"I said okay, Noah."
He squints at me. "I'll make Lorenzo hit you and scream at you if you don't."
"Okay!"
He smirks and finally lets go. "Text me when you land," I call out. He gives me a thumbs up and a stupid little smile.
And then he’s gone.
…
We get into the car. I sit in the back, behind dad. Mom is next to him, super quiet. I stare at my phone screen for a while. Then text Gio.
ME:
-Are you coming to the meeting?
GIO:
-I'll be late. My mom's not feeling great.
My heart drops. What does that mean?
Not feeling great how? I type again.
ME:
-What's wrong?
-Is she okay?
Nothing. I send another. And another. Still nothing.
"That Noah guy," my dad says out of nowhere. "He has a bit of that…edge too."
I’m not even surprised at this. Dad doesn’t likeanyoneat this point. "He’s polite, though," he adds. "Not likethatboy."
My jaw locks. "Dad—" I say, sharp.
"I'm just saying," he goes on, too casually. "He has that same roughness. But not as loud. More polite."
"Enough," I snap.
He goes quiet. For a second. Then mom exhales. Real slow. "Don't," she says to him. "Let it go." Dad doesn’t argue. Just keeps driving. Mom reaches out and gently rests her hand on my leg. I don’t look at her. I just stare out the window. My phone is in my hand, screen still dark.
Gio isn’t answering. His mom isn’t well. I’m not with him. And I hate everything about this day.
…
I keep checking the door. Then the clock. Then the door again. My knee won’t stop bouncing under the table. My hands are locked in front of me, trying to keep my face neutral. And then finally, the door opens.
He walks in. Gio. And his mom. Everyone turns. A few polite murmurs. Some nods. His mom gives a soft smile. She looks pale. Way too pale.
Gio, on the other hand, looks like he hasn’t slept. He scans the room once, then lands on me. Our eyes meet. And I forget to breathe. He doesn’t smile. I don’t either. They take the empty seats across from me. Directly across.
Gio sits down slow with his elbows on the table. I can see the tension in his shoulders from here. His mom sits quietly beside him. Her hands are folded over a small leather notebook, saying nothing.
I try to find something in his face. Something that tells me she’s okay. Something that tells mehe’sokay. But he doesn’t look at me again. Not once.
