‘Oh my fucking God.’ The boy clutched his heart. ‘What the fuck?’
I said, ‘Josh?’
He said. ‘Yes. Fuck. How do you know my name?’
And I was fuddled by sleep and not thinking straight and I said, ‘I know your dad.’ I pulled my sleeping bag high up around me, suddenly cold.
‘How do you know my dad?’
‘I was in therapy with him.’
‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘More than three years.’
‘So why are you sleeping here?’ said Josh.
‘It’s a long story,’ I said.
‘Are you homeless?’.
‘No. I’ve got a home.’
‘So why …? Is it something to do with my dad?’
Where to start with that one? I did not have a clue.
‘Yeah,’ I began. ‘Kind of. Or at least, it started off being about your dad. And now it’s about loads of other things. I just like being outdoors; it’s like I can’t breathe with a roof over my head.’
‘You’re claustrophobic?’
‘Yeah. Maybe I am. But only at night.’
‘Do you sleep here every night?’
‘Yeah. I do now.’
‘So, was it you,’ said Josh, ‘here, on New Year’s Eve?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I was here. I was hiding. In the corner over there.’
I didn’t know what made me so open to his questions. There was something about him, something pure, untainted. I looked at him and I thought he would understand me.
‘So you were listening to our conversation?’
‘Yeah. You and your friend were going to unmask yourselves. Or something.’
‘Ha. Yeah. That’s right. I think we were maybe a bit wasted.’
‘I thought maybe you were planning a school shooting.’
‘Er,’ said Josh wryly, ‘no.’
‘Good. So, what were you talking about?’
‘Just how we were going to change it up. You know, stop being invisible. Make ourselves “relevant”.’
‘Fuck that,’ I said. ‘Seriously. Fuck that. Don’t be seen. Stay behind the scenes. That’s the place to be.’
