“It’s true,” I say, kicking off one shoe, then the other. “I’m especially great at the balance beam.” Before Matt can reply, I’m up on the river-walk railing, crouched at first, then, when I have my balance, standing. I stretch my arms out to the sides and begin walking forward, my toes turned out so I can grip like a monkey.
“What are you
“I’m showing you my balance-beam skills, of course,” I say, taking two more steps. “Want to see my turn?”
“No!” Matt says harshly. “I want you to get down. You’re going to fall.”
“No, I’m not,” I say without meeting his gaze. “And even if I did, I’d be fine. It’s not that far of a fall. I’d just get a little wet. It’s not like I’m going to die or anything.”
I hear Matt stop. Carefully, I pivot to face him. Matt is not impressed by my skills. In fact, he looks pissed. I think I even see a trace of disgust. I lower myself into a crouch, then jump back to the walkway.
“What?” I ask as I walk back to my shoes and slip my feet into them. Matt shakes his head at me. “What?” I ask again.
“Is this how it is with you?” Matt asks. “Are you always this careless?”
I feel exposed by his words, and silly for showing off. I only wanted to change the subject, to lighten the mood. I didn’t think about what it might mean to him. I realize what an idiotic thing it was to do.
“Oh, Matt, I’m sorry,” I say. “Here I’m being flip while Audrey is sick. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry.” He stares at me, angry. “Do you want to go home?”
More staring, then finally, he speaks: “If you can manage to stay off the railing, I’m good with hanging out here awhile longer, if that’s okay with you.”
Relief floods through me, but I try to play it off.
“I guess I can handle that,” I say, moving to his side as he starts toward the opposite side of the river once again. After a few moments, Matt speaks again, his voice softer this time.
“Sorry I freaked out,” he says.
“No, really, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of how you might feel with all that’s happening with Audrey. I feel like a jerk.”
Matt doesn’t reply, which makes me feel worse.
“How are you with all of this stuff, anyway? Are you okay?”
Matt shrugs. “I’m as okay as I can be, I guess,” he says. He runs a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. “If you want to know the truth, I’m a little sick of her being sick. That sounds horrible, I know.”
“No, it doesn’t. I bet it’s hard taking care of someone.”
“It’s not even that,” Matt answers. “I don’t even really take care of her. She doesn’t want me to. She wants me to be normal. But there’s just so much buildup. In the beginning, it was all drama and sadness and planning, and now I just feel like I’m ready. Like I’ll be wrecked when it happens, and until then, I’ll hang out with my sister as much as I can.”
“You have a positive attitude about it.”
“Not on purpose,” Matt says. “It’s just how I feel.”
“Not me,” I say.
“You don’t have a positive attitude?” Matt asks.
“Not at all. I mean, I know this is new to me and everything, so I’m pretty naive, but frankly, I want her to get well.”
“She won’t,” Matt says, matter-of-fact, which really annoys me. He zips his sweatshirt, reminding me that I’m cold, too. I button my sweater, then let my arms swing, ready for him to take hold of my hand again, but instead he shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. I try not to feel disappointed.
“Can we change the subject?” I ask.
“Sure,” Matt says.
“Okay… tell me about you,” I say. “I know you’re good at English, hate public displays of stupidity, and save damsels in drunken distress. What else do you like to do? Who do you hang out with? What are your plans after high school?”
“Whoa!” Matt says with an easy laugh. “What’s with the interrogation?”
“Fine,” I say. “Start with an easy one. You probably know Audrey’s my best friend…. Who’s yours?”
Matt pauses, but right when I think he might play it cool and say something dude-ish about not having a BFF, he lets me in a little.
“Drew,” he says. “He’s in our English class.”
“The guy you sit behind?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. Funniest guy I know,” Matt says with a chuckle. “He’s a great guitar player, too. He’s in a band with some guys from Omaha South. He keeps trying to get me to join.”
“What do you play?” I ask.
“Baseball,” Matt jokes.
“No, seriously,” I prod him. I try to think whether I’ve seen any musical instruments around his house. Just as I’m wondering whether there’s a drum kit stashed in the garage, I remember the—
“Piano,” he says quietly. “I’d play keyboard in the band.”
“That’s cool. You should do it.”
“I guess,” he says, shrugging it off. “So, what do you like to do, besides getting blitzed with frat boys?”
“Very funny,” I say as a stall tactic, silently running through possible responses. What do I like to do? Nothing as cool as playing in a band. When too much time has passed to be comfortable, I reply honestly. “I like to read,” I say. “I’m super quick, and often I read like four books at once. I know that’s sort of nerdy.”
“No, it’s cool,” Matt says. “I wish I read more.”
“And I blog, too.”
Matt looks away, smiling.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, I just… I know. Aud showed me. I’ve been following your posts. They’re really funny.”
My breath catches:
“Is that weird that I read it?” Matt asks. “An invasion of—”
“Privacy?” I laugh. “It’s hardly private. I just haven’t ever met any of my readers.”
“Seriously? What about your friends back in Frozen Hills?”
I pause for a moment, then say, “Hey, Matt? Want to know a secret?”
He looks at me expectantly.
“I didn’t have any real friends in Frozen Hills.”
Instead of calling me a liar or—worse—asking why, Matt mutters “their loss” and moves on.
“I hear you like Arcade Fire,” he says before grabbing my hand once again, and reminding me that I want to be nowhere but here.
Unfortunately, we reach the other side of the bridge a few short minutes later. We stop, ponder our next move, and then decide to turn back. As we retrace our steps, the view is even better. With the vast city in front of us and the wide sky overhead, I feel free to say anything. Apparently, Matt does, too.
“I’m glad you moved here,” he says, eyes on the skyline.
“I am, too,” I manage to say calmly.
“I really like you,” Matt continues. “You’re like this good thing that showed up in the middle of the bad. You’re sort of helping me remember that there actually is positive stuff out there.”
I feel like there’s a balloon inflating in my chest.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I say.
“Yeah, well, it’s true.”
Matt squeezes my hand. I wonder if he’s going to stop and kiss me, but he doesn’t. I’m disappointed, but instead I choose to focus on his sturdy grip and the way it makes me feel strong, like I can do anything, charged, like I’m plugged in.
I’m completely content until we reach the end of the walkway: That’s when I get anxious about our
