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“So,” I say, standing, “you gonna help me put some shelves up?”
He takes his time, but eventually stands. “I may as well; there’s fucking nothing else to do in this place.”
I smile to myself as I lead the way into the kitchen. I think I like this kid.
Three hours later, the shelves are up, and Maddox and I have cooked huge batches of spaghetti and beef casserole. He’s a pro with a drill, telling me that Eloise is useless around the house, so someone has to fix things when they break. I’ve also learned she has a drug addiction that sometimes keeps her away from home for days at a time. This, though, is how he’s lived since he was nine when her addiction grew, so he’s used to fending for himself. I don’t like to judge people, but I don’t like the way she’s raised him. Children deserve more than what it sounds like she’s given him. It’s no wonder he has attitude. I didn’t give him any of my thoughts or opinions on anything he told me; I simply listened and let him speak.
“You want these in the freezer now?” Maddox asks, pointing to the portioned containers of spaghetti and casserole.
I nod. “Yes.”
After we finished the shelves, I asked him to help me cook. I thought he’d say no and leave, but he surprised me when he shrugged and said, “Sure.” He’s also a pretty good cook. I guess he had to learn how to feed himself at a young age.
As he loads the containers into the freezer, I say, “How old are you, Maddox?”
“Fifteen.”
“So grade ten?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like school?”
“It’s somewhere to go that gets me away from Eloise and her bullshit, so yeah.”
God, I hate that, but I keep my thoughts to myself.
“What’s your favourite subject?”
He stops what he’s doing. “Seriously, you wanna talk about fucking school? What makes you think I like any fucking subject?”
Up until this point, we’ve mostly talked about what we were doing. The few things he told me about living with Eloise were shared because they related to putting the shelves up and cooking.
“I didn’t love school, but I loved one thing about it,” I say. “I guess I hoped that you had at least one thing you liked, too.”
He stares at me. “What was your thing?”
“The library. I loved reading and I loved that the library was the one place I felt safe away from the mean girls. I used to spend hours in there.”
His brows arch. “The mean girls picked on you? Fuck, you look like the bitches at my school who are the mean girls.”
“Right, so firstly, thanks for that. I look like a bitchy mean girl. Noted. And secondly, I didn’t look like this in school.”
“Bullshit.”
“I had braces and pimples in high school. And hair
I didn’t know how to style. I was a hot mess.”
“Wow.” He seems genuinely surprised.
“What, that’s all you’ve got for me? No smart ass response?”
“Nope. You were a nerd in high school with no clue, and now you’re a princess. I’m thinking about all the nerdy girls at my school and wondering how hot they’ll be when they’re your age.”
Maddox returns to filling the freezer, seemingly done with our conversation. I turn around and finish washing the dishes we created. We work in silence until he says, “Reading is my thing, too.”
I still, and don’t respond straight away. God, but I want to. My heart beats a little faster, because he just opened up to me and shared something significant. Well, in my eyes it’s significant.
