6:54 a.m. H:
Fake crying will get you nowhere.
6:54 a.m. B:
It’s not fake.
An image popped up, and I inhaled sharply. It was his face—with eyes closed and his bottom lip turned down in a pout.
It was more of him than I’d usually see with his blindfold on. Even though his eyes were shut, I saw the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, like it’d been broken too many times. His thick eyebrows, perfectly straight and defined. His eyelashes were so long.
It wasn’t at all a convincing crying face.
6:56 a.m. H:
You should stick to working your muscles rather than your acting skills.
6:56 a.m. B:
I thought it was pretty good.
6:56 a.m. B:
Seriously, though.
6:56 a.m. B:
I’ll feel much better about my day if you eat something else too.
6:57 a.m. H:
Okay.
6:57 a.m. B:
And send me a picture.
6:57 a.m. H:
Why?
6:57 a.m. B:
I like to see what you see.
I switched the screen off, looking out the window at the world passing by. It was how I passed most travel time when I wasn’t working from my laptop.
My thumb tapped over my knee, a restlessness rising.
I turned to the seat next to me, to where Matthew had left me an apple, a sandwich, and a granola bar.
With a quick glance to check he wasn’t watching, I snapped a picture and sent it to Benny.
6:59 a.m. B:
How do I know that’s not lunch?
I don’t eat that either.
