Page 62 of The Way I Used to Be
“Well, Kevin won’t be joining us this year, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
I shove my phone deep into my pocket. “What do you mean? Did hell freeze over?”
“Edy, stop.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. Caelin just said Kevin would be staying there, at the Armstrongs’. That’s all I know,” she says, throwing her hands up.
“That’s good,” I tell her.
“Well, it’s not good. But, I suppose, it’s normal. I mean, they are technically his family,” she says.
“That’s what I’ve been saying forever.”
“Well,” she begins. But that’s it. Just “well.”
I consider texting Troy back and telling him to forget it. But then I feel this tightness creeping up inside my chest at the thought of seeing Caelin, even without his other half.
I text Troy again:how’s 5:30?
Mara gave me her extra car key in case of emergencies while she and her mom are at her grandmother’s house for the week. Her mom would flip out if she knew. My parents would flip out if they knew. Mostly because I only just got my learner’s permit and I’m not supposed to be driving any car. But this is the most legal thing I’m planning on doing tonight, so I really don’t care.
Troy’s already there when I pull in the parking lot. “Hey,” I yell to him as I’m getting out of Mara’s car. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Naw,” he says quietly, batting at the air. “No big.”
I walk up to him. He looks different to me, standing here with the sun going down, still daylight barely. I’ve never seen him in the sunlight. But even the way he stands, the way he looks at me, everything feels different, somehow.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, standing in front of him. I never realized we were the same height. Although, I don’t actually think we’ve ever stood face-to-face like this before. He’s always sitting down, on a couch, a floor, somewhere, slouched, smoking.
“What? Nothing’s wrong,” he tells me, shrugging as he tucks his hair behind his ears. A terrible thought crashes into my mind: He found out, someone told him about me and his brother.
“Why do you seem like that, then?” I ask.
“Like what?” he asks, looking around, confused.
“Like—not normal. Are you mad at me for anything?” I pry.
“No, of course not,” he says, grinning slowly. “Been smoking already? You’re paranoid, girl,” he says with a laugh. And even that sounds different.
“No, you just seem like something’s... different?” I tell him.
“Well, I’m straight—that’s probably why I don’t seem normal!” He laughs again. “This is not my natural state! I was waiting for you.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of that. I hadn’t even considered he could exist while not under the influence. “Oh.” I laugh. “Okay. That makes sense.”
“You do need help relaxing, don’t you?” He smiles. Then he reaches forward and places one hand on each of my shoulders, kneading the muscles up to my neck, gazing at my face with a concentration I’ve never seen in him before. He steps in. I back away. I can’t let him kiss me. Not right now. I look down. Then back up. He looks down too, embarrassed.
“Let’s get in the car,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Thanks for meeting me,” I tell him as I turn the heat on.
“Course.” He shrugs, placing one of his expertly rolled joints between his lips. He lights it, then inhales. “What’s got you all tense there?” he asks, looking at me sideways, still holding the smoke in his lungs as he passes the joint to me.
I inhale shallowly, still a little bit afraid of what might happen. And exhale. “Family.”
“Hear that.” He sighs. He turns the radio on, adjusting the volume perfectly.
We pass the joint back and forth several times, not speaking. He reclines the passenger seat so he’s almost lying down. He stares out through the windshield at the sun setting behind the wooden castle. I follow his gaze and watch as the colors bleed and mingle like something out of a dream. This is not the black-and-white world I once thought I was in. This world is alive and vibrating. And I’m alive in it—and that feels amazing.
He nudges my arm. I look down. He’s passing me the joint. And I hear his words, their pace slow, as I inhale and pass it back to him. “Do you always look like that?” he’s asking.
