Simon got to his feet, brushing garage floor dust off his clothes. “I’m Simon.”
Kyle glanced around, a perplexed furrow between his brows. “I left my keys here yesterday, I think. Been looking for them everywhere. Hey, there they are.” He ducked behind the drum set and emerged a second later, rattling a set of keys triumphantly in his hand. He looked much the same as he had the day before. He had a blue T-shirt on today under a leather jacket, and a gold saint’s medal sparkled around his neck. His dark hair was messier than ever. “So,” Kyle said, leaning against one of the speakers. “Were you, like, sleeping here? On the floor?”
Simon nodded. “Got thrown out of my house.” It wasn’t precisely true, but it was all he felt like saying.
Kyle nodded sympathetically. “Mom found your weed stash, huh? That sucks.”
“No. No . . . weed stash.” Simon shrugged. “We had a difference of opinion about my lifestyle.”
“So, she found out about your two girlfriends?” Kyle grinned. He was good-looking, Simon had to admit, but unlike Jace, who seemed to know exactly how good-looking he was, Kyle looked like someone who probably hadn’t brushed his hair in weeks. There was an open, friendly puppyishness about him that was appealing, though.
“Yeah, Kirk told me about it. Good for you, man.”
Simon shook his head. “It wasn’t that.”
There was a short silence between them. Then:
“I . . . don’t live at home either,” Kyle said. “I left a couple of years ago.” He hugged his arms around himself, hanging his head down. His voice was low. “I haven’t talked to my parents since then. I mean, I’m doing all right on myownbut .. . Iget it.”
“Your tattoos,” Simon said, touching his own arms lightly. “What do they mean?”
Kyle stretched his arms out. “Shaantih shaantih shaantih,” he said. “They’re mantras from the Upanishads.
Sanskrit. Prayers for peace.”
Normally Simon would have thought that getting yourself tattooed in Sanskrit was kind of pretentious. But right now, he didn’t. “Shalom,” he said.
Kyle blinked at him. “What?”
“Means peace,” said Simon. “In Hebrew. I was just thinking the words sounded sort of alike.”
Kyle gave him a long look. He seemed to be deliberating. Finally he said, “This is going to sound sort of crazy—”
“Oh, I don’t know. My definition of crazy has become pretty flexible in the past few months.”
“—but I have an apartment. In Alphabet City. And my roommate just moved out. It’s a two-bedroom, so you could crash in his space. There’s a bed in there and everything.”
Simon hesitated. On the one hand he didn’t know Kyle at all, and moving into the apartment of a total stranger seemed like a stupid move of epic proportions. Kyle could turn out to be a serial killer, despite his peace tattoos.
On the other hand he didn’t know Kyle at all, which meant no one would come looking for him there. And what did it matter if Kyle did turn out to be a serial killer? he thought bitterly. It would turn out worse for Kyle than it would for him, just like it had for that mugger last night.
“You know,” he said, “I think I’ll take you up on that, if it’s okay.”
Kyle nodded. “My truck’s just outside if you want to ride into the city with me.”
Simon bent to grab his duffel bag and straightened with it slung over his shoulder. He slid his phone into his pocket and spread his hands wide, indicating his readiness. “Let’s go.”