Not my brother. Not kids like him.
Kids like me.
It’s like he sees me.
What did he call it? Glass child syndrome? Ironic, because he’s the first person not to see right through me.
I put my hand over my chest which feels tight. I hope this is another sequela of the concussion, though I fear it’s not.
I fear it’s something much, much worse. I sink down on my couch, my head resting on the back of it.
I don’t remember the last time anyone saw me. Even if they tried, I don’t let myself be seen.
Not that anyone tries real hard. They hit the wall I’ve so carefully constructed and then turn and walk away. They don’t even bother looking for the door. It’s what Mike did.
Yet somehow, Brandon has come barreling full force at me like the Kool-Aid man.
It’s not like these are feelings or anything. It’s the novelty of being seen. Brandon Nix is still Brandon Nix. He’s unapologetically rude and crude.
Except he’s not exactly crude.
And he’s more blunt than rude.
He’s a blowhard, that’s for sure.
But he’s smart. And surprisingly compassionate.
And he’s knocking on my door.
Not metaphorically knocking at my emotional door. Actually knocking on my physical door. I may only have one window in the front of the house, but it is right next to the door and my couch sits in front of it. Sure as God made little green apples, Brandon Nix is standing on my doorstep.
What could he possibly want now?
I haul myself up and pull open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you and hello, Andrew.”
“Would you please stop calling me that?” Normally I would let it roll off me, like I do with so many other things, but this is not a normal situation. I don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely not normal. “And I’m fine. You don’t have to be here. You shouldn’t be here. What happens if people see you coming and going?”
“We’re working on the event, of course.”
I’m confused. This is all hypothetical and in the air. He’s talking like it’s a done deal.
He leans in and whispers in my ear, “I’m just saying that in case your place is bugged or if the head of the USSLRA is out in the bushes listening. I still have a suspicion that you’re a secret spy or something.” His breath is hot on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Though, in reality, I did talk to Leora in the front office today, so this is going to happen.”
I try to remember whatthishe’s talking about, but I can’t seem to focus on anything but how close he is to me.
He doesn’t have bad breath right now. In fact, he has that cool spicy smell associated with men’s deodorant and shaving cream. I close my eyes and try to covertly inhale—
What the hell am I doing?
I jump up and stumble back. I must have lost my mind. Maybe it’s the concussion. Maybe it’s bleeding in there. That’s got to be the only logical explanation.
“Andrew, what’s wrong? You’re really pale.”
I look around my place, trying to see if anything else is weird. Everything looks how it’s supposed to. Everything smells how it’s supposed to. It’s just ... him.
I’m now so aware of him.
