Page 19 of Lost Boy
I grab my backpack, and Fallon, dressed in all black again, grabs his. I throw my letterman jacket on because it’s winter, and even though this is California, we aren’t far enough south, so it still gets cold.
Fallon hasn’t been wearing anything but a hoodie over his T-shirts, so I think a trip to the mall is in order.
Joel told me it’s Fallon’s eighteenth birthday tomorrow, and he wanted to throw him a party, but Fallon apparently spoke to him the other night. And when I say spoke, I mean three words. “No party, please.”
Joel agreed, although I could see the disappointment on his face when he told me about it. He and my dad love planning parties. Joel may be a jock, but he’s pretty gay too, and I like to tease him about his certain interests. He loves it, though, and it’s all in good fun.
“Ready for home?” I ask, slipping my arms through the straps. “Joel’s staying late to do paperwork so we can take the Bronco. My dad will pick him up later. We just need to grab Sofie.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, his head down and thumbs looped into his backpack straps. I don’t let his lack of enthusiasm bother me. It only makes me want to try harder.
“Alright. Let’s venture deep into the depths of the catacombs where the evil spirits and succubi known as freshman girls reside.” I smile widely and stare down at him. Waiting.
I’m corny. I know it. He knows it. But he peers up at me, and I see the twitch of his lip before he shakes his head and leaves me behind in the locker room, grinning after him like a complete idiot. Jamie chuckles behind me, probably laughing at my lack of finesse and game.
Whatever.
The little smile that tried to break free was all that matters to me. It’s a step toward Fallon’s happiness, and after only one week, I’m already rooting for him.
When we get to Fallon’s place, we split up to tackle our homework and knock it out before the weekend. We’ve always done it like this. Dad encourages us to get business out of the way so we can truly focus on the fun.
Dad has a string of restaurants in LA and San Diego called Jandro’s that do really well. He’s recently been able to leave them in the hands of his management, allowing for more family time and a lot moreJoeltime. They’re constantly leaving on mini weekend trips, and they trust me with Sofie while they’re gone. It’s no different tonight. They can trust me with Fallon too.
They’re taking Dad’s small private plane, a Cessna TTx, down to LA to check on one of his newer spots in West Hollywood. Dad got his pilot’s license three years ago, proving he could do another thing he always wanted.
Joel said they’ll be back before we even woke up in the morning and that he has quite a few surprises to try to make Fallon smile on his birthday. And talk.
Fuck. I wish he’d talk to me. After a week, I thought I’d be further along than this. But I won’t give up on him. Like I said, I’ve made it my duty to get him to smile.
I may be a jokester and a jock, but I take my responsibilities very seriously.
CHAPTERSEVEN
FALLON
Ifell asleep on my bed with my lyric notebook open next to me, like always. I never fucking learn. I don’t realize until it’s too late. Until I wake up to Ryder sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open, caught red-handed. As if he stopped himself from saying something really shitty. Something they all say. Anyone who’s ever ripped my notebook from my hands and read my words aloud scornfully and disrespectfully. And by anyone, I mean half of Mom’s boyfriends.
What is this bullshit?
You think you’ll ever be anything more than trailer park trash like your mama?
You’re not good enough.
These words are pathetic.
Man up.
Weak.
Pussy.
I swallow the bile threatening to work its way up my throat and grab the notepad from the sheets, closing it roughly and shutting the harsh slashes of black Sharpie off from the world.
No one needs to see that. I don’t want anyone to. It’s just for me. But I’m an idiot if I think this overgrown puppy won’t accidentally overstep his boundaries. They always do—fucking puppies. You can’t even be mad at them. They’re too cute and too loyal. Ryder is no different.
But my depression doesn’t care. I lash out.
“Why are you in my room?” I growl in an agitated whisper. He’s in my fucking bubble, really.
