“Sounds hilarious,” said AJ, putting on an old episode ofSNLinstead.
As they watched Patrick Stewart deliver his opening monologue, Noah brooded.
“The Shakespeare-to-space-opera pipeline is so strong,” AJ commented cheerfully. She found nothing more satisfying than cracking Noah when he was in one of his moods. “Obviously, there’s Eudora. Patrick Stewart was a stage actor beforeStar Trek.”
“Peter Cushing was a stage actor beforeStar Wars,” Noah offered, despite himself.
They spent a lot of time shooting the shit, and even more time laughing.
At the end of their shifts, Noah would drive AJ back to her house. He’d park across the street, and she’d wave goodbye from her stoop, and watch his red Camaro speed off into the dark.
A few weeks into this routine, they arrived at the Graveses’ split-level on a bad night. AJ knew before they’d even parked—it was only nine-thirty, but every second-floor light was out, which meant that her siblings were pretending to be asleep.
Sure enough, as the Camaro pulled up to the curb, AJ’s father came into view through the dining room’s picture window, a beer clutched in his hand. Across from him, Mike stood insolent, white-faced. AJ saw her dad’s temple bulge, saw him bare his teeth, saw Mike flinch.
Hide,AJ silently urged her brother.Turn and hide.
But Mike never hid. That was the whole problem.
As Noah switched off the car, AJ stayed riveted to the window. Mike was the youngest,her little brother.She should step in.Get up,she commanded herself.
But she couldn’t. The seconds ticked on without pity; she could feel them in her pulse.
Then Pat was there. In two strides, he placed himself between their dad and Mike.Go to bed,he seemed to say. Mike left the room. Their dad was reaming Pat now. AJ’s gaze fell to her cast.
“Want to walk?” Noah offered gently.
It took AJ a moment to remember where she was, then another to absorb that he was witnessing this. Without looking at him, AJ nodded and opened the door.
The moon and streetlamps dappled her neighborhood in pools of silver and gold. They strode a careful distance from each other, AJ up on the sidewalk, Noah beside her in the street. A cool breeze rolled in off the mountains, but AJ couldn’t feel it. She was too ashamed.
“Pat’s always been like that,” Noah ventured. “I remember him sticking up for other kids in elementary school. And he’d always…say hi. You know, in class. No matter what.”
AJ snorted to cover her embarrassment. “He needed your vote. For class president.”
“Well, fuck,” said Noah, chuckling.
AJ smiled at her feet. “You’re right. I’ve always looked up to him.”Even if I’m a chickenshit.
She didn’t realize how far they’d wandered until Noah came to a stop outside a darkened home.
“This is my house,” he said, and AJ took in a split-level that must have gone up within a few years of her own—same cheap siding, same metal rail. The lawn had been freshly cut; Noah must be mowing it for his mom.
AJ’s chest tightened. “Can I ask you something?”
“Please do.”
“The fire you set,” she said. “What happened?”
The dark fabric of his shirt rippled as he rolled back his shoulders. “What have you heard?”
AJ shrugged. “That you burned down the Sherwins’ garage and were sent away after.”
As she said the words, she glanced at the neighboring property. It looked spartan in the moonlight.
“That’s not—Here.”
He unlatched the fence and led her around back. Where AJ’s yard was full of sports equipment, grilling accoutrements, and mismatched patio furniture, Noah’s was empty but for a small shed and a pile of mossy rubble in one corner. Noah nodded toward it.
