She’s been doling out her brand of New York wisdom ever since she announced our move a month ago. I don’t know where she’s getting it from, since her own family left New York when she was five years old. I’m a little worried it’s from reruns of Friends and Seinfeld, which doesn’t bode well for us. But I guess it’s better than the Law & Order marathons she’s also a fan of. If that was her source of info, Laurie and I would have industrial-size GPS trackers strapped to us anytime we left the apartment.
The boy is staring at me again, biting his lip. He looks like he has a thousand questions brewing behind those watercolor eyes and I swear I’m not that interesting.
His nerves seem to be getting worse. I can hear the rasp of his quick, shallow breaths. His gaze has become desperate as if he’s paralyzed by indecision. He lunges forward, suddenly on his knees beside me.
“Hey—” I start to shout, but he’s moving his arm in slow sweeps, guiding the rainbow array of household décor back into the IKEA bags. His touch is so deliberate, so careful, as if he’s transfixed by the process. He looks like he’d enjoy taking each object and giving it a thorough examination before putting it away.
Okay, weird. But he’s probably just worried I’m still pissed off about him watching me drop all that stuff and I’d just start yelling at him again if he accidentally broke something while trying to help me.
Chagrined, I gather up the remaining items. When I have one bag assembled, he’s standing up again, holding the other two. One in each hand. He’s still watching me, barely blinking. His eyes have new light behind them, like he’s never had as much fun as carrying someone else’s shopping.
I hesitate, awkwardly looking at him, then at the keys in my hand. Do I owe him another apology? Can I let a stranger into our apartment? But he’s not a stranger if he’s my neighbor, right? He must live here. Mom picked this building because of its location and its security. I guess Law & Order made an impression after all. I think about Mom, already at the hospital for a double shift though we only arrived yesterday. “Somebody has to pay for this swanky place,” she’d said with a grin after peeking in my room at 4:30 a.m. Even in my groggy state, I’d croaked out a laugh at her joke. The apartment was nice, but I was sleeping on an air mattress with a leak in it.
“Would you like some lemonade?” I ask him. Lemonade strikes me as the ultimate heat-wave peace offering. Though I realize we have none in the fridge. I’m about to say that but don’t say anything because he’s gone pale in that way you do when you’re about to be sick.
He closes his eyes, and when he does, something weird happens. It’s like I blinked, but I know I didn’t. He disappeared, in the way someone slips out of your peripheral vision. But I’m not looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s standing right in front of me.
I’m desperate to get into my apartment because I’m sure this means I have heat stroke. I wish he’d say something so I could at least accept his refusal of my offer and leave. Then I realize I haven’t introduced myself.
“I’m Elizabeth,” I say, managing to get my keys into the lock. “But I’ve been thinking of trying out Jo.”
“Elizabeth and Jo.” He tilts his head and some of the color returns to his face. He speaks very softly. “You don’t like Elizabeth?”
Ugh. Mom’s infatuation with Little Women will never leave me in peace. I’m in no mood to explain my mom’s penchant for literary homage via her children’s birth certificates. Nor try to puzzle out with this strange boy why she decided it was a good idea to name me after the girl who dies and only made the strong survivor my middle name. Survival as an afterthought. I’m starting to think that if I don’t chug some water in the next five minutes, I’m going to melt like a human Popsicle.
“Josephine’s my middle name.” I unlock the door, gesturing for him to go in ahead of me. “And Jo is my pen name.”
He swivels around, walking backward into the apartment like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me. I probably should change my shirt before I tell him his lemonade will be water. “A pen name? You’re a writer?”
“I’m not published yet,” I say. “But the work I want to do is still kind of a boys’ club.”
“Journalism?” he asks.
I love this part. “Comics.”
“You want to write comics?” He’s utterly mystified . . . I think. Maybe he’s sure I’m pulling one over on him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Script, pencils, inks. All or nothing.” I shove back rising defensiveness by asking him, “So you going to tell me or what?”
“Tell you?”
“Your name.”
He does that thing again. His eyes are closed, but I feel like my eyes are going out of focus. Then he’s holding my gaze and for the life of me I cannot look away.
“Stephen.” I have to lean in to hear him. With the whisper of his name I feel his breath on my face. It’s strangely cool compared to the sticky heat of the apartment.
“Welcome back!”
Stephen jumps and drops the bags and it’s like the hallway all over again. He doesn’t stoop to pick anything up. He’s staring at my brother. I can hardly blame him.
Laurie is sprawled on the hardwood floor surrounded by small fans. He’s shirtless, his arms are thrown over his head, and he’s gazing at the ceiling.
“How was the subway? Is it as smelly as I imagine? I had this idea that cosmetic companies should abandon their department store posts and start spraying their samples on people on the train. Good, huh? I will rule this city yet.”
The air conditioner is still in its box behind him and the fans. It looks like the fans are preparing to sacrifice my younger brother—a horde of whirring supplicants offering their victim to the gods of Freon.
I’m about to yell at him for not installing the window unit, but then I notice the glass of lemonade beside him. Now I want to tell my brother how much I love him.
“I’ll put it in the window when the sun goes down,” he says, obviously reading my first reaction and preparing for the worst.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave off his excuse. “Can you just get me and Stephen some of that lemonade? Also, write down where the store is so I can pick up anything you forgot?”