“What?”
“Have you ever told anyone to shut up?”
“Nope. It’s like you pull it out of me.”
“How did it feel?” he asked.
“Good, actually.”
He laughed again and I inched a little closer, knowing my body heat would warm him up even faster.
We were quiet for several breaths. Breaths that I could see like a mist above us as we both lay on our backs. We had been in the library for two full days and even though I felt like we had some sort of pact, I wondered if he would acknowledge me outside this situation. “Are we friends yet?”
“I don’t have friends.”
I nodded even though I was pretty sure he couldn’t see me.
“But . . . you’re less annoying than I imagined you’d be.”
“Thanks.” That was probably the closest he would ever come to giving a compliment, but I was still offended. I didn’t want him to know that so I added, “You imagined me often?”
It had been a joke, but the way he went still beside me made me think that maybe there was some truth to it.
“Yes, all the time.”
“I thought so,” I said, pretending I didn’t know he was being sarcastic.
“Is it hard for you to think someone might not like you?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Why do you care what people think so much?”
I thought about that question. Why did I care? Because I liked it when people were happy. Because I didn’t like to think that someone might not like me? “I don’t know.” I took a deep breath. “I’m going to sleep now that your teeth aren’t chattering anymore.”
“My teeth weren’t chattering.”
“They totally were. Apparently you do have some feelings as much as you try to deny them.”
He didn’t say anything back, so I said, “Good night.”
“Night.”
I inched even closer, because his body still felt cold, and tried to sleep. My mind wouldn’t shut off. Five minutes passed, then ten. The second hand on the wall clock sounded like a drum beat.
I wished I didn’t care what people thought about me. “Why don’t you care?”
“What?”
“What people think about you?”
“Because I have no say in what other people do . . . or think.”
“I guess it’s hard for me to accept I don’t have a little say over that. I mean, the things I do can change people’s opinions.”
“If my mom taught me one thing it’s that you can’t control anyone but yourself.”
The mention of his mom brought me out of my own issues. I thought about those books sitting on the cart on the other end of the library. If he’d really given up thinking he could help her, he wouldn’t have been reading those books. If he was reading those books. They might’ve been someone else’s. Dax’s mom wasn’t the only drug addict in Utah. “If you’re in foster care with the weed-basement parents, where is your mom? Getting help for her addiction so you can live with her again?”
He let out a breathy laugh. “She’d have to want to get better before she got help.”
“Can she work?”
“She holds odd jobs off and on.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
He shrugged, his shoulder brushing mine, we were so close. “It’s been a while.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Could be worse.”
“Could be better.”
“It always could.”
“Wow. So much positivity.”
“Yes, you know my reputation, the poster child for optimism. It must be an only child thing.”
I smiled. “I’m sorry,” I said again, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s life.”
But it wasn’t. Well, it wasn’t everyone’s life. I wished it weren’t his.
I rolled onto my side, facing him. I knew I was close but I hadn’t anticipated that the movement would close the rest of the distance between us. I pretended like it was purposeful and put my hand on his chest. “I’m still cold,” I said, hoping he’d accept my closeness if it were me suffering and not the other way around. He did give up food for me, after all (or so I suspected). I was glad he couldn’t see my face because he’d be able to read the truth.
He rubbed my upper arm without a word, as if that action alone would warm me.
I rested my cheek on his shoulder, wondering what had gotten into me. How had he made me so relaxed? How could I say whatever I was thinking to him? Do whatever I was feeling? Maybe because he was the only one around, I thought with a small smile.
He adjusted his position so his arm was under my head, his hand now resting on my back. My heart picked up speed. Dax didn’t have any reaction to my nearness. His breathing was normal, and so was his heartbeat—I could tell, because with my ear against his chest now, it was loud.
“Do you know Jeff?” I asked.
“Your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet?” he said, using the same word I had earlier.
“Right. Do you know him?”
“I thought we already established that I didn’t know anyone.”
“I thought maybe he’d been in one of your classes before.”