“Are we lost? I mean, in the middle of Central Park.”
“No,” I insist. “If we keep going, we’ll hit the Castle.”
“That’s so Prince Charming of you!” She takes something out of her pocket. “Here. Maybe this’ll help.”
It happens too fast. She takes the compass out of her pocket and throws it my way. But I don’t realize what’s happening until too late. I realize enough to get my hands there, but not enough to concentrate on making them solid.
The compass falls right through my fingers.
She sees it fall right through my fingers.
“Sorry,” I say. I bend over and very carefully, very deliberately pick the compass back up. I make a show of looking at it. Gauging our direction. Then I hand it back to her. When she takes it, our fingers touch. And the sensation of that reverberates all through my body, my thoughts, and too many of my hopes.
Did she see it? I wonder. Did she see it go right through me? Or did it really look like I dropped it?
I hear a jogger coming closer, panting on a late mile. I step away from Elizabeth. I don’t say a word until he’s past. She’s distracted, and waits until he leaves before saying something else.
“What is it?” she asks when he’s gone.
“What’s what?”
“That look on your face. What does it mean?”
All secrets lead back to the big secret. To give one thing away means to give everything away.
I must be careful.
“I’m not used to this.”
“What?”
I gesture to her and me. “This. Telling the truth and having someone hear it. Giving words and getting words back. I’m just—I’m not used to it.”
She’s studying me again. “You keep to yourself?”
I nod. “Yes. I keep to myself. Only now I’m not keeping to myself. I’m keeping to—you, I guess. I’m keeping to you.”
Too much. Too fast. Too intense. The glass soul falls to the ground and shatters into a thousand words. The invisible boy becomes visible, and all of a sudden, his emotions blast neon.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is just a stroll. It’s not anything. I’m being ridiculous.”
“No,” she says. “Don’t do that.”
She reaches out to me, and for a moment I think she’ll go right through. But I’m there. She touches me, and I’m there.
We are in the middle of a city, but for a minute there is no city. We are in the middle of the woods, but for a minute there are no woods. We are surrounded by people, but for a minute there is no fear of interruption.
“This is the beginning of something,” she says. “Neither of us knows what, but that’s okay. What matters is that it’s the beginning of something. You feel that, don’t you?”
I do. And that’s just as surprising as being touched, as being seen.
She sees it in my eyes. “Good,” she says. “Let’s not go any further than that right now. You have the rest of the park to show me, after all.”
The woods resume. The people resume. The city resumes. We return to the paths, and the paths lead us to more paths. We wander until dusk settles and the lamps are lit. Every now and then I say something, and every now and then she says something. But mostly we observe. We speculate. We steal glances of each other. Observe each other. Speculate about each other. Then wander some more.
It is only when I get home that I feel the weight again, of all the things I cannot tell her, of all the things I am.
Chapter 6
LAURIE’S LAUGHTER CARRIES THROUGH the closed door as I turn the key. I slide one last glance at Stephen, who’s unlocking his own door. He gives me a quick wave before vanishing into his apartment. I swallow a sigh as my heart pinches now that he’s gone.
My friend. More than a friend. My hope of something to be.
My hand rests on the doorknob as I fight the urge to chase after Stephen and steal another hour alone with him. I realize I never really came back to the building. I’m still out in the park with him, throwing wishes up at the angel. Wishes that this metropolis will hand me the life I’d secretly been wishing for. The angel fountain offers a perfect place for those wishes you’re too afraid to admit you’ve locked away, even in the dusky minutes before falling into sleep, when your heart opens up like a night-blooming flower. So hiding your desires is that much harder. But standing next to Stephen in a forest that was quiet and private, qualities I’d thought impossible in this city, my wishes brimmed over and I had no choice but to lay them at the angel’s feet, hoping for her mercy.
I wish I was still beside him walking through the park as if we were the only two souls exploring its hidden wilds. But it’s late and Laurie will worry if I don’t make an appearance. I shake off the lingering memory of the park and turn the doorknob.
I toss my keys on a still-unpacked box in the entryway. Many identical boxes occupy our apartment in various stacks according to the room their contents theoretically will occupy. Theoretically because they have to find their way out of the boxes and resume their function as lamps or art. Theoretically because Mom and Laurie are obviously waiting for me to do the unpacking—after all, I am the one who’s home alone all day—but I resent their assumption. I resent being the only one whose life is on hold, who wades through the sticky weight of summer heat towards fall, where school will pull me back into life’s regular rotation.
I kick the box, but my mood lightens when I snag the idea that unpacking offers me a vehicle for spending more time alone with Stephen. I almost turn around to skip, and I choke a little when I realize that I actually wanted to skip, over to his apartment and ask him to help me dig our spare sheets out of boxes tomorrow, but Laurie’s call stops my giddy retreat.
“Hey, stranger!”
Pivoting, I abandon my impulse and trot into the living room, only to discover Laurie crouched like a cat on the back of the sofa. Sitting beside him is a boy I don’t know. My brother had called me into the room, but I’m not the stranger. When I first walk in, the new boy’s face is lifted up, open and smiling, but when he sees me, he folds up like an origami box.
“Uh . . . hey.” I try to smile at the stranger, but he’s avoiding my eyes.
Laurie slides from his perch to settle next to the cagey boy. “Sean, this is my sister . . .” He looks at me, his mouth crinkling. “What are we calling you these days?”