And then . . . a laugh thatdidlift off. It burst into the air above him, then trailed down from one of those balconies above like ivy, making his whole body go still, making his adolescent heart stutter-stop in his chest in a way it never had before. Later, much later, when he allowed himself to think about this day, this day on which almost every single thing in his life had changed, he’d remember that the girl’s laugh had been the only thing that had felt familiar to him in that strange backyard, with his never-before-seen uncle inside, with his mother secretive and sad and angry and scared. It’d felt familiar enough,welcomeenough, that he’d forgotten—for that short space of time—everything else that was confusing about that day. He’d certainly forgotten, however shameful it was, about Caitlin.
“Hey,” she repeated, louder this time, another laugh following, and he pushed off the trunk of the tree, took a step forward to the edge of the canopy so that he could see her, or see what he could of her.
Be cool, he told himself, pushing his hair back from his forehead. He hadn’t known anyone on those upper floors would be able to see him where he’d been standing, but clearly—
“Get away from there!” she called, right as he stepped from the shade, and he stilled again. Disciplined twice in one day? That was certainly unusual, and this time he was even more confused about what he could’ve done wrong.
But then.
Then, he saw her.
Third floor, right side. She was blurry—of course she was blurry—but the sky was bright blue behind her, and the blurriness seemed as much about her movement as it was about his eyes. Arms waving in front of her, her long, straight ponytail a light brown rope that swung forward over a shoulder covered with a bright white T-shirt. The balcony slats prevented him from seeing anything of her lower half, but he knew it when she jumped up and down—saw her ponytail swing again, heard her feet thud on the wood beneath her feet.
“Get,get!” she yelled, and he almost took a step back, feeling his breath leave his body in shock and disappointment at having been so . . . dismissed. By her, specifically. But when he saw two brown, furry shapes—bushy, curving tails trailing behind—leap from the balcony and onto a power line that crossed the yard, scurrying away, he realized, with relief and happiness, that she hadn’t been yelling at him at all.
She’d been yelling at—
“Squirrels, Nonna!” she called over her shoulder, toward the smudgy black rectangle behind her, and he wrinkled his brow, curious at that second word, one he’d never heard before. He took another cautious step forward. He narrowed his eyes, saw that her face was like an oval. Saw her set her hands to her hips, saw her turn her body toward the retreating squirrels, as though to ensure they were really leaving. If his heart stutter-stopped before, now it took on a quick, desperate rhythm.
It wasn’t how he felt when he saw Caitlin; it wasn’t how he felt when he saw any of the many crushes he’d had over the last couple of years. Something felt sodifferent. Different in his head and in his heart.
She made a noise of frustration, a gusty sigh-groan, dropping her hands from her hips and bending forward to look at something. For the first time, Will paid attention to what surrounded her on her balcony, more indistinct greenery peeking out between the slats and above the top railing. He lost sight of her behind it all, cursed it as well as his vision. Would he even know if she looked down toward him? Was it possible she could see him now, through all that wood and all those plants? He should absolutely think of something to say to her. Should he bring up the squirrels? Should he ask her whatnonnameant? Could he think ofanythingthat didn’t make him sound like a backyard creeper, which is probably exactly what he was at the moment?
He cleared his throat softly, insurance against any rogue voice cracks, right at the moment she straightened herself again.
Maybe if he just said hello. That wouldn’t be creepy, would it?
He opened his mouth to speak, but then something . . .peltedhim. Right on top of his head. Even as he reached up, another pelt, and then another. Not painful, not forceful. Like the first big drops of a thunderstorm. Bouncing off him and onto the grass.
Was shethrowingthings at him?
Pelt,pelt,pelt. In his hair, he felt something warm and wet. For the first time since he heard her voice, he looked toward the ground. At his feet, he saw small, bright red globes, and he crouched to pick one up. Perfectly ripe cherry tomatoes, marred by the bites of two intrepid squirrels who’d been chased away by the girl on the balcony. He smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. He gathered a few of them up in his hands, even as she continued to rain half-eaten ones into the yard. He stood, his cupped hands held at his waist, and looked up to see that her face wasn’t turned anywhere near his direction. She was throwing these homegrown, city-grown, balcony-grown tomatoes over the railing without even looking, and for some reason, that made him want to meet her, to talk to her, even more now.
He crossed the yard again, back the way he came. He didn’t climb the few steps back to his uncle’s balcony, but he stood beside it, thinking she might be able to see him better from there, thinking he might be able to seeherbetter from there. He’d call up to her. He’d say,Hey, just like she’d said not to him. He’d say,Did you drop something?and he’d smile and hold up his hands. He hopedhervision was sharp enough to see the tomato seeds he was sure were still in his hair.
But then he heard his mother’s voice through the screen, through the smudgy black rectangle he’d forgotten he was meant to be watching.
“We need help,” she was saying. “My husband and I, both of us . . . we are begging you for help.”
And for the third time that day, Will’s heart changed inside his chest.
He made himself listen; he made himself completely still. If the girl saw him now, she might mistake him for a statue. A tomato-catching lawn ornament she’d never noticed before.
But for those long, life-altering minutes while he listened to his mother and to the uncle he’d never met, while he heard a conversation that made his skin turn clammy with shock, he didn’t think about the girl at all.
He’d remember later how loudly and abruptly it had ended: his mother raising her voice to tell Donny that he was cruel and stubborn, that he would regret this. That if he let her leave now, he would never see her or Will again.
He’d remember that there was absolute silence in response.
Will had dropped his hands when he’d heard that silence, barely noticing the tomatoes tumbling to the ground. He’d moved to the stairs, moved to get his mother, to make sure they started making good on that ultimatum immediately, but she beat him to it, opening the screen and following his same path out of the apartment, her face pale. When she was close enough, he could see her cheeks were wet with tears. She did not look at him as she passed him by, but somehow, he could tell.
He could tell she knew that he’d heard.
He followed her to the car, for the first time in a long time feeling like he had to make an effort to keep up with her short-legged stride as she crossed the yard—under the tree and out the other side, into the rear alley where they’d parked not even all that long ago.
He was in the passenger seat, watching his mother’s hands shake as she fumbled with her keys, before he even thought of the girl. Her voice, her laugh, her nonna and squirrels and spoiled tomatoes. He thought of how silly it was, that he had noticed her. That she had felt so important to notice. Everything about his world felt silly—school, summer, Caitlin, baseball—everything that wasn’t this, what he’d heard his mother say and what she and his dad were desperate enough to ask. Everything abouthimselffelt silly—his restlessness, his moods, his absurd crushes on tomato-throwing strangers, his stupid fuckingeyes, and his ridiculous, immature vanity.
He reached out and touched his mother’s wrist.
