“Kent?” I interrupt him. He always did have a habit of launching into tangents, even when we were little.
He stops. “Yeah?”
“Do you—could I maybe have a glass of water?”
“Yeah. Give me a sec.” He sounds relieved to do something, and I hear the whisper of his sneakers on the carpet. He’s back in under a minute with a tall glass of water. It has just the right amount of ice cubes.
After I take a few long gulps I say, “Sorry for being back here. The sign and everything.”
“That’s okay.” Kent sits cross-legged on the carpet next to me, not so close that we’re touching but close enough that I can feel him sitting there. “I mean, the sign was pretty much for other people. You know, to keep people from breaking my parents’ shit or whatever. I’ve never really had a party before.”
“Why did you have one now?” I say, just to keep him talking.
He gives a half laugh. “I thought if I had a party, you would come.”
I feel a rush of embarrassment, heat spreading up from my toes. His comment is so unexpected I don’t know what to say. He doesn’t seem embarrassed though. He just sits there looking at me. So typical Kent. He never understood that you can’t just say something like that.
The silence has lasted a couple beats too long. I grasp for something to say. “This room must get a lot of light during the day.”
Kent laughs. “It’s like being in the middle of the sun.”
Silence again. We can still hear the music, but it’s muffled, like it has to travel miles before it reaches us. I like that.
“Listen.” Just trying to say what I want to say makes a lump swell up in my throat. “I’m sorry about earlier. I really—thanks for making me feel better. I’m sorry I’ve always been…” At the last second I can’t say it after all. I’m sorry I’ve always been awful. I’m sorry there’s something wrong with me.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Kent says quietly. “About your hair.”
He shifts slightly—a fraction of an inch, moving closer—and it hits me then that I’m sitting in the middle of a moonlit room with Kent McFuller.
“I should go.” I stand up. I’m still not very steady on my feet, and the room tilts with me.
“Whoa.” Kent gets up, reaching out a hand to steady me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I—” It occurs to me I don’t know where to go and I have no body to get me there, anyway. I can’t stand the thought of Tara grinning at me, and Lindsay’s obviously out. At this point it’s so awful it’s funny, and I let out a short laugh. “I don’t want to go home.”
Kent doesn’t ask why. I’m grateful for that. He just shoves his hands in his pockets. The outlines of his face are touched with light, like he’s glowing.
“You could…” He swallows. “You could always stay here.”
I stare at him. Thank God it’s dark. I have no idea what my face looks like.
He quickly stutters, “Not, like, stay with me. Obviously not. I just meant—well, we have a couple guest rooms, with sheets already on the beds and stuff. Clean sheets, obviously, it’s not like we leave them on after people—”
“Okay.”
“—use them, that would be gross. We actually have a housekeeper who comes twice a week and—”
“Kent? I said okay. I mean, I’d like to stay. If you don’t mind.”
He stands there for a second with his mouth hanging open as though he’s sure he’s misheard me. Then he takes his hands out of his pockets, curls them and uncurls them, lifts them and drops them against his thighs. “Sure, yeah, no, that’s fine.”
But for another minute he doesn’t move. He just stares at me. The hotness returns, only this time it’s moving into my head, making everything seem cloudy and remote. My eyes are suddenly heavy.
“You’re tired,” he says, and his voice is soft again.
“It’s been a long day,” I say.
“Come on.” He reaches out his hand and without thinking I take it. It’s warm and dry, and as he leads me deeper into the house, away from the music, into the shadows, I close my eyes and remember how he used to slip his hand in mine and whisper, Don’t listen to them. Just keep walking. Keep your head up. It almost feels like no time has passed. It doesn’t feel crazy that I’m holding hands with Kent McFuller and I’m letting him lead me somewhere—it feels normal.
The music fades away altogether. Everything is so quiet. Our feet barely make a sound on the carpets, and each room is a web of shadow and moonlight. The house smells like polished wood and rain and just a little bit like chimney smoke, like someone’s recently had a fire. I think, This would be a perfect house to get snowed into.
“This way,” Kent says. He pushes open a door—it creaks on its hinges—and I hear him fumbling for a light switch on the wall.
“No,” I say.
He hesitates. “No light?”
“No light.”
Very slowly he guides me inside the room. Here it’s almost completely dark. I can barely make out the outline of his shoulders.
“The bed’s over here.”
I let him pull me over to him. We’re only inches away, and it’s like I can feel his impression in the darkness, like it’s taking on a form around him. We’re still holding hands, but now we’re face-to-face. I never realized how tall he was: at least four inches taller than I am. There’s the strangest amount of warmth coming off him. It’s everywhere, radiating outward, making my fingers tingle.