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You know, just in case I really want that sense of shame to burn into me more permanently this morning.
Why should I feel shame, anyway? Because I slept next to Toby last night in his tiny twin bed? We didn’t even do anything.
It’s after washing my hands that I bother to check my phone, and I discover one curt text from my mom last night asking me where I am, as well as a missed call from my dad. That’s it. Just one call and one text. That’s the extent of my parents’ panicking.
I should probably get home, but not on account of my parents and their half-assed attempts to reach me. I just feel really weird suddenly and don’t think I can act normal in front of Toby, despite my private declaration last night to be his protector or whatever.
What is it about the morning that changes everything? You’re a creature of the night, my dad used to tease me every time he came into my room in our New York townhome, catching me up at two in the morning drawing. I guess I get it from him; he suffers from insomnia and is up at any hour of the night.
I really hate mornings.
There’s a fist against the door. “Toby, I need to pee,” comes a deep, dull voice. “What’re you doing in there for so long, anyway? Jacking off?”
I whip open the door.
A tall, broad-shouldered troll in a threadbare black tank top and blue boxers falls back a step at the sight of me, as if the gates just opened to the seventh circle of Hell. “What the—?”
“It’s all yours,” I announce to the dumbfounded guy I can only guess is Toby’s stepbrother, brushing past him on my way out.
But an easy exit is the last thing I get. Standing in the living room now is a surprisingly beautiful woman—blonde, thin arched eyebrows, slender, a look of sharpness in her eyes that shows both strength and a sense of keenness. A dishtowel hangs from her hands, likely because she was drawn at once from the kitchen by Toby’s stepbrother’s little outburst. When she peers at me, I am further surprised by a softening in her sharp gaze, which slowly drags down my body, taking me all in. Then, as if spilling a private thought, she murmurs in a suggestive, I-wouldn’t-dare-to-call-it-flirtatious voice, “Why hello and who are you, mister …?”
“I’m Vann.”
Her eyes are hovering on my chest for some reason. “Oh. I’m Marlene. Are you a friend of Lee’s?”
“Hell no, he ain’t,” blurts the stepbrother, whose urgent need to pee apparently isn’t so urgent after all, hovering in the hallway as he is, as if he’ll need to protect his mother from dangerous me.
“Oh. So you’re a friend of … of Toby’s, then? From …?” She has trouble lifting her eyes from my chest to my face, but finally does.
“We’re classmates,” I answer. Is that heavy breathing at my back from Lee? Is he a mouth breather? “I crashed in his shed last night. We hung out after he got off work.”
“Ooh, I see.” Her eyes wander again.
Is she bad at eye contact? Or am I being checked out? “I’m going.”
“Going? Oh, you’re leaving? Why so quickly?” She gives a light glance at the back door, as if curious about Toby for half a second, then shrugs at me. “Why not stay for breakfast? I’m whipping up a plate of Saturday-morning eggs and some—”
“Mom, don’t invite him to stay,” blurts Lee from behind.
I shoot him a look. “Why? You afraid I’m gonna force-feed you your eggs, like your football buddies apparently like to do?”
Lee, who has a body twice my size and weight, shrinks at my words, but his eyes darken indignantly.
Marlene’s forehead crinkles up. “Force-feed …? What?”
“Just a Spruce High inside joke,” I answer coolly with my eyes very deliberately on Lee. Then I turn back to Marlene. “Thanks Ms. Michaels for the invite, but I really gotta get home.”
“You can call me Marlene,” she insists, her face warming.
The back door slides open the next instant, and Toby’s bright and worried face appears. He’s now wearing a blue t-shirt that matches his shorts. At the sight of the three of us, Toby freezes. I can literally hear the alarm bells ringing in his brain as he looks at each of us with mounting concern. “I … H-Hey, uh …” He’s playing catch-up very quickly. “You guys all met? Sorry. I was—I needed to get—Anyway, this is my friend Vann from school, and I—”
“Oh, we did that part already,” Marlene cuts him off sweetly, then laughs. “I invited your friend to stay for breakfast, but he’s—”
“—gotta go,” I finish for her, looking at Toby.
Toby stares at me, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh. Okay. I thought we’d …” He runs out of words, then gnaws on his lip in the absence of them, his face contorted with worry.
