I hand him the bottle, open one for myself, and we each take a sip. Now that we’re here, in my house, I realize that I didnotthink this through when I blurted out my invite. What are we supposed to do now? I could show him my room, but the thought sends a ripple through my stomach.
“Can I have a tour?” he asks, as if he knows my thoughts.
“Sure!” I say, a little too enthusiastically. Probably. I don’t know. I’m second-guessing everything. I take a deep breath and turn with my arms out. “So this is our kitchen.”
“Oh, I waswonderingwhat this room was called,” he says, smirking.
I roll my eyes. “And of course, our living room and dining area.” I gesture toward the front room, and take a few steps out of the kitchen. He jumps off the counter and follows me into the hallway, where I show him the bathroom with its yellow walls and sunflower-pattern shower curtain.
“It’s nice on rainy days,” I say. “It makes me feel more awake and less depressed.”
He snorts. “I feel you.”
“The door at that end is my mom and her partner’s room.” I point, then turn. My room is a few steps in the other direction. “And this is me.”
I push open the door, quickly scanning inside, but there’s nothing to see. All my laundry is put away and I even remembered to make my bed this morning. Good job, past Sidney.
Forrest follows me in. I watch him look around, taking in my posters, the rug by the bed, the bookcase. Crossing to the windowsill, he bends down to look at my cactus lineup. He puts out a finger, as if to slide it between the spines of one, and—
“Ow!”He pulls his hand back.
“You OK?” I ask.
“Sothat’swhy you don’t touch cactuses,” he says, examining his pointer finger.
“Cacti,” I say. “And also,obviouslyyou don’t touch them!”
“I just wanted to see if I could do it without getting stabbed,” he says, grinning at me.
I shake my head, laughing. “Come on, we have tweezers in the bathroom.”
He follows me out, and a moment later we’re both squeezed into the bathroom as I rummage around the cabinet. “Sit on the toilet,” I say, and he does. I find the tweezers in our medicine box and perch on the edge of the bathtub, grabbing his hand and pulling it toward me.
We’re touching again.
His skin is soft. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that Forrest Hirschler is well-moisturized. Remnants of chipped black nail polish adorn his fingernails, and I turn his palm up, tilting it until the light catches a tiny cactus needle embedded in his fingertip. The tweezers close on it, I pull ever so slightly, and—
“There you go,” I say, looking up.
He’s inches away from me, leaned forward so his elbows rest on his knees, his hand still in mine. This close, I can see the green and brown swirling together in his eyes, and the freckles scattered across his nose. He blinks once. His eyelashes are long, and dark brown, like his hair.
“You smell like a Christmas tree,” I say.
“It’s my lotion,” he says. So he reallyiswell-moisturized.
“It’s nice.” I’m still holding his hand. He hasn’t moved it.
“Thank you,” he says. His eyes look soft, and he holds my gaze. A movement draws my eyes down to his mouth. He’s biting his lower lip.
“So, yeah!” I say, releasing his hand, and he straightens, and I slide away down the edge of the tub until I can stand without knocking into his knees. “You should be good now, I got the needle.”
“Thanks,” he says as I put the tweezers back. My heart is pounding. Am I sweating? Oh my god. I don’t know what just happened, but I feel weird. Shaky, like I’m vibrating inside, the warmth of his hand still imprinted on my palm.
“Do you want to study? We can sit in the dining room. And we have snacks. I can get us some snacks.” I’m at thedoorway now, smiling brightly to cover up how unbalanced I feel.
“Hell yeah.” He gets to his feet, grinning at me. His eyes look normal now, the gentleness gone, replaced by his usual prankster gleam.
“Great! Cool. Sweet.” I lead the way and grab chips, crackers, and dried fruit out of the cupboard while he gets comfortable at the table, pulling his homework out of his backpack.
