Page 44 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

“TUMS in the glove compartment,” Yulia said, eyes still closed.

Annie dug them out for him.

What happens if we eat those for no reason?

Walt didn’t answer him and popped one into his mouth.

“Thanks.”

Annie laughed nervously. “Anyway, I’m sure they’ll adjust. We only have a semester of school left.”

“Yeah,” Walt said. “It shouldn’t be a big deal.”

Sick

It was.

People started talking to him more as the week went on. Clementine asked him if he was interested in helping with the school paper. Joe picked up his sweatshirt when he dropped it in the hall and jogged over to hand it back to him. Marika said, “You’re good at this, huh?” when Walt raised his hand to answer a question correctly.

Some part of it made Hollis angry. He didn’t like the idea that Walt could do more with the raw material of his body and face than he could. Other parts of this just filled him with wonder.

The amount of times people smiled at him or held the doors open for him was baffling. Even teachers were being a little different. It was confusing and sad.

It made him want to pull deeper into himself. Hide more, even though he knew this was better than what would have happened if he came back without Walt at the wheel. He thought about what Annie said.

“They don’t know you like we do.”

He thought about Walt’s reaction to it. Walt had refused to explain himself, shutting Hollis out for a full hour of silence when he pressed too hard. Even pointing out that he’d been given back control for a bit didn’t faze Walt.

Walt just said, Thank you for saving us.

Then went back to bleaching and dyeing all Hollis’s red, orange, and yellow clothes the “appropriate” colors, since they couldn’t afford new ones.

Wind

By Friday night, Hollis could open and close his own hand.

Tenement

Saturday morning came soft. The air was warm, and it was raining.

Walt was awake before him, but he wasn’t up doing chores like usual. He was lying on his side, staring at the wall, quiet.

What are we doing?

I’m just . . . tired, Walt said.

Hollis felt a thrill of alarm; he’d been up most nights this week learning to move. He’d waited for Walt to fall asleep, but maybe that wasn’t enough.

Walt was still talking.

Not an effortless job. Sometimes it’s good to just be for a while.

Oh. Like, existential tired, not sleepy tired. Like . . . depressed.

Walt shrugged and turned over onto their back.

I didn’t spend a lot of time in school growing up. We are both seventeen, but seventeen was a man back home. I was already working.