“It seems like it’s your thing, right?” I wrap my hands around the side of the still-warm laptop. “I hate it when people interrupt my reading.”
“You read a lot?”
I shrug. “I guess it depends on what you think is a lot.”
“More than an hour a day?”
I think back over the last few years. More than an hour a day was a low estimate, but since I’d arrived in Lee Vines? Between getting up early and work and watching Supernatural with Leelee…that number was greatly reduced.
“How many hours of video games do you play?”
“Well, if I had my choice it’d be a lot more. Sierra thinks I have a problem, so she’s constantly monitoring it and making me work or go outside.”
“Do you think you have a problem?”
“I guess it depends on what you think constitutes as a problem,” he says, tossing my own words back at me.
“I think it’s when it interferes with your life, health, and well-being, but sometimes that thing that seems really bad to other people is kind of your personal life-line.”
His eyes perk up and he nods. “Right. Makes sense.”
“But sometimes that life-line can be a problem too, you know?” I’m not sure why he’s making me feel so introspective, but I am. I guess maybe I get the desire to hole up alone and do my thing.
“Yeah.” He scratches his neck. “I guess so.”
“Thanks again,” I say, standing. “You’re a lifesaver. I was either going to smash the computer to pieces or totally screw up my grades.”
“No problem.” He stands with me. “And let me know if you need any more help.”
“I will.” I leave the room and the hall is empty, George and Jake having vanished. I glance back and Charlie’s already restarted his game. I pass by the empty rooms, noting that the one before the staircase with the guitar must be Dexter’s. I’ve got to talk to him soon and thank him for everything. There’s a tension between us that increasingly makes me uncomfortable. The last thing I want is for there to be a problem.
“You all done?” George asks, and I look up to see him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s wearing a shirt. I’m a little disappointed.
“Yep.”
He lets me pass and I spot Jake in the kitchen holding a spoon full of peanut butter. “Bye, Starlee.”
“Bye, Jake,” I say, knowing I’ll see him in the morning and that thought makes me happy. “Bye, George.”
“Later.”
At the front door I hear the strains of music coming from the shop, and the fresh mountain air and realize that I’ve accomplished something new. Something wild, and I only had to break all the rules to make it happen.
12
It takes me two days to write the letter. It’s a thank you of sorts, something to clear the air with Dexter. I owe him one or three and I feel like maybe that’s what’s causing the tension between us.
It’s not long or complicated. Just a direct “thanks,” but it still takes time to get it right, plus there’s the obsessing over what he’s going to think, what the others will think if he tells them, and how am I going to give it to him.
I almost ask Jake as we sit side by side on the rock overlooking the lake. The letter is tucked in my pocket, in case the perfect opportunity arises, but it feels weird talking about the other boys when we’re out here together. We’ve only just started speaking at all.
“What kind of books do you read on the rooftop?” I ask just as the clouds are parting. My arms are wrapped around my knees.
“Um, just whatever, I guess.”
“Whatever? Come on, give me a few titles.”
His jaw stiffens along with his shoulders, and I feel like what should be a safe topic turned into a landmine. Of course, my natural reaction is to start babbling. “I like a variety of genres. Fantasy, space opera, urban fantasy, young-adult.”