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True—Sawyer was a terrific waiter, as long as he wasn’t mad at the customers.
“That’s how I played the pelican,” he said. “The other people trying out were just bopping around in this big padded suit, walking funny. I made the pelican into a character, a student at our school who gets no respect but who’s a lot smarter than the teachers give him credit for. After I got the suit on, the first thing I did was walk behind the judges and try to look over their shoulders at everyone’s scores.”
I laughed. “That could have backfired.” Principal Chen had her panties in a wad most of the time, and the football coach wasn’t exactly open-minded, either.
“I knew that,” Sawyer said, “but I figured I had to do something. I mean, all else being equal, would you pick me for anything over Chelsea?”
“No.” But as soon as I said this, I felt the blood rush to my face, as it did so often when I was around Sawyer. I’d thought of several things I would pick Sawyer for over absolutely anybody, and all of them required sitting very close to him in the dark, just like this.
To cover up my embarrassment, I asked quickly, “How did this make you into a vegan?”
“Oh.” He nodded. “It was when I was watching the pelicans. I felt like I was borrowing something from them. Like I was one with the pelicans, or something? I know that sounds stupid.”
It didn’t sound stupid, exactly, but it sounded like something Sawyer was making up to see if I would believe it, teasing me. I said carefully, so he couldn’t tell whether I was buying it, “But people don’t eat pelicans, do they?”
“Not unless they’re desperate. I guess I was also thinking of a deer hunt I went on before I left Georgia. I’ve regretted it every day.” He turned to look out the window at the interstate, lights and palm trees flashing past at even intervals. I could tell, though, that in his mind, he was lost in a dark Georgia forest.
I found his hand and covered it with mine. This was hard for me, making the first move. I’d never gone out of my way to touch Aidan like this. He hadn’t ever tried to comfort me, either, which was probably why my three years with him seemed so sterile when I looked back at them now.
Sawyer turned away from the window. He took my hand in his and rubbed his thumb over my palm, watching me.
“What do you eat, as a vegan?” I asked. “Besides gallons of salad.”
“Cereal, mostly.”
“Dry? Vegans can’t have milk or anything that comes from an animal, right?”
“Right.”
I shook my head, disapproving. “Where do you get your calcium and vitamins and protein?”
“I guess I don’t.”
It occurred to me that, except for salad at lunch, I’d never actually seen Sawyer eat anything. “What did you eat before the 5K on Labor Day, when you nearly passed out?”
“Nothing.”
I slid my hand out of his and poked him angrily in the leg. “You can’t run three miles on nothing, Sawyer.”
“Ow. I found that out, thanks.”
“What did you eat the day you passed out at school?”
He shrugged. “I had a Bloody Mary for breakfast.”
“With vodka in it?”
“And tomato juice, which is full of antioxidants.” He cut his eyes sideways at me. “I know, I know. That’s the day I realized I might have a problem.”
Normally I would have interjected a sarcastic comment here: Oh, that’s when you realized you had a problem? Sawyer’s problems had been obvious to me and everybody else the entire time he’d lived here. Some other guys in our class drank, but most of them didn’t make alcohol their favorite hobby.
I amazed myself by not saying a word. It took a lot of self-control, but I simply moved my hand low on his back and slid my arm around his waist.
He set his head down on my shoulder.
We sat that way for a while. This was a serious step past holding hands. It would have attracted attention in the van if any of the cheerleaders had been awake to see. But they’d bedded down, propping pillows against each other and the walls of the van. The silence seemed heavy, like a question mark.
My skin burned underneath Sawyer’s cheek, and my face felt flushed everywhere his soft hair brushed against it. I wondered if this truce signaled that we’d reached a different level of our relationship. I wondered if I wanted it to. I took a long breath through my nose, easily enough that he might not notice, and exhaled, trying to relax. I wanted to enjoy the sensation of him cuddling against me. I might not get it again.
I’d thought he’d fallen asleep, but he finally spoke. “You think being a vegan is stupid.”
“I don’t,” I said. “I think you’re not doing it right. Starvation, dry cereal, and alcohol do not equal a diet of any kind. My God, at least have some hummus.”
He chuckled—a sound I loved.
“What made you decide to sober up?” I asked. “Being in the hospital?”
“Being in the hospital made me realize that nobody has my back.” He sat up and leaned against the pillow again. We weren’t touching each other anymore, for the first time since he’d come out of the locker room. He looked alone, the only boy in a van full of girls, his blond hair lit by the streetlights behind him like an ironic halo, his features dark and inscrutable.
“My dad was up in Panama City,” he said. “Anybody else’s dad or mom would have rushed home if their kid was hospitalized with heat exhaustion. Not mine. The nurse—DeMarcus’s mom, actually—made me give her my dad’s cell phone number. I told her it wouldn’t do any good. She called him anyway, then came back in the room outraged that he wasn’t coming home. Outraged at me.”
