“Near the lake,” David repeated in a whisper. “I don’t think I’m meant to be here.”
My smile dropped. “What? You’re… here. There’s no way you’re backing out of this now.”
David shook his head. “I’m not backing out.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” His eyes lingered on a family portrait Dad commissioned one Easter. “Just talking. Meaningless small talk.”
There was no chance in hell he was telling the truth. But I let him have it due to his anxious state and the fragility of the line we were towing between fake partners and occasional flirts.
“You want a look into what’s left of my childhood?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said, still distracted by the decor. “I’ll need the canon fodder for later.”
I rolled my eyes and started walking. My room was at the end of the hallway, a glorified art gallery with a full-size, four-poster bed with curtains that closed. The bed was the only thing my mom and I agreed would never be moved out of my room.
“What was it like before?” David scanned the space as if he were trying to see through some glamour.
“My boy band posters were over here.” I gestured to the wall on the right. “A shrine to a mermaid series I was obsessed over used to be there. My mounted TV was covered in rhinestones. And a couple of shag rugs overlapped each other.”
David nodded, releasing my hand as he walked toward the bay windows. Mom placed new white cushions and overstuffed brown pillows on the seat.
“I’m sure it was nice.” He sat down in the bay window seat, massaging the hand I’d grabbed.
“Do you…” I gestured to his hand and took a seat beside him, keeping a respectable two pillows in between us. “Need to wash your hands?”
“No.” David smiled, seemingly thankful as he shook his head. “I’m not… it’s unnecessary. Or at least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.”
I’m quiet, waiting for him to expound, but he continued massaging and studying my room in silence.
“Remember the dare?” I smiled and nudged my shoe gently against his. “You’re supposed to be open.”
“I think it needs at least a time parameter.” He turned back to me. “It’s not fair if I have to be open with you indefinitely.”
“Why couldn’t it be indefinite?” It was supposed to sound teasing, but there was a weight in my words. I hoped that David would consider me as more than the person he pestered for a couple of hours before disappearing into the void. “We talk almost every day. You’re sitting in my childhood bedroom. We used to barter for candy in elementary school. David, I hate to say this —you know I hate to say this— but I think we’re friends. Not the best of friends, don’t get me wrong. But friends.”
He sighed and shook his head.
“No?” I asked, urging him to say whatever rejection he was thinking.
“We didn’t barter,” he said. “Your dad was right. I just didn’t want him to think I’d been crushing on you for that long when I hadn’t.”
I blinked. “We definitely bartered.”
“I’m allergic to chocolate, remember? But you liked Starbursts. And you wouldn’t take anything from me then without offering something in return.”
“I did like things to be even,” I agreed with a nod. Even back then, my sense of justice overshadowed the bliss of sugar highs.
“So I gave them to you for Almond Joys.”
“Why?”
“Because you liked Starbursts.” He still massaged his hand, gaze trained outside to a couple of other cars pulling into the driveway.
“Right, but that was… kind.”
He looked at me again, unamused. “I’ve always been kind to you.”
