“Trust me, I’ve loved these books since I was like twelve. I’ve looked. Olivia Kane is one hundred percent hermit, she doesn’t talk to anyone. She hasn’t made a public appearance in four years.”
“But—”
“You heard what Cole and Chandra said. Most people think she’s a lunatic. She might be, for all anyone knows. Stress does strange things to people.”
Wallace slumps against the wall in defeat. “This is the biggest disappointment I’ve suffered in my entire life as a fan. Can we, like ... write her a letter, or something?”
“You’re really hung up on this, aren’t you?”
Wallace runs his hands over Davy’s fur. A deep furrow appears between his eyebrows. “I don’t know, I just ... how can she leave it like that? The fifth book was supposed to explain so many things. Do they all die? Does Hypnos wake up and reset the world? Emery was dealing with all that guilt and her depression—what happens to her?”
I pull my knees up to my chest and watch him. He pets Davy, and Davy happily rolls over onto his back. Wallace glances at the stack of books, then focuses somewhere around my feet.
“There’s lots of fanfiction about it,” I say. “Or there used to be, before the fans scattered to the winds. People have written their own interpretations of the last book. Some of them are really good.”
He shakes his head. “It won’t be right. Why did she stop writing them?”
“No one knows. I think it was the pressure.”
“I guess I can’t really be mad about it, then.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “How can you be mad that something doesn’t happen, when it would hurt another person? If she had to quit for her health, then I’m glad she did. You shouldn’t have to kill yourself for your art. No matter how many fans you have.”
I get the very intense desire to hug him then. And possibly kiss him. Still debating the kissing, though. “I’m not sure how many people would agree with you on that.”
“Unfortunately,” he says. Then he looks toward my headboard shelves, filled with all my different copies of the Children of Hypnos books, and smiles. “I like your house,” he says. “It’s bigger and quieter than mine.”
“It’s not quiet when Church and Sully are home, trust me. Speaking of which—do you have to be home at a certain time? I have to take them to soccer practice at four, if you want to come and hang out.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Now we’re both smiling.
Mom calls us down for lunch. I expect to have to pull Davy off Wallace’s lap, but Wallace picks him up and sets him on the floor. Davy’s tail wags the whole time. I stare.
“What?” Wallace says.
“Do you play football?You seem like you should play football.”
“I like watching football. Does that count?”
“You just lifted a hundred-and-forty-pound Great Pyrenees like he was filled with Styrofoam.”
Wallace holds out his arms. “Wanna try?”
“Um. Rain check.” Despite being almost thirty pounds lighter than Davy, I haven’t let anyone try to lift me since some boys at school made a joke out of it in gym class and pretended like they couldn’t get me off the ground. That was freshman year, when I was just Creepy Too-Thin Eliza, not Creepy Don’t-Touch-Her-You’ll-Get-Rabies Eliza.
The fact that Wallace offered is kind of nice, though.
Mom makes us peanut butter and jelly with apple slices, aka the lunch you send to school with your first grader. I stew in horror until Wallace begins eating and says it’s “the best freaking peanut butter and jelly” he’s ever had, which makes Mom beam like she’s won an award. At this point I believe he must be either the least picky eater on the face of the Earth, or he’s always so hungry that everything tastes good all the time.
When we return to my room, he finds his spot on the bed. There is plenty of space beside him and the headboard. It’s not like we’ve never sat that close before. We do it all the time at Murphy’s, and on the bench behind the middle school. Sure, those are out in the open and this very much isn’t, especially now that my door is closed, but it’s the same, right? I do my best to hold my frantic heart still, and cautiously arrange myself in that empty space beside him. He doesn’t say a word, but watches me until I’m settled.
“Dog Daysreruns, huh?” he says.
“Yep. How do you feel about it?”
