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But then I remember: this is the first time a boy’s even been inside my house. She hasn’t had a chance to make any policies about boys in my room.
“I wanted to apologize,” Sebastian says. “For making you feel awkward… when I pulled you onto the water slide.” He dips his head, and the brim of his ball cap hides the smooth planes of his face. “I didn’t know you didn’t like… you know, being the center of attention.”
And I am stunned again. Because he seems really sincere.
He looksembarrassed.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I know you didn’t do it to be mean.”
He looks up. “God, no. I wouldn’t do anything to be mean to you.” He pushes away from the doorframe. “I know some people have been kind of jerks to you… I don’t want you to think I’d ever be like that.”
Ok, people have been more than just “kind of mean” to me, but still—he seems to get it. Sort of. Or at least, he’s trying to.
“Yeah, I know that,” I say. And I mean it. His friends are a different story, but while I may have many opinions about Sebastian Murdoch and his many faults, I don’t think he’s mean.
I kind of wish he was. It would make dealing with him a lot easier. It would be familiar, at least.
He looks up and seems to let out a breath of relief. “Cool.” He nods. “Mrs. T. didn’t bring your name up, by the way. She doesn’t even know you were the one on the slide with me.”
I nod. “Oh… Well, that’s good. So, did you end up getting suspended again?”
Sebastian pushes his hands deeper in his pockets. “Nah, no suspension.”
I wait for him to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, I prod further. “So, what happened, then? What was your punishment?”
“Nothing.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, can we not talk about that?”
“Wait. You didn’t get in trouble? Like at all? Mrs. Tromely did nothing?” My tone doesn’t hide my irritation. But I mean, come on—did he seriously get off with zero consequences? Is he that un-touchable?
Sebastian looks uncomfortable; an out-of-place look for him. “Yeah. I mean, my folks talked to Tromely alone. The three of them want me to meet with a…” He rubs his neck again. “Look, I really don’t feel like talking about this right now.”
Alright then.
“Sure,” I say. “Sorry,” Because clearly somethingdidhappen. Or at least, whatever transpired didn’t leave him totally unaffected, the way he seems to be with most consequences. Whoever it is his parents and Tromely want him to meet with has him feeling… worried? Or maybe it was shame that wilted his features a second ago. Either way, I guess now that I’m no longer implicated, it’s none of my business.
“Anyway, how’s your head?” I ask, partly as a way to feel out if he was being honest about his reason for canceling yesterday, or if it was just something he made up on the fly.
He shrugs. “Better.”
Okay, so possibly not a lie, then.
“Do you get a lot of them?” I ask. “Headaches, I mean. Is that a regular thing for you?”
He glances around my bedroom, almost like he’s avoiding making eye contact. It’s kind of out of character, but I’m thinking maybe he’s one of those guys who feels like getting headaches or being in pain or whatever makes him seem weak. “Not really,” he says. Then he sort of mumbles, “sometimes, I guess.”
His eyes pass over my desk, my bookshelf, all the plants… the touch tank.
“So, you really like plants, huh?” His voice is smooth. Deep. Totally out of place in my dusty pink and green boho bedroom. And I can’t tell if he’s trying to change the subject or just making a random observation. Because with Sebastian’s attention span, that happens sometimes: he’ll suddenly just blurt out a comment about something that’s caught his attention.
I let out a little laugh. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a jungle in here.”
“It’s cool,” he says. “I like it.” He steps farther into my bedroom and wanders over to the touch tank. His eyes go wide. “Holy shit. You have starfish in your room.” He leans in closer, dips a calloused finger into the water, and glances over at me. “Can I touch one?”
“Uh, okay. Just… lightly.”
He turns back to the touch tank, pushing his right sleeve up to his elbow. Then he immerses his entire forearm. Slowly. Gently, even. And never in a million years did I think Sebastian Murdoch could do anythinggently.
He strokes his finger across one of the stars. “Weird…” He smiles. Then, after another second, adds, “This is so awesome.”
