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“Who?” I asked, propping my head up with one hand. “You never said anything about a boyfriend.”
Kate’s cheeks undoubtedly pinked in the dark.
“Tyler Kim,” she offered. “Definitely not my boyfriend. It happened after we stayed late one night to strike the set for My Fair Lady. His parents were at work.”
Never an actress, Kate worked on a lot of theater productions put on at Belmont Prep. This, however, was the first time I’d heard of her getting involved with anyone there.
“A theater kid?” I ventured, trying to place the name to a face. “Really?”
“He builds the sets. I stayed to help even though I did costumes. He has nice arms.”
“So…you gave it up because you liked someone’s biceps?”
“No.” Kate sighed. “I wanted to know what it was like, I guess. Figured I should get it over with, and Tyler is a nice guy who won’t blab my shit all over Belmont, you know?”
I opened my mouth to say that making the safe choice isn’t how most girls would go about giving up their virginity, but then I realized I couldn’t really talk. I was prioritizing the safe route myself. Maybe too safe.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “Cute. I guess.” I honestly didn’t know what more to add. “How was—” I swallowed back my question. I wasn’t really sure I wanted all the details on Kate’s sex life. But she was my sister, after all. I needed to ask something. “Was it all right? Were you…all right?”
After a moment more, she answered. “I’ll probably do it again. Just not with him.”
I swallowed. There were other things I wanted to know, but it suddenly felt weird to pressure my sister in a way I never had before. Why wasn’t she interested in Tyler? Had it hurt a lot? Was it awkward? Had he treated her all right after? I supposed the fact that she was willing to do it again meant it wasn’t so bad. But if not with that guy, then who?
“I feel bad for him,” she whispered before I could figure out my next question.
“Who, Tyler Kim?” I asked. “I don’t know why. He was probably walking on clouds after that.”
“No, not Tyler. The guy in Nonno’s shop.”
“Michael?”
I don’t know why I said it that way. Calling him Michael instead of Mike, the way my friends had. But I kept seeing those dark eyes smirking at me, masking a deeper hurt that I wanted to fix more than anything.
“Yeah,” Kate murmured.
“Don’t tell me you have a thing for tattoos too.”
Kate gave a snort. “Not like your friends. I only mean…he must be lonely. Two years in prison. Now he’s living in a breakroom over a garage. It means he has no one; otherwise, he would have had somewhere to go.”
For the second time that night, my sister left me speechless. This time, it wasn’t because I couldn’t think of anything to say—but because there were too many thoughts racing through my head.
Like wondering where Michael had come from if his only refuge was my grandpa’s garage.
Whether Michael had enough to eat after he was finished with the ziti.
If Nonno left on the heat or if Michael’s clothes would keep him warm through the night.
I turned toward the window. Flakes of snow were starting to fall, evident only in the glow of a streetlight a few houses down.
I was used to the constant noise of New York. The hints of music blaring from apartment buildings and nearby restaurants. The huff and squeal of the buses on Crotona Avenue. The chatter of people making their way to and from the restaurants on 187th.
Normally, it all wooed me right to sleep, but tonight, I found myself staring toward the hum while Kate’s breathing grew deeper.
Shadows flickered outside my window as people walked past.
I wondered if one of them was Michael Scarrone.
I wondered if he was all right.
