“Hi,” I whispered.
“Hi,” he said.
“You really shouldn’t be here.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just—” He cut himself off. Did not continue.
I nodded for no reason. I stared at my socked feet, wondered who’d removed my shoes.
“I called you,” he said quietly. “Last night.” He laughed, then. Sighed. Turned away.
“I lost my phone.”
He looked up. “Oh.”
When I said nothing he exhaled, pushed a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit, something he did a lot. I’d watched him do it for years, and I watched him do it now. I’doften wondered what it would feel like to touch him like that. His hair looked so soft.
“Shadi,” he said. “What’s going on?”
I dragged my eyes back to his face. “What do you mean?”
He froze at that, froze with something like anger. “What do you mean,what do I mean? You collapsed at school.”
“Right. Yeah. Yes,” I said. My heart was suddenly pounding again.
“Shadi.”
I met his eyes. I saw the effort he was making to breathe, could see his chest moving, even out of focus. He was struggling to contain his frustration.
“What happened? The school told my parents you’d begged them not to call your own mom. Is that true?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Why?”
I shook my head, looked away, bit my lip too hard. I was desperate to confess, to say nothing. I didn’t know what to do; I only knew what my parents would want me to do, which was to protect their secrets, to protect their pain from public viewing.
So I said nothing. I stared at his chest and said nothing.
“You’ve been asleep here for the last four hours,” he said quietly. “And no one knows what’s going on.”
“I’m sorry. I’m going to leave. I was going to leave before y—”
“Stop,” he said angrily. “Stop.Just stop, okay? I’ve beentrying to let this go, I’ve been trying not to push you to explain yourself, but I can’t take it anymore. I can’t. You have to tell me what’s happening, Shadi, because you’re starting to scare the shit out of me. Every single time I see you lately you’re crying or injured or completely out of your mind and I ca—”
“I’ve never been out of my mind.”
His eyebrows flew up. “You ran into the middle of a car accident! Tried to pull someone out of a damaged vehicle!”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten about that.
“Yeah. Did you forget?” He smiled, but his eyes were angry. “Did you also forget when you nearly broke your skull? Is that why you never mentioned it again? You got that phone call about your mom and I drove you to the hospital and I didn’t even ask you to explain—but I did think that, maybe, considering the fact that I had to get four stitches in my arm after catching your head on the pavement—”
“You had to get stitches? I didn’t—”
“Yes, I had to get stitches, and I lied for you, lied to my parents and told them I’d ripped my arm open playing soccer because I didn’t think you wanted people to know what was happening, but I thought you might at least tellmewhy your mom was in the hospital or why you fainted, but you never did, and still I let it go, told myself it was none of my business. And then, the next day, after you’re done pretending to be a paramedic—”
“Ali—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about your arm—”
