I’d set my phone down beside me, and it pinged with his response now.Are you being sarcastic?
What do you think?I wrote.
I thought you might say that.
Before I could ask what he meant, there were two quick raps on my window.
I pulled open the blinds to see Ro’s face pressed up against the glass. He was standing precariously on the tall ladder my father used for cleaning the gutters.
“Ro!” I cried. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m about to lose my fucking brains if you don’t open up and let me in,” he said.
I quickly slid my window open, and Ro thrust a small white box at me, then tumbled in after it. He fell hard on the floor and stayed there, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard.
“Shh,” I said. “My parents are downstairs.”
“Holy shit,” he panted. “Remind me never to do that again.”
I sat on the floor beside him and burst into laughter. “Oh my God. You’re such an idiot.”
“I was trying to make a grand gesture!” Ro said.
“Dying’s a pretty grand gesture.”
I opened the box Ro had handed me to find two of Mel’s mini cinnamon rolls.
“A peace offering,” he said. “For being a jerk lately.”
“Aw, Ro,” I said, a warm feeling rushing through me. I handed him a cinnamon roll, then took one myself. It was sticky-sweet and so delicious I found myself licking my fingers even after it was finished. I leaned back until we were shoulder to shoulder on the floor, our eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Tell me something good,” Rowan whispered. I knew he was thinking of Mel’s illness and the way it had cast a film of sadness over absolutely everything, and I knew he was asking for a distraction.
I thought about it for a second, grinned, then said, “Idohave a picture of you breakdancing. Wanna see?” I reached for the phone on my bed, found the picture, and shoved it in Ro’s face. He groaned and pushed the phone away, but he turned on his side so he was facing me.
“Youtellmesomething good,” I said.
“When I go pro,” he said. “I’m going to buy Mom the biggest fucking house in Winchester. She’ll travel everywhere to see me play on tour, stay in the best hotels, and then come back home to a mansion. She’ll only have to work if she wants to. She can hire people to permanently run Rosas.”
I spoke over the lump in my throat. “That sounds perfect.”
This was classic Ro. My bighearted, big-dreaming best friend.
“I guess I’d have to buy Luke something. Maybe like a lifetime supply of comic books and whatever video games he wants.” Then he turned to me. “What do you want?”
He nudged my toes with his sneakers. “Come on, I’m giving away pipe dreams here.”
“I want ...” I said, trailing off, feeling stupid.
“Say it,” Ro prompted. “I’d give you anything.”
“I just want my best friend.”
He stared at me then, his brown eyes intense on mine. “You’ve got him.”
It all felt so perfect, this moment where we were sharing everything and nothing at all. Ro had apologized for the way he’d been acting the past few weeks. And all this—climbing up to my window, the cinnamon roll—was a nice gesture, but none of it answered the questions I had for him.
“Ro?” I said. We were so close, our foreheads almost touching. “Why did you kick me out that night?”
