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“Uh-uh,” he yawns. I keep looking around, tracing my finger on the furniture.
“I see you sometimes at college. You don’t really talk to anyone, do you?” I ask. “Always absorbed in your work.”
“Yeah, I actually like college.” His head comes to rest against the door frame, and I notice the eyebags. What does he even do all day to be so tired?
“What do you want to do when you leave?” I ask as I lean against his desk.
When you leave. We keep asking each other that, as if our lives are on pause right now and that nothing here counts.
He gives up on standing and goes to lie on his bed.
“I wanna be a math teacher. But it pays shit. Hence why I need as much money as I can get now.”
I almost choke on a snort. “A teacher? You? I really can’t see it.”
“Hey. I tutor in Stoneview multiple times a week. They fucking love me.”
“No way,” I gasp. “Do you like it?” I come over to his bed and straddle him. “Do you see many of their mansions?”
He shifts, slightly uncomfortable. “Yeah, they’re all unnecessarily big. Have you ever been?”
“A guy I dated super briefly two years ago lived in Stoneview. He was a foster kid who luckily ended up there. Man, his mansion. Could have fit my house about five times in there.”
He laughs softly and runs his hands against my hips and to my waist, holding me tightly. His gaze goes to my chest, covered by his hoodie, and then to my eyes. “Was that the last guy you had sex with?”
It’s my turn to feel uncomfortable. “Yeah,” I say. “Erm, so does tutoring make good money?” I change the topic as quickly as possible. I’ve been feeling safe with him tonight, and I don’t want to bring up something that will change that.
His gaze goes to a spot behind me, avoiding my eyes now. “Yeah.” I feel him shift uncomfortably again.
Why does he feel so awkward about Stoneview? Probably the reason we all do. Most families there have more money than all of us here combined. The unfairness makes us jealous and vindictive.
“It pays well, though I would never want to have their kind of money. Never want to live there. They’re fucked up.” His eyes come back to mine, haunted. “Truly fucked up. We might not have a dime to our names, but at least we have our souls.”
I titter at the statement. “Sounds a bit dramatic.”
“Shh,” he smiles. “You know nothing, you’re just a little baby.” He pulls me down with his hands still on my hips until I’m lying on top of him, my head against his beating heart. The rhythm is uneven, and I can’t help wondering if that’s the effect I have on him. He’s topless, his chest hard and his body warm. My stomach flutters before I can speak again.
“I could kick your ass,” I mutter against him. “I’m no fucking baby.”
“When you talk to me, it’s like a little bee trying to shout at a giant. All I hear isbzz bzz.”
I burst into a laugh, and he’s close behind. “I hate you,” I grin in the dark.
“I hate you too, little bee.” His hand comes to the back of my head, and he undoes my ponytail.
“So soft,” he comments absently as his fingers untangle my hair gently, one strand at a time. “What will your new life be like?” he asks quietly. “There.”
“Simple,” I say, listening to his heartbeat. “No drama. No crime. I might even garden or something. I’m gonna have the white picket fence kind of shit. A nice husband, even.”
“Kids?” The interest in his tone is intense.
I have to think of that answer for a moment. We’re in the dark again. Like every time we start sharing stuff about each other.
“I’m not sure. I only want kids if I know I’ll be a great mom. It’s complicated. Generational trauma and all. Who knows what kind of shit I can pass on to them. That’d be selfish.”
He runs a hand along my back languidly and lovingly. “Is that how you feel about your mom?”
I shrug. “My mom could have been the best mom. It’s not her fault that she isn’t.”
