“Nothing. You?”
“Just watched a documentary on YouTube.”
“About?”
“The stock market crash of 1929.”
“That sounds …greatlydepressing.”
“Wow. Denny doesn’t even make jokes that bad.”
“Hey.”
He chuckled, and the sound ran through me like a sip of hot chocolate on a cold winter night. I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, knees pulled to my chest, phone still pressed to my ear.
“Tell me about it.”
“You … want me to tell you about the Great Depression?”
“Yes.”
“What about it?”
“Anything,” I said. “Just … talk. Teach me something.”
I could hear his hesitation before he sighed and said, in that mumbling, almost-slurred speech of his, “Okay, well … the stock market crash began on October twenty-fourth. It was right at the end of the twenties and …”
I closed my eyes and listened as he rambled, going off on soft, slow-spoken tangents and sharing a handful of anecdotes from other books he’d read or films he’d seen.
Most people would be surprised to realize how much Miles knows about history. Considering his poor grades and that he had to repeat sophomore year, it may not seem in character, but ever since we started hanging out after the shooting, he’s been really interested in it. You can ask him about almost any point in American history and he’ll go on for hours. This from the boy who answers in monosyllables half the time.
I’m not that interested in history. It’s just never really intrigued me the way it does other people. But I took comfort in listening to Miles. I love hearing it when he gets worked up or passionate about something. Admittedly, it’s just a small inflection, a tiny lift to his voice that I like to believe no one besides me notices.
I let him go on about the Great Depression for hours. I didn’t tell him about what I’d just learned regarding Sarah and her parents. I didn’t say much at all, really. Just slipped in questions or comments here and there so he knew I hadn’t dozed off, so that he’d keep talking.
Ineededhim to keep talking.
If he stopped, I worried about the places my mind might wander. And I hoped it was helpful for Miles, too. I couldn’t be the only one in need of a distraction until this cursed night passed.
He kept going, right up until the first hints of morning appeared through the blinds of my bedroom window.
“I should probably go before my mom gets up,” I said. “School is going to suck today.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But at least we got through it. And we have another year before the next one.”
“Yeah.” Though I tried not to think about what I would be doing this time next year, about the prospect of the first anniversary spent far away from other survivors. Away from him. “Thank you,” I said after a minute of silence. “For staying up with me.”
“Not like I was gonna be able to sleep, either,” he murmured. “Just hope it wasn’t too boring.”
“You’re never boring.” I cleared my throat. “I have to go. See you at my truck in a couple hours?”
“Sure.”
I hung up the phone and rolled onto my stomach just as my mom’s alarm started going off in the next room. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to slow my breathing. She’d poke her head in soon to check on me, and I didn’t want her to know I’d been up all night.
If I could ease her worry, take away even just a tiny fraction of it with a lie, I would.
These little lies kept us both sane.
