I point at the front of his pants and grin. “Well, that was obvious.”
“Shut up!” It’s the first bit of a smile I’ve seen from him since the diner. “You were, like, on it. You’d be offended if I didn’t have a reaction. Be honest.”
“I mean, I guess so?” This time we both laugh, and it feels like the tension is finally leaving the room. The weight on my chest is starting to dissolve a little. I always have such good intentions.
I take a moment to look around his place. The apartment is small. It’s a two bedroom, and the living space is maybe a total of seven hundred square feet. I counted twelve steps to cross his threshold into the kitchen and another three to get to the couch. I haven’t gotten a full view of his bedroom, but the door is cracked, and I can make out a couple of piles of clothes on the floor and a whole bunch of wires coming from everywhere.
My immediate instinct is to ask if I can help him clean his shit up but I tamp it down. Too soon.
Instead, I wander back into the kitchen and start opening cabinets. Three of them are stocked with nothing but cereal. A few different kinds, but there are at least three boxes of Lucky Charms staring me in the face, and it makes me grin.
“I’m the reason Cline got fat, you know,” I say with a laugh.
Elliot turns and regards me warily, his gaze untrusting.
“It’s true. His mom used to be this psycho, all-organic, holistic, no-sugar Nazi. So whenever he would come over to my house, I’d let him have whatever he wanted. You should have seen his face the first time he had an oatmeal cream pie. It was like he’d found religion. And then I gave him a soda … which didn’t end well. I can’t go into too many details, but apparently he went home and trashed his room. Wrote all over his walls. Jumped on his bed until it broke.”
“What the actual hell?” Elliot appears to be genuinely concerned.
“I know! Caffeine, man. I told her he must have had an allergic reaction to one of her muffins.” A laugh bubbles up in my throat at the memory of his mom dumping three trays of muffins in the trash while we watched from across the street. “She never made flax seed pomegranate gluten-free baked goods again.”
He rises to his feet and leans over the back of the couch to look me over. Like, truly look me over. The way he was doing with the people on the street. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”
My heart accelerates at his words, and I force a smile. “That’s probably why I’m majoring in Psychology. I have a theory that people either go into Psychology to find out what’s wrong with someone they love or with themselves. So …” The confession causes my cheeks to burn, and I scramble to change the subject. “What’s yours?”
“Game design. That’s why I’m pissed Kelsey-Chelsea did what she did. I have this opportunity to present a game mock-up to this company after the summer. One of the characters was going to be based on her, and we were going to Ireland to get her family backstory to help flesh out her role.”
I lean on the kitchen counter and purse my lips. “She’s some side part you had written in as the love interest or something? Because God forbid you make her the main heroine in your game. Did she just not have a tragic enough back story?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, Cline’s bedroom door flings open and he steps into the room, staring at me but speaking to Elliot. I feel like it’s the first time he’s looked at me— really looked at me and seen me— in years. And my stomach instantly begins to tighten and sour.
“You need a tragic backstory, Elliot? Look no further. No one has a sadder story than this girl right here. Isn’t that right, Byrdie?”
I’m glued to the spot, struck mute under his words.
Elliot moves closer, but I don’t acknowledge him. “Dude. I thought you were out,” he says.
Cline shakes his head and angles against the counter, facing me just a few inches away. “Forget your ex and her fake stories about having an uncle who was a count in a town that no one’s actually heard of. This is your real story.”
Elliot makes a move like he’s going to say something, but I hold up a hand to stop him. I knew at some point I would have to talk to Cline about everything. I just didn’t think it would be like this. But if he needs an audience to make himself feel better, I can give him the satisfaction.
“He’s right.” I rip my gaze away from Cline’s face and stare directly at the boy I’ve only recently come to know and like a little bit. Maybe I trust him. Maybe I’ve completely lost my mind. Either way …”You want a tragic story for your game? I’m totally your girl. Cline knows all about it. He was there for almost all of it.”