"Sometimes. When he was good, he was really good. Made the best grilled cheese. Like, sooooo good. Just bread and cheese and butter, but somehow it tasted like a Michelin star restaurant."
"How do you know that? Have you ever been to a Michelin star restaurant?"
"I haven't. But I have a vivid imagination," he says, laughing. Cute boy. Then, he’s quiet for a second. "I like skateboarding. Obviously. There was this half-pipe near the train tracks, andthe trains would come by while you were mid-air. The noise was so loud your whole body vibrated. Best feeling ever. Well."Pause. "Second best.”
“What's the first?"
"You know what the first is."
I pull him closer.
"I also like drawing," he says. "Not just the stupid caricatures. I used to draw people the whole time I was forced to sit in class, and back home, when I had nowhere to go, I’d just sit and draw. I liked catching the expressions people make, it’s so funny."
"I didn't know that."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Daddy." He pokes my chest. "I'm a man of mystery."
"You're the least mysterious person I've ever met. You say everything that crosses your mind."
"Nobody suspects the loud kid, babe." He says, kidding as always, and yawns. I run my fingers through his hair. "What about music? What did you listen to before this place?"
"I don’t know. Jazz?"
Long silence. Then: "Of course you listen to freakingjazz. Of course. I tell you Red Hot Chili Peppers and you come back withjazz. We're from different planets."
"Maybe that's why it works."
He laughs. Soft, warm. His breathing starts to slow.
"Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here with me. I couldn’t do this without you. I can’t imagine my life without you. My heart hurts just thinking about it.”
"Me too, baby," I say.
His breathing evens out, and he’s asleep in minutes, his body heavy against mine.
I stay awake a little longer. Thinking about chess and grilled cheese and dogs in shelters and a boy who draws strangers' faces on subways. How much of him I still don't know. How much time we have. The moon is visible through the window. Almost full. I think of Miles.
I close my eyes and fall asleep easy.
Chapter 27. Ethan
Arts class is a room like a shed, next to the gyms, with long wooden tables stained with years of paint, shelves crammed with supplies, and corny motivational posters on the walls that say things like "Creativity Is Intelligence Having Fun." Someone drew a dick on Albert Einstein's forehead months ago, and nobody's bothered to fix it.
Every program requires arts. Doesn't matter if you're in nursing, carpentry, or business. Once a week, you sit in this room and "express yourself." Most kids hate it. But they love to complain about anything. I don't mind it. It’s the only class I can sit with my friends too.
We file in and take our usual spots. I sit near the back, Liam next to me, close enough that our elbows touch. Jack drops into the seat across from us, already tearing the corner off a piece of paper to make a spitball. Miles takes the far end of the table, pulls a sketchbook from somewhere, and starts drawing without acknowledging anyone.
The room fills. And then, across the aisle, Reed walks in with Mason trailing behind him. Reed takes a chair, spins it backward, and sits with his arms draped over the backrest, legs spread wide. Taking up as much space as humanly possible. Fucking Reed.
Mason sits beside him, quiet.
I’m dreading seeing Shadow, but a guard walks in instead of him. She's young, dark hair, glasses, looks bored, clipboard in hand. My whole body goes still.
"Listen up. Mr. Pearson has moved on to another position. You'll have a new arts instructor starting next week. Until then, this is a free period. You stay in this room, you keep the noise reasonable, and you don't break anything. Clear?"
