Page 21 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

Hollis immediately felt sad. The kind of sad that has nothing to do with yourself.

“Yeah. I can . . . get another one.”

The boy took the coat and put it on slowly, staring at Hollis, wary and defensive.

“Something happened to me at school today. I wasn’t crying on purpose; I was trying not to.”

Strum

Walt was walking with him now. That was his name.

He’d held up a hand to pause Hollis in the middle of his explanation and demanded they exchange names because he “wasn’t going to stand around wearing stranger clothes, listening to stranger problems,” unless he had something to call him.

He was extremely rude about Hollis’s situation, but he was listening to it. He seemed to care.

Hollis couldn’t blame him for that anyway. Whatever Walt had going on was so much more traumatizing than being briefly accused of an assault he didn’t commit and “suspended from school for a few days” that Hollis was almost humiliated to even be talking about it.

But Walt just gazed up at him and grimaced. Listened.

He had brown eyes, a strange thing for someone so blond.

Ache

“Things would be easier if people liked you more.”

“I am absolutely not in control of that,” Hollis said immediately. “Also, that was a fucked-up thing to say. I need you to know that was fucked-up to say to someone.”

Walt didn’t seem bothered. He stopped walking and tilted his head to the side.

“It’s really not that hard. Have you tried being nice and interesting? Or being real straightforward, but not in a bastard way?”

“What?”

Walt clicked his tongue, annoyed. “I said, have you ever given up your own ego and submitted to the horror of being known, or did you just shrug your shoulders and assume the whole world’s filled with people full of talent who all got lucky while you got the short end of the stick of life? The whole world can’t be filled only with people who hate you for no reason.”

“I have friends, just not a lot of them,” Hollis shot back. “And what do you even know about it? If you were so good at being liked, why don’t you ‘being liked’ yourself out of your own fucked-up situation?”

Walt covered his eyes in frustration. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” he muttered. “Look, pal. All I’m saying is that your opinion that everyone around you is running on full cylinders from birth is hooey. And that you could stand to work on yourself a bit before throwing yourself away. This Jorge guy is only pinning this on you because he knows you’re disliked enough that he’ll get away with it. . . .”

Walt paused. “And ’cause he’s more scared of his parents than he is of you. Which is something you could change.”

Hollis scoffed. “Hooey? Who even says that?”

“Me, you asshole. If I’d half the opportunity you got in life, I sure as hell wouldn’t waste it crying in the woods. Look at you. You’ve got everything!” Walt threw his arms out wide. “You’ve got all your arms and legs, strong heart, strong lungs; you’re tall; you’re not ugly; you’ve got friends, a family, a place to live—”

“And what do you have?” Hollis asked meanly.

Walt stopped and let his arms fall to his sides. “All the answers, apparently.” He grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“And my coat.”

“And . . . your coat.” Walt shook his head and started unzipping it.

Hollis immediately felt bad. “No, dude. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You can keep it. I’m just . . . frustrated.”

Walt grimaced but stopped unzipping. He brushed his fingers through his hair and looked up at the night sky.

“My life ain’t been easy,” he said softly. “But I like to think I’ve learned a lot. We might be able to help each other out.”