Page 34 of I Wish You All the Best

“I never would’ve guessed.”

“Damn. Really?” He laughs. “I should work on that image. What do you think? More brooding? Or should I start wearing black turtlenecks?”

“Definitely more turtlenecks.” I grab my sketchbook again to work on the rose, not even bothering with the reference photo this time. “Don’t forget the black coffee though, and the hipster glasses with fake lenses.”

“Blegh, black coffee? Why would you punish yourself like that?”

“Hey, you’re the bohemian writer. It’s for the aesthetic,” I add.

“Noted.” He lets out a long, slow sigh. “If I fall asleep, you promise to wake me up?”

“Sure.”

“Pinky promise?” He sticks out his hand, pinky finger extended, and for a second, I just stare at it before it occurs to me that he’s serious.

I wrap my own finger around his.

“Pinky promise,” I say.

“This is where you go during lunch, isn’t it?” Nathan asks, his eyes still shut.

“Sometimes,” I whisper after what’s probably too long a silence. “Or I go to the art room.” I’m not quite sure why I tell him the truth. Maybe I owe him that much at least?

“Seems lonely.”

“Sometimes the world is too loud,” I repeat back to him.

That makes him laugh again. “Touché.” He takes another deep breath. “I guess there’s no point in asking you to join me for lunch today, huh?”

There’s this thud in my chest. Make a friend, Ben. Make a friend. “I’ll go.”

He opens an eye. “What?”

“I’ll go,” I say again. “For today at least.”

“Are you serious?” He nearly leaps up from his spot.

“Pinky promise,” I say.

He grins, and he can’t stop giggling as he takes my finger.

“You really want me to go to the cafeteria that bad?”

“It’s the sort of experience you only get in high school, my friend.” He winks. “Besides, Meleika and Sophie have wanted to meet you for a while now.”

“Meleika and Sophie?”

“My friends.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure why I imagined it would be just the two of us, but maybe with more people there the chances of it getting awkward will be diminished? At least a little.

We sit in silence for a bit before. Nathan starts humming a song I don’t recognize, but that dies out quickly. At one point I’m sure he’s fallen asleep, because his breathing changes and there’s a slight hitch. When the parking lot begins to fill with cars, I nudge him awake, but he doesn’t seem groggy or tired or anything.

“Almost that time?” he asks.

“Almost,” I say, closing my sketchbook and sliding it into my backpack.

“Did you finish the rose?”