“So what do you think?”
“It looks wonderful,” I say. “Thank you.”
“It’ll be big. I mean, you wanted big, right? Will you have enough fabric?”
Oops. I should have been paying closer attention. I study the dimensions. He hands me a calculator so I can punch in my numbers, and I’m surprised at how perfect it is. “Yeah. Wow, I’ll even have the right amount of spare fabric, just in case.”
“I’ll collect the materials tomorrow so I can start it this weekend at my parents’ house. I’ll need . . .” His cheeks turn pink.
I smile. “My measurements?”
“Not all of them.” Now red.
I write down what he needs. “I’m not one of those girls. I don’t mind.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re perfect, you look beautiful.”
The words are out. He’s been so careful.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Cricket sets aside my binder and jolts up. He moves as far away from me as possible without stepping on his roommate’s side. “I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his head and stares out his window.
“It’s okay. Thank you.”
We’re quiet. It’s grown dark outside.
“You know.” I snap and unsnap my raincoat. “We spend a lot of time apologizing to each other. Maybe we should stop. Maybe we need to try harder to be friends. It’s okay for friends to say things like that without it getting weird.”
Cricket turns back around and looks at me. “Or to show up unannounced.”
“Though if you gave me your number, I wouldn’t have to.”
He smiles, and I pull out my cell and toss it to him. He tosses his to me. We enter our digits into each other’s phone. The act feels official. Cricket throws mine back and says, “I’m listed under ‘Naked Tiger Woman.’”
I laugh. “Are you serious? Because I entered myself as ‘Naked Tiger Lady.’”
“Really?”
I laugh harder. “No. I’m Lola.”
“The one and only.”
I walk his phone to him and place it in his open palm. “That’s a mighty fine compliment coming from you, Cricket Bell.”
His eyebrows rise slowly in a question.
And then the bedroom light flicks on.
“Whoops.” A guy half the height of Cricket and twice as wide tosses a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos onto the other bed. “Sorry, man.”
Cricket springs backward. “This is my roommate, Dustin. Dustin, this is Lola.”
“Huh,” Dustin says. “I thought you were gay.”
“Um,” Cricket says.
“You’re always in the city, and you ignore Heather whenever she comes by.”
Heather? There’s another one?
“Guess I was wrong.” Dustin shakes his head and flops down beside his chips. “Good. Now I don’t have to worry about you looking at my junk anymore.”
I tense. “How do you know he’d be interested in your junk? It’s not like you’re attracted to every girl in the world. Why would he be attracted to every boy?”
“Whoa.” Dustin looks at Cricket. “What’s the deal?”
Cricket throws on a coat. “We should go, Lola.You probably need to catch the train.”
“You don’t go here?” Dustin asks me.
“I attend school in the city.” I slide my binder into my bag.
He looks me up and down. “One of those art students, huh?”
“No. I go to Harvey Milk Memorial.”
“What’s that?”
“A high school,” I say.
Dustin’s eyebrows shoot up. He turns to Cricket. “Is she legal?” His voice is tinged with appreciation and respect.
“Bye, Dustin.” Cricket holds the door open for me.
“IS SHE LEGAL?” he says as Cricket slams the door shut behind us.
Cricket closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey. No apologizing. Especially not for him.” We head outside, and I shudder. No wonder Cricket comes home most weekends. “Besides,” I continue, “I’m used to it. I get stuff like that alllll the—”
Cricket has stopped moving.
“—time.” Crud.
“Right. Of course you do.” With excruciating effort, he pushes through Max’s ghost. Always present. Always haunting us. “So what’s the boyfriend doing tonight?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him today.”
“Do you usually talk to him? Every day?”
“Yeah,” I say uncomfortably. I’m losing Cricket. His body is moving physically farther from mine as his mind rebuilds the barrier he built to protect us. “Do you want to get dinner or something?” I blurt. He doesn’t answer. “Forget it, I’m sure you have things to do. Or whatever.”
“No!” And then, with control, “Dinner would be good. Any particular craving?”
“Well . . . Andy gave me money for pizza.”