Page 73 of Here & There

I’m so surprised my grip on the door loosens. It swings out toward him, and he catches it easily. Is that hope I see on his face? Or just a question?

But the thought of staying here for two more nights makes me more elated than I’d care to admit.

“Also,” Mac runs his hand over the back of his neck. “I was hoping maybe you could come with me to Nate’s school tomorrow. There’s a new principal there, I was thinking maybeI’d talk to him, see if he has any pointers.” He shrugs, like he thinks this might be a stupid idea.

I stare at the way his eyes trip down and then up, looking almost hopeful.

My heart feels slightly crushed, like there’s suddenly not enough room for it in my chest.

“Okay,” I say, truly touched. “I’d be happy to.”

“So you’ll stay?”

My heart presses against my ribs. “If that works for you, I’ve got more bosses to beat inFirebrandanyway.”

“Yeah.” Mac’s mouth turns up as he meets my eyes. For a moment, only electricity sparks between us. Then he looks away. “That works for me. And…thanks.”

“Good night, Mac,” I say.

“Good night, Shelby.”

I close the door, bolt it, and lean against it. I hold my breath, waiting for his footsteps to move away. It takes a long time before they do.

Chapter 18

Mac

“Bruh. Don’t be a popsicle stick.”

I look over at Shelby as we pass the two tardy tweens rushing to get to their last class of the afternoon the next day.

“What the hell does popsicle stick mean?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” Shelby says. “Like a stick-in-the-mud, maybe?”

When we reach the office, the fortyish secretary looks up from her computer. She’s got pink cheeks and kind of fluttery hands, but she smiles kindly. “How can I help you, sir?”

I tell her who I am, and the secretary nods, saying she’ll be right back and bustles down the hall.

Shelby leans in as I sit down. “Deanie says it means you’re a disappointment.”

“What?”

“Popsicle stick. It’s like, when you’re eating a popsicle but get to the stick, the fun is over.”

“Oh.” Slang. Jesus.

What the hell am I doing, being the father of a fourteen-year-old?

How do I understand him?

How do I keep him safe?

Why didn’t I get to build up to this?

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, feeling a sudden unexpected surge of anger toward Nadine, Nate’s mom, for hiding him from me.

This is not a helpful line of thought, especially now.

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