A door slammed and Ben reappeared, a plastic pitcher now in his hands. Instantly, the birds began tracking him, circling and snapping at each other as he moved toward a feeder nearme. He uncapped the top, filling it, a few drops drizzling down his arm. Immediately, one zoomed in, dipping its beak. Even as it drank I could see its chest heaving, as if the stillness was necessary but hard to bear.
When another darted by, I followed, passing Ben as he uncapped another feeder, again tilting the pitcher. Under my feet the grass felt slippery, making me stumble a bit.
I ended up by a line of rosebushes, carefully pruned. There were pink ones, red, a dusty orange, white. So beautiful. I put my finger to one bloom, feeling the thin softness of the petal. Ben was passing by me again: I could feel him, even at a distance. Suddenly I felt woozy, unbalanced.
I turned, just as the sun shifted to shine bright in my eyes. For a moment, I was blinded. When my vision returned, the sight of the strange backyard and a boy I didn’t know crossing it gave me a sudden jolt of panic, making my heart, too, tick-tick-tick fast in my chest. That was the last thing I remembered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
So you came to me,” a girl’s voice said.
“Drunk girls aren’t exactly my area of expertise.”
“Are you saying they’re mine?”
I was on my back on a cool floor. It occurred to me I should probably open my eyes, but they felt heavy, as if weighted.
“How much did you give her to drink?”
“A couple of beers. And FYI, she asked for them.”
“This is two beers?” Now I was a “this.”
“She was pretty upset. Said she’d been dumped,” he told her. “There was also something about a goat.”
“Weird.” I felt a hand grip my shoulder, then shake it. “Hey. Finley.”
I slitted one eye open to see Lana bent over me. Ben was beside her. I shut my eye again.
“Wait. Did you hear that?”
“I hate when people say that,” Lana complained. “Just say what you heard, would you?”
A beat. “It sounded like a car.”
“Shit. Let’s get her into her room.”
A moment later, arms were around me. A quick glance confirmed it was Ben who was lifting me up: I could see his ear,the tiny hairs of his sideburn. My face was pressed to his tee. It smelled faintly of fabric detergent and breakfast, a better scent than you’d expect.
While being carried down the hallway, I tried to do a quick recap. I remembered telling him about Colin and obviously Seymour. The Disney cruise. Grapes and drinking the beers. Hummingbirds. And then?
My room was stuffy and hot when we came in. As Ben bent to put me on the bed, it occurred to me I should try to be released gracefully. But then my stomach rolled. When I moaned, he just kind of dropped me, not that I could really blame him.
I heard Lana opening the window. “Don’t try to jump out,” I mumbled. “Could break an elbow.”
“What’s she saying?” she asked.
“She’s telling you not to jump,” Ben replied.
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe she’s worried you’re depressed.”
“Just pull over that trash can.” There was a loud scrape. “Pick it up, for God’s sake. Are you trying to make extra noise?”
“I told you. I don’t do this often.”
I felt a burp working its way up my throat. I tried to hold it back: no luck.
