I mumbled, “I, uh, suppose I could eat something.” Jerking a thumb toward the room, I said, “Let me wash my hands.”
“You’re not going to lock yourself in your room again, are you?” Fox asked.
Millie sniffled. “Is this one of your sadness baths?”
“No,” I said. “And no. And I don’t even know what a sadness bath is.”
“We’ll see you downstairs,” Indira said, and mercifully, she herded the others toward the stairs.
I peed. I washed my hands. I considered the creature from the Black Lagoon who had appeared in my mirror. I honestly hadn’t known, until right now, that eyes could come in that shade of red.
For a moment, the pain threatened to overwhelm me: how terribly everything had gone with Bobby; how much I’d hurt him, because I’d been selfish, because I’d let my own feelings take control; the fact that, no matter what happened now, our friendship wouldn’t be the same. He’d move. And maybe, for a while, we’d keep trying. But the gulf—physical and emotional—would be too great. I didn’t know how to deal with that much pain—didn’t want to think about what it meant, that it could hurt so much. So, I stuffed it all down inside me somewhere, and I let myself out of the bathroom.
The blur of movement came so fast that I didn’t have time to respond. The blow to my head rocked me back, and I stumbled into the doorjamb. I stared at Keme in disbelief. He hadn’t hit me hard, not exactly, but he hadn’t been roughhousing either. His dark hair hung loose, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it made him look feral. He held my gaze for a moment, and then he pointed toward the front of the house.
“What the heck—” I began.
Before I could finish, Keme kicked me in the shin. Even though he was barefoot, it hurt, and I hopped as I massaged my leg. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?”
He stabbed his finger at the front of the house again.
“Fine, fine, I’m going. But you don’t have to be a jerk—”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence; Keme tried to cuff me again. This time, my reactions were faster, and I managed to avoid the blow.
He was still glaring at me. And, I realized, he was about to cry. Again, he pointed to the front of the house.
“I don’t know what that means—”
“Go talk to him, you donkey!”
I stared at Keme.
Keme stared back. His chest was heaving, and he dashed at his eyes. His voice was rocky as he said, “God, why do you always have to be such an idiot?”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. In all fairness to myself, I’d never heard Keme talk before. (And, honestly, it was a great question.) All I could think about was his voice. It wasn’t an adult’s voice, not yet. But it was pleasantly masculine, with a little gravel in it that was going to drive the girls (or boys, or whoever) crazy.
“You’re talking to me,” I said.
“This is what I mean: it’s like you’ve got sand in your head. Did you hear me? Go talk to Bobby. Right now.”
“You’ve never talked to me.”
“Dash!”
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m still processing. Wait, why are you talking to me now?”
“Because, dingus, this is the first time I’ve had to fix things. Go. Talk. To. Bobby.”
“Uh, no?”
He tried to kick me again.
“Knock it off,” I said. “Bobby doesn’t want to talk to me. He made that perfectly clear today. He doesn’t want me around. He doesn’t want me to be involved in his life. He doesn’t want my friendship.”
“Did he say that?”
The question felt like a trap. Finally, I said, “No.” Then I held up a finger and added, “It’s complicated for adults. I know you don’t understand, but I promise, I already tried talking to Bobby, and he made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Keme gave me a look, and it was less than flattering. “God, this is what I tell Millie all the time: you really are as stupid as you look.”
“Hey—”
“Why do you even wear those dumb glasses if you’re not going to be the useful kind of nerd?”
“Okay, rewind. In the first place, these glasses are actually hip right now, and I am the useful kind of nerd because I still know all the secret passages in GoldenEye—”
“Go talk to Bobby!”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me. I tried, and he shut me down. Why would I put myself through that again—”
“Because not everybody knows how to talk about their feelings!” The shout hung in the air. Keme looked away from me and pushed his hair back unsteadily. In a softer voice, he said, “You live your whole life in words, Dash. And that’s great. But not everybody’s like that.”
I tried to find an answer for that. More words, I thought, and a part of me wanted to laugh. Just a teensy-weensy bit of hysterics. Hadn’t Deputy Bobby tried to tell me the same thing? He’d told me about his dad. He’d told me about his mom. He’d told me about what happened when he tried to talk to West.
Keme’s gaze had come back to me, uncertainty written in the lines around his eyes as he tried to read me.
“I liked you better when you didn’t talk,” I told him.
