phones pretty muvh smaashes exicse typos ill see you when schools back
Andrew had taken an excruciatingly long time to think up a reply that didn’t sound panicked. An entire summer. No talking. Thomas could email, except he never did.
Andrew had texted:How did you break it this time??
well dad did. hit my heead wth it then thrw it at wall. Its abot to die cabt charge. don’t freak out.
How the hell was Andrew meant tonot freak out? It wasn’t the first time Thomas had offhandedly mentioned something like this happening—though it seemed the violence was shocking to Andrew alone—but he couldn’t stop thinking of how much it would have hurt. Or if Thomas’s father had concussed him with a blow like that. Or about the long weeks where worse things could happen to a boy with a sour mouth who never knew when to stop.
Thomas had that in common with Dove—you’d have better luck softening stone.
Andrew’s father pulled up behind an unloading bus and left the engine running. The chaos of hundreds of voices thrummed against the window. Andrew hesitated, fingers on the door handle. As intense as it was out there, it would be better than the strangling tension in here.
“Andrew.” His father studied his hands as if they’d been welded to the steering wheel. “There are other schools.”
Andrew shoved open his door.
“Andrew.”
The sigh was frustrated, but also tired, and it made Andrew slump back into his seat and let the car door thump shut. They’d had fractured variations of this conversation before and he hated it. Last year had been… It didn’t matter. It was over.
Andrew wasn’t changing schools. His life washere.
He looked out the window again for Thomas.
“Fine, then listen.” The muscle in his father’s jaw flexed again. “If it’s too much, call me and I’ll come. We can transfer you somewhere else, anywhere you want. And talk to the school counselor if you… Just talk to her.”
Andrew checked to see if Dove was steaming that their father was leaving her out of the conversation, but she must have slipped out while he’d been distracted. Great. No reconciliations were happening today.
“Are you coming in?” Andrew said.
His father’s voice was tight. “I have a flight to catch.”
Andrew didn’t ask where to, and his father didn’t say. He was an international land investor and developer, owner of hotel chains and restaurants, with enough charm to convince anyone to do anything. Sell, buy, invest. It was the Australian accent, Dove had said, and added,Look, Andrew, we’re still novelties in America. Lean into your accent and you’ll have any girl by the end of high school.
Andrew decided to speak as little as possible for the rest of forever.
Invisible was best. It was easier to speak less and hide his softest parts so he could fit between the shadows of the rich private school kids with their bored expressions and catlike claws. They took down prey for fun and only left it alone once it knew to stay on its belly. He understood the rules.
“Just don’t go into the forest,” his father said. “Andrew? Promise me that at least.”
“Okay,” Andrew said, but he couldn’t mean it since the forest was Thomas’s favorite place.
This time when Andrew got out of the car, his father didn’t stop him.
Andrew set his suitcase on the footpath and propped his satchel against it. Dove hadn’t waited. That hurt. He jammed his notebook into his suitcase and fought the zipper as his father’s car pulled away.
Then it was just Andrew alone, with sweaty hands and a firm pulse of anxiety in his stomach. By this point, Thomas should have seen him and descended. The three of them would usually crowd together on the steps, an instant hurricane as they caught up. Thomas would sling his arm around Andrew’s neck while he teased Dove for already starting to outline their plans for extracurriculars this year.
Friends, best together. They were everything they needed from each other, and it was enough. It had been that way since they enrolled at Wickwood.
Andrew repeated that a few times so it felt solid.
But what if Thomas wasn’t here? What if his grades hadn’t secured his place or if his parents had pulled him from Wickwood ormurdered him—
A scuffle from the stairs made Andrew turn. Everything was stone out here, boxed in by manicured lawns and late summer roses, and it carried the air of comfortable tradition. Except instead of gentleman scholars, Wickwood had its fair share of spiteful vultures ready to pick the bones of the weak. A pack of seniors messed around on the stairs, their backslaps and howls of greeting drowning everyone else out. But it was the smack of a hand against a book, the ensuing explosion of pages, and a vicious yell that caught Andrew’s attention.
Thomas stood with fists bunched, one hand gripping the railing like he meant to pound up the stairs. His sketchbook looked like a bird shot from the sky, pages flittering around his feet.
