Page 5 of Icarus

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Stop giving me doe-eyes or I’ll ditch you and join them.”

“I’ll stop doing it when you stop liking it,” Icarus shot back, with an eyebrow wiggle.

Luca huffed and pushed him again.

“You get on my nerves,” he said, the tips of his ears pinking. “Anyway. Are you ready to listen to what happened with Amber last night or do we have to do more manly bonding before you give me advice?”

Icarus listened. He thought about what Luca looked like at night, pleasantly drunk and laughing with everyone else. How he saved his memories of it for Icarus in third-period gym.

Celestina

Celestina was one of those popular girls who just did whatever she wanted whenever she felt like it.

He had to admit that it thrilled him. As they passed each other in the hallway, she yanked Icarus by his backpack and pulled him outside, right toward the parking lot.

“I wasn’t planning to ditch today,” he said, struggling against her grip.

“You look exhausted this morning so we’re taking a nap,” she announced.

“What?”

“You look like a wet ghost—haven’t you ever heard of self-care?” Celestina said, making a beeline for her pickup truck, which was parked all the way at the back corner.

Icarus stood there, overwhelmed, as Celestina tossed a blanket into the bed of the truck. Then she hopped in and turned to stare down at him expectantly.

“Get in, weirdo. I know you already have horrible attendance.”

Icarus scrambled over the side. “You don’t have to be like this.”

Celestina scowled. “I do actually.” She turned away from him to untie the sleeping bag she kept in her truck and unzip it into a fluffy comforter. “Lie down.”

Icarus scrunched low. Celestina tossed the comforter over them both and the world plunged into darkness.

“Mom-friends are supposed to be nice,” he muttered, shifting until he was comfortable.

“Niceness and kindness are two different things,” Celestina said, suddenly much quieter now that they were under the cover.

The small pricks of sunlight that filtered through the cloth cast her in a gentle glow. Celestina looked back at him with her brown eyes and brown skin, and Icarus thought of a painting of a sable in winter. She reached over and touched the neck of his sweater.

“All of your clothes are so soft,” Celestina remarked. “What fabric softener does your mom use?”

His sweater was cashmere, but Celestina’s truck was rusted and she colored in spots of wear on her boots with Sharpie.

“Downy,” Icarus lied. “And a cup of vinegar in with the wash. I do my own laundry.”

Celestina hummed and closed her eyes.

“I’ll have to try that someday.”

Icarus wanted to take off his sweater right then and there and give it to her. He wanted to buy her an entire new truck. Instead, he scrunched a bit closer and closed his eyes too. Helplessly.

Grit

The sound of wheels on pavement shook him from sleep and he struggled against the pull to consciousness.

Celestina’s arm tightened around the back of his head and he nosed deeper into the curve of her neck, falling back asleep. He had never been this warm in his life, had never been held like this—held at all. It felt like his bones were wrapped in a quilt made of sunlight.

Suddenly Celestina gasped and sat up, wrenching the cover off them violently. Icarus groaned and covered his eyes. There were students pouring out of the building and getting in their cars to head home.