* * *
“Brando,” I whispered. The heart beneath my hand beat even harder, faster, running from the memory.
* * *
He’s sitting underneath the lamp post, huddled into himself, his breath leaving him in thick clouds. It looks like his hair is wet. His face is pale, his lips bright red, and he’s staring at the light.
Mati slams her foot on the brake and the car comes to a jerking stop. I rub my neck as she hops out. Elliott gets out too.
They left me alone in the car.
I start to cry because my heart hurts, like it’s out in the cold and it’s burning from it. I knock on the window, my palms pressed against it, crying for someone to let me out.
Mati hesitates, looking between me and him, before she starts to walk back toward the car, leaving Elliott with him.
At the sound of my pounding, though, he had looked up, staring for a second. He stood right after, coming to the car, Elliott next to him.
He slides into the seat beside me while Elliott gets back into the front seat. I feel the cold from his clothes, even though he isn’t that close.
He smells like outside, like grass and ice.
No one says anything as we drive. I keep glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
We come to another a house, a small one, with no lights on. The house next door is all lit up, though.
Mati parks the car and looks over her shoulder, telling him to stay put, then signing the same thing to Elliott. He says nothing. He keeps staring forward.
After Mati walks into the darkness, I look at him sitting next to me. “Are you cold?” I ask. Even though he’s around the same age as my brother, around twelve, he looks much older.
He refuses to answer me.
So I kick him in the leg.
He looks over at me, his dark eyes glistening.
“Why are you afraid?” I ask before I can stop myself. There’s no reason to think he is, but I feel it.
“I’m not,” he says.
“Liar,” I say real quietly.
He narrows his eyes at me. “What makes you think I’m lying, Little Ballerina Girl?”
I stick my chin up. “I don’t know. You just are. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
He grins at me. “Liar, liar, pants on fire?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re afraid of the dark.”
This swipes the grin right off his face.
I turn mine, regretting being mean to him right away. “It’s okay,” I say after a minute or two. “You can turn the lights on in your house.”
“Can’t,” he says. “No electricity.”
“Oh,” I breathe. “Well, that’s okay, I guess. You can light candles.”
“None of those either.”
