Alex rolls their eyes. "Adults are so dramatic. In here, we don't have the luxury of holding grudges. Too many of us have already lost people we care about."
Their words hit harder than any lecture from Drew or Gavin. Looking across the room to where James is helping an even younger teen assemble the walls of their gingerbread house, his expression is patient and gentle.
"I think I've been an idiot."
"Probably," they agree, handing me a piping bag of frosting. "Now make yourself useful and glue this roof together while I plan our attack."
For the next half hour, I follow Alex's increasingly bizarre decorating instructions, creating what they describe as gingerbread-house-meets-alien-autopsy. We cover one side in green frosting sludge, use licorice to create strange tentacles emerging from windows, and top it with a UFO made from stacked cookies and peppermint sticks.
As we work, I watch the room. Gavin has assembled a team of three shy-looking teens who are gradually coming out of their shells as he demonstrates how to create "candy carnage" on their rooftop. Tyler and Ethan have joined forces with a pair of girls who are designing what appears to be a gingerbread haunted house. And James...
James moves through the room as if he belongs, stopping to help various groups, laughing at their creations, and offering suggestions. The guarded, perpetually grumpy James I know from campus is nowhere to be seen. Here, he's open, relaxed, and generous with his smiles.
"He practically lived in the library when he first got here," Alex says, following my gaze. "Marcus says he applied to like twenty scholarships. Got most of them, too."
"You know a lot about him?"
"He comes back every week. Helps with college applications, tech stuff. Fixed my laptop when it died." Alex applies more green frosting to our monstrosity. "He doesn't talk much about himself, but the older kids have stories."
Don't ask. Don't be that guy who—"What kind of stories?"Pathetic, Huntington. Pumping a teenager for information about your ex.
Alex side-eyes me. "None of my business. Or yours, probably."
They're right, of course. But watching James here, seeing him in a place that clearly means so much to him, I realize how little I actually know about his life before me. I knew the basics: foster care, no family, scholarship student, but I never really asked about the details, what made him into the person he is.
"I messed up," I'm speaking to the air more than to Alex.
"So fix it," they reply, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.
Maybe it is. Or maybe it's already too late.
Halfway through the decorating session, I find myself alone at the snacks table, refilling my water cup. James approaches for the same purpose, then freezes when he realizes I'm there. For a moment, I think he's going to turn and walk away. Instead, he stiffly reaches for a cup.
"How's your house coming along?"Great. Lead with small talk. That'll fix everything.
"Fine," he replies curtly, not meeting my eye.
"James—"
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Not here."
"I want to?—"
"Problem?" Gavin appears at my side with impeccable but unwelcome timing.
"No problem," James says, tone clipped. "I'm getting water."
"Cool, cool," Gavin says, looking between us with obvious concern. "Just checking. Tyler was wondering if we should order pizza soon, and I saw you two talking, and thought maybe you were, you know, 'talking' talking, which would be awesome because everyone thinks you guys should?—"
"Gavin, we're fine. Go ask Marcus about the pizza."
James uses the distraction to slip away, rejoining Haru and their teenage partner. Watching him go has frustration building in an emotional feedback loop. Every time I try to get close, something or someone intervenes.
"They mean well," a voice says behind me. I turn to find Marcus watching the scene with a knowing expression.
"They're making it impossible to have a simple conversation."
Marcus chuckles. "You think any conversation between you and James right now would be simple?"
