Page 17 of Meet Me Back Here

“If he’s up for it, but just for a bit,” she says. “He should rest so he can heal.”

Forrest shrugs but scoots closer to me. I take that as a yes. He reminds me of our cat. She doesn’t like to cuddle with anyone besides Dad, but sometimes she sits near me, and Mom says that’s how she shows she cares.

Mrs. Dane reaches back into the car for Forrest’s camp bag before kissing the top of Forrest’s head and going inside.

Forrest and I just look at each other for a few minutes.

“I’m no fun like this. You don’t have to hang out with me.” Forrest breaks the silence.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I answer, rolling my eyes. “I’ve been waiting all day for my best friend to come home. I want to hear about camp. I promise I won’t make you talk about horses.”

“Best friend, huh?” Forrest pretends to still be grumpy, but I see him fight a smile.

“Duh. Let’s go.”

I automatically walk back to the treehouse before I realize we won’t be going up there with Forrest’s leg in a cast.

“Stay right here,” I order.

“I can’t exactly run away,” Forrest says flatly.

I snort when I laugh. Broken leg or not, he’s still funny.

I run inside to get a sheet and a bunch of my books. Forrest is right where I left him when I get back. I drop the books by his feet and start climbing the ladder to the treehouse. For a moment, Forrest looks so sad, like I’d leave him behind, but then I throw the sheet over a low branch sticking out of the tree and jump back off the ladder. After I use the books to hold the corners of the sheet out, we have our own ground-level clubhouse.

“Ta-dah!” I say once my masterpiece is completed. “Get in.”

I should have used a bigger sheet because it’s pretty cramped inside, and even when we sit on the ground so Forrest can stick his leg out, our heads touch the slanted sheet. There’s a little more room on the ground, where the tent is widest. So, at the same time, we lie back in the grass, side by side.

Forrest closes his eyes and breathes in a deep breath, blowing it out hard. For the first time since he got out of the car, his face relaxes.

He doesn’t seem like he wants to talk, so I tell him about my camp.

“We did swimming and sports, dance and crafts and writing. It was my second time going, and some of the girls from last year were there again. But it was my first time doing sleepaway camp for two whole weeks, and the cabin was so much fun. Sometimes I missed home, but I could call Mom and Dad every day to say hi, and that helped.”

Forrest doesn’t move, but I know he’s listening. He’s good about listening, even when I ramble on. I know he likes to think before he talks sometimes, so I wait to see if he’ll say anything.

“I’m glad you had fun at camp, but I’m even happier that you’re back home,” Forrest says quietly.

“Me too,” I agree. “Do you want to tell me about your summer?”

Forrest nods. “We did a lot of the same stuff you did. Like swimming and sports. There was a talent show, and even one night camping in the woods in tents. I wanted to go and try new things, to prove I’m not boring.”

I feel a flash of anger.

Who told Forrest he’s boring?

I don’t ask because I don’t want to interrupt, but I see hurt on Forrest’s face, and I decide I hate whoever said it.

“I—” Forrest hesitates, and I see his cheeks go pink with embarrassment again. “I was kind of scared of the horses the whole time I was there. I’d never seen one up close before, and they’re just so big. Some of the other boys made fun of me for it, so I finally got the guts to try the horseback riding option yesterday. I don’t know what I did wrong, but the second I got on, the horse—her name was Dream—threw me off. And then…” He gestures to his cast.

“That sounds so scary,” I say, and I mean it. We had horses at camp too, and it would be a long way to fall off one. I turn toward Forrest and reach out to hold his hand. “Thank you for telling me. The person who said you’re boring is dumb. And those boys are jerks for making fun of you. You’re one of my favorite people.”

“You’re one of my favorite people too. That’s why I told you.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Forrest talk so much at once, so we lie there quietly some more, watching our dinky sheet sway in the wind.

“Was any of it good?” I ask, sad that he had such a bad experience.