Page 13 of Lost Boy
He opens the top, and I lean forward, peering into a freezer full of ice cream, popsicles, and frozen cookie sandwiches.
“I got drunk and ate way too many Oreo ice cream cookies once. Recently actually. There was no denying that I found Joel’s secret hoard. I told him it was a few of my friends too, so he wouldn’t know I actually had the munchies and fucking devoured the whole box on my own.” Ryder grins wide, showing me all his teeth, and I just stare, silently transfixed.
He reaches in and grabs two, tossing me one. “These. They’re addicting,” he jokes, but my mind is fixated on one word.
Munchies.
CHAPTERFIVE
RYDER
“You smoke?” Fallon mumbles from under his curtain of electric blue hair, the dark half facing away from me, like the dark side of the fucking moon. Mysterious and unknown. But damn, do I want to get to know him better.
He tugs at the wrapper before opening it, sliding the cookie up and taking a huge bite.
“Sometimes. At parties or if friends have it. You?” I ask him in return. He probably wants to know for a reason, and I’m guessing the answer is yes.
“Yeah,” he mumbles around his mouthful but doesn’t elaborate any further.
He continues to eat his dessert with a detached, almost vacant look in his blue-gray eyes.
I’m not going to acknowledge any of what happened before dinner. Nope. Nothing.
I can hold back. That’s not the problem at all. I can wait for him. I can be patient with his friendship. Patient for his trust. I won’t say anything to him about the fact that he burrowed his freezing cold toes under my leg while napping on the couch, freaked out at Joel’s shout, nuzzled my palm, ran to the bathroom in panic, and devoured his dinner like a starving man lost in the woods for a week with nothing but protein bars and rationed rainwater.
I won’t say a word. He doesn’t need me to point any of that out.
“There’s a party on Friday at one of my teammate’s houses. He usually gets some bud for the weekend. We. . . could hang out after gym class like I said earlier? Here? It would be even more low-key than ice cream on the boulevard. See?” I motion toward the Oreo cookie in his hand. “We’re already having ice cream together anyway. Let’s up the ante to pizza on Friday. What do you say?”
“Just us?” he mumbles.
Fuck, why does that question do something for me?
“Yeah, dude. Just us.”
“Okay,” he says quietly, glancing up at me and shoving the rest of the ice cream into his mouth. His cheeks puff out slightly, but he has no problem chewing it. Those intense-as-fuck eyes stare back at me, the black liner and his pale skin making them pop even more, before darting down to the Snickers ice cream bar in my hand, then off to the side, staring at nothing.
He’s so small.
“Want another?” I ask, holding out my choice. I can get another. It doesn’t really matter. We all know where the ice cream stash is. We just like to tease Joel and act like it’s his big secret.
Fallon needs it more than me. He can have five of each if he wants, and I know Joel feels the same way. I shared a look with him and my dad while Fallon was inhaling his dinner. It was concerning, and everyone at the table felt it.
Joel told me Fallon’s been through some tough times. I mean, of course he has. Why else would he have to move in with his uncle? I know his dad, Joel’s brother, passed away five or so years ago, and he feels like that may have been the catalyst. Although, he still can’t fully understand the Fallon that he sees before him today. And Joel feels guilty about that. He hates seeing his nephew like this. And he especially hates that he didn’t know about it for so long.
Fuck. I hate it, too, and I only just met him today.
It’s fine, though. He’s here now, and so am I. I’ll make him smile. No doubt. It’s my new mission in life.
Fallon silently takes the second ice cream and mumbles a “thanks” before heading back to the table, leaving me standing here. I stare after him, wondering what the fuck happened to him and if he’ll ever tell me.
* * *
Standing in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth in the dark, I’m not startled when Fallon walks in unannounced and flips the light on. I left the door cracked open with only the nightlight on, like no one was in here, in hopes that he might do just this—unintentionally join me.
“Oh. Sorry,” he says roughly, quietly.
Fallon turns the light off and backs out of the bathroom, gripping the doorknob tightly as he pulls it shut.
