouble. Moms worry too much. It’s not even that cold outside.
It isn’t until I’m standing right by the ladder that I realize there are sounds coming from my treehouse. I’m thankful Forrest saved it, but he didn’t ask if he could use it. I tie my sweatshirt around my waist and wedge my book under the tight knot before I start climbing up.
“Hey!” I shout once I’m at the top, leaning across the landing to poke my head inside. I’m ready to tell Forrest to get out, but then I see his face.
His eyes go wide before he quickly looks away from me, facing the wall. He didn’t turn fast enough, though. I saw him, and he’s crying.
“Hey,” I say again, softer, crawling on my belly into the treehouse. “Are you ok?”
Forrest doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t even turn around. I wonder if he’s what I looked like last time we were up here together. I feel bad again for being mean.
“Forrest,” I try, scooting across the floor. I flip over and reach out to tap his shoulder, but he jerks away and covers his face with his hands. His ears are bright red.
“Why are you crying?” I ask.
“Boys don’t cry,” he snaps. He rubs his face but still doesn’t turn around.
“Of course they do,” I say because that’s just nuts. “It’s ok for boys to cry. My dad said so.”
Forrest grunts at me.
“Did you get hurt?” I ask. Maybe he fell on the ladder. He’s not used to it like I am.
“No,” he barks.
“Can I help?” I don’t feel good about this. He’s so sad.
“No,” he says again.
Clearly, I need backup. I set my book down before hurrying back home.
Thankfully, Mom understands when I tell her Forrest’s having a bad day, and she lets me take one of those popsicles with two sticks, even though this means having dessert before dinner.
I climb back up the ladder and sit near Forrest before I unwrap the popsicle.
It’s a little squished from when I held it while climbing, but it’ll still taste ok.
I break the sticks apart and hold one half out toward Forrest. He’s got his arms crossed on his knees, and his face smooshed against his elbow, glasses on the floor beside him. I think he might keep ignoring me, but then I see him peeking.
“What are you doing?” he asks. His eyes are red, but I think he stopped crying.
“I’m going to sit with you because I don’t like to be alone when I’m sad.
Popsicles make me feel better, so I got one.
I hope you like strawberry. It’s my favorite.
” I tip his half of the popsicle toward him, and we both watch a sticky drop hit the wooden floor.
He hesitates but reaches out and takes it.
For a while, we eat our ices without talking. When Forrest finishes, he sets his popsicle stick down on top of the wrapper, and I put mine with his. Then, we sit some more. I wait to see if he wants to talk.
“My parents fight a lot,” Forrest says without looking at me.
Maybe I should put some pictures on the walls if he’s going to stare at them like that. They can’t be very interesting like this.
“I’m sorry,” I say back.
“I thought moving would help, but they still yell all the time. I just wanted a little quiet.” Forrest breathes out a big sigh. “I’m sorry I came up here without asking first.”
I hardly have to think it over.
“You can use my treehouse whenever you want quiet,” I say.
Forrest finally turns his head and looks at me.
“Thanks,” he says.
“No problem.” I shrug. The treehouse protects us. I pick up my book. “Do you know who Nancy Drew is?”
Forrest shakes his head and scoots closer. I open to the first page.