“Your room?”I don’t understand.Not until he opens a door at the back of the garage to a set of stairs.“Your room’s above the garage?”
“Better this way,” he tells me, navigating the narrow set of stairs to the second level.
I still don’t understand what that means, exactly.The house is massive.Is it that bad between them that they can’t sleep under the same roof?I’m still whirling from the knowledge that Jonathan’s father hit him, but we haven’ttalkedabout it.The truth of it.And I can’t trust what I’m seeing.
The landing opens up into a gym.It’s laid out like my dance studio with a wall of mirrors, racks of weights and other equipment I have no idea how to use.It’s huge and seems to take up most of the garage.But I don’t see anything resembling a bedroom.
Not until Jonathan reaches for the handle of the door on the other side of the landing—what I thought was a closet.And when we enter his space, it’s not much bigger than one.But it makes me grin as soon as we enter.Thisfeelslike Jonathan.
The room is small, but immaculate.Minimal really.A neatly made bed in the corner with a nightstand and lamp next to it.A closet that is probably not bursting with clothes and shoes, like mine.I can’t help it; I have to look.
Yep, shelves with folded T-shirts and jeans, hung jackets and shirts and a neat row of three pairs of shoes and boots on the floor.I shut the door with a small laugh.
“What did you expect to find in there?”
I shrug.
I’m immediately distracted by the two desks.One is in front of the window, overlooking the woods behind the garage.It’s slanted and has a stool under it.There’s a detailed drawing of a building clipped to it.Something tall and angular.A ruler and other design tools propped on the edge.
“You drew this?”I ask, unable to hide my amazement.Jonathan nods.
There are more drawings pinned to the wall above the second traditional desk that’s covered with pencils and architecture and car magazines.A Penn State decal is in the middle of all the pinned images on the wall.Swimming medals and trophies line a shelf above my head.It’s the most congested space in the room.It feels inspired.Like his dreams are on display before me.There’s even a framed picture of the three of us set on the corner of the desk.We’re at the river—looks like two summers ago based on the bathing suit I’m wearing—mid-leap off the edge of the second-highest ledge, gripping each other’s hands.I can’t remember who took the picture.
I pick it up.The smile hasn’t left my face since we entered the room.“I thought we were going to die, jumping from here.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
I believe him.
The summer before our freshman year, he jumped in after a kid and pulled him out of the river before the current swept him away.Jonathan doesn’t think twice before putting himself in danger, no matter who needs saving.It’s a memory I don’t allow myself to remember often.
I set the picture down with a shiver and sift through the drawings on the desk.“I can’t believe I never realized you’re interested in architecture.”Then I remember.“That’swhy you took that drafting class.And you’re so good at math; it makes sense.Wow, I am so fricken clueless.Why haven’t we ever talked about it?”
“It’s not what we talk about.I mean, we know Collin wants to rule the world, and youdon’twant to be a lawyer, but that’s about it.”He takes my hand and draws me to him until my knees bump against the mattress.He scoots back to sit against the headboard, and I crawl after him, cuddling under his arm while resting a hand on his chest.“Let’s talk about it.What do you want to do with your life, Sadie Prescott?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, listening to his heart beating against my ear.“That’s why I don’t care where I go to college.”
He sets his chin on the top of my head.“If you and Collin both come to Penn State with me…”
He finishes the thought with a tight embrace.I canfeelhow much this means to him.Keeping us together.I scan his room, an open display of all his dreams.His achievements.But other than the picture of the three of us, there isn’t anything really that reflects his personality.It’s clean and orderly.But so very blank.
My room may be a disaster, but my mirror is plastered with pictures of friends, ticket stubs, and inspiring quotes.Lights hang from the ceiling, and my shelves hold books, stuffed animals, and charity paraphernalia from all the causes I’ve obsessed over through the years.
Is this really Jonathan?Just what he’s accomplished?And what he’s determined to become?My first impression of the room doesn’t sit right anymore.
I consider how much I know about the boy I’ve loved most of my life.And I’m not sure how deep that goes.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He glances down at me.“What do you mean?You know everything about me.”
I pull back so I can look into those dark eyes that keep everyone out.“I don’t think I do.I mean, I know you like your coffee black.When you catch the football, you like to spin right to throw off the defender.I know that when you swim, you basically become the water.And that if I ever need you, you’d be there before I could call you.”I begin tracing the fingers of his hand resting on my lap.“But I feel there are parts of you that you keep hidden from me.I mean, I didn’t really know you wanted to be an architect.”
“Engineer,” he corrects.
“What?”
“Architectural engineer.It’s different.”
