Page 41 of This Kind of Forever
I bite my lip against a smile. “Ah, so she’s a thief.”
“Yeah, but I don’t mind. I’d give her anything she asked for.”
I feel like I’m floating. We’ve talked like this before, but tonight feels…different.
What would Clara think? If she knew Gabe and I are having a secret phone call in the middle of the night. We’re not doing anything wrong, technically, yet the familiar worry begins to set in.
She wouldn’t like this. You can’t be with her brother.She loves her brother. She wouldn’t want you to hurt him.
Quickly, I come crashing back to reality. Another crack of thunder, followed by tree branches scraping the side of the house, has me letting out a small whimper.
“Foster? You okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply. My voice comes out a little breathless. “I just stubbed my toe.”
The last thing Gabe needs to know is exactly how much of a baby I am. Sixteen years old and still scared of the wind. It’s totally irrational. Nothing like what happened when I was seven has happened again. I need to get over it.
“Damn, that rain is really coming down out there,” he says. “I wonder if we’ll lose power.”
That panic is back.God, I hope not. The one thing that would make this situation worse is darkness. It was dark the night that tree came through my window. It was dark, and I was all alone.
“Maybe,” I say weakly.
Thankfully, Gabe changes the subject back to something safer. “Should I be a firefighter?” he asks. “My dad has mentioned it.”
“If you want to. Because that’s the cool thing. You can do anything you want.”
“Anythingis too many things.”
“Well, despite what you think,Ithink it’s okay that you don’t know yet. You’re only sixteen. You’ve got time. We don’t graduate for another couple years.”
He sighs. “What’s it like being so smart all the time?”
I giggle. “Stop it. You’re smart.”
“Maybe, but not school smart. I can’t stand that place.”
That’s true. Gabe has never looked more miserable than sitting through math class last semester. He likes todothings, work with his hands.
I think about telling him he should look into some kind of skilled trade when the yawn hits me. I try to hide it, but it can’t be disguised.
“Sorry. I should let you get some sleep,” Gabe says. “Goodnig?—”
“Wait!”
“Yeah?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my cheeks flaming. At least he can’t see me. “Would you stay on the phone for a bit?” I ask. “Just until I fall asleep.”
“Of course,” he says. Because Gabriel Bowman is too kind for his own good. “Anything particular you want me to talk about?”
“No,” I say. “Tell me anything. I just want to hear your voice.”
So he does. He tells me about Connor’s newest obsession with starting a band, even though he can’t carry a tune to save his life. He complains about the five-page essay he has to write for his English class. After a while, I can’t even distinguish what he’s talking about. All I know is the sound of his voice is soothing as my eyes droop.
The storm fades into the background as my breathing evens out.
I can’t be sure, but before I fall asleep completely, I swear I hear him say, “Man, I really like you, Foster.”
