And I can also see him let go.
Slowly, he nods. “Text me,” he says, quiet again. “If anything feels off. Just… text me.”
“I will.”
He slides in beside Quinton, who whoops and hits the gas, the car peeling away into the late afternoon sun.
I let out a long breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, brushing the hair from my forehead, then glance down at the camera still hanging in my hands, the red light blinking lazily. It’s been recording everything. Every word. Every look.
“Guess that’s enough filming for now,” I say, lifting it slightly toward my face with a tired smile. “I’ll pick you up again at the treehouse. Sunday school first.”
I pause the recording, then start heading towards the church.
***
The screen flickers on. Rain drums softly in the background, a faint rhythm against the wooden planks overhead.
“I’ve been here about thirty minutes now, and still no sign of Nate,” I say, leaning into the camera with a faint grin. “It’s raining, though, so I guess that’s slowing him down.”
The camera pans slightly as I shift it to give a better view of the space around me.
The treehouse isn’t much, but it has character. The walls are scuffed and covered in faded Sharpie signatures, initials carved into the beams from years of teenage secrets and dumb dares. A long wooden bench runs along one side. A worn cushion with a suspicious stain sits in the corner. I’m pretending not to wonder what it’s from. A few fairy lights are strung up overhead, most burnt out, but the ones still working give the place a dim, cozy glow.
It smells faintly of damp wood, sweat, and cheap deodorant, typical jock hangout.
My phone buzzes. I glance down and read the message on the cracked screen:
Nate:I’ll be there soon, please
be patient. The rain’s annoying.
I let out a small laugh and send back a thumbs-up emoji. Then I look back at the camera and shrug.
“He just texted—he’ll be here soon. In the meantime…” I scoot back and sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the lens. “Let’s keep each other company, yeah?”
I pause, then smile
“So, I’ve been thinking… I’d really love to go to Blackwoods University.”
I glance off to the side like I can see it from the treehouse window, like if I imagine it hard enough, I’ll already be there.
“I know, I know, it’s just a dream. And it’s expensive as hell. But I went to the city last weekend and saw this group of college kids sitting at a restaurant. They weren’t even doing anythingfancy, just eating fries and talking. But something about them—” I snap my fingers, “They had that vibe, you know? Like they were made of something shinier. They looked like they had somewhere to be, something to become.”
I lean forward a little, voice softer now. “One of them told me they go to Blackwoods when I asked. He was nice. Even had a little sticker on his laptop with the school’s crest on it. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”
I sigh and fiddle with the button of my suit jacket.
“It’s not just about the image, though. I’m good at math. Like—really good. Numbers just… make sense to me. They’re clean. Predictable. So I’ve been thinking I might study finance. Or business. Or accounting? Engineering, too, maybe. Honestly, I don’t know yet. But I want to learn. I want to be surrounded by smart people. I want to have options.”
Then I smile again, more playful this time.
“Or… maybe I’ll just marry rich and be a stay-at-home husband. Make breakfast, go out on dates, and wear silk robes. Who knows?”
I chuckle, looking down at my hands. There’s a moment of quiet before my voice drops a little softer.
“Maybe even have kids. Not a lot—just enough to give the house a heartbeat. I’d probably be a good dad, y’know? I’d be around all day. I’d make sure they never felt ignored.”
I pause, then smile a little to myself.
