When Mr. Peterson didn’t respond, Russell got up and followed after him with loud protests.
I inched my way into the room that Dax had not emerged from. It was small, just fitting the bunk bed and two desks. “What rules are we breaking?” I asked.
“Free time is over at eight o’clock on school nights.”
“Oh.” I looked at my phone. It was ten after eight. “You get a whole twenty minutes extra?”
“Yes, apparently you’ve charmed Mr. Peterson.”
“It wasn’t hard,” I said behind my hand like I was sharing a secret. “I could teach you.”
He smiled and it transformed his whole face.
Before Dax could question my being there, I said, “I brought you the cronut I promised. We never had them when we escaped the library.”
“You didn’t promise.”
“Well, I told you about them, so it’s only right I provide.”
I walked with determination to his desk. He backed up several steps so I didn’t run him over. Now we both stood by his desk and I set the bag on top of it, next to his book. “You’re still reading Hamlet,” I said.
“The never-ending book.”
I picked it up and fanned through its pages. “I’ve never read it.” The book naturally opened to where the envelope addressed to Susanna was stuck between two pages. He still hadn’t mailed it. I met his eyes.
If I’d thought Dax had changed his private ways in the last week and was now suddenly, of his own choice, going to share with me what this letter was all about, I was wrong. He nodded his head toward the bag I’d set on his desk. “Are we actually going to eat them?”
I set the book down, opened the bag, and pulled out a cronut. “There she is. Heaven.”
He took a step closer and my skin prickled to life. “It doesn’t look life-changing.”
“Do not speak ill of the cronut until you try it.”
He accepted the challenge and took a bite.
“Pretty good,” he said through his mouthful.
“Pretty good!? Pretty good? It’s the best.” I retrieved mine and ate it in four bites, then let out a happy sigh. “You’ll never be able to eat another donut again.”
“You’ve ruined me?”
“Yes.”
I watched his hands as he finished his off. “You’re still wearing it,” I said quietly.
“What?”
“The bracelet.” That had to mean something. He really did need me as a friend in his life. I held up my wrist and freed mine from beneath my jacket. “Me too.”
“I’ve just been too lazy to find a pair of scissors.”
Right. Dax carried a knife around in his boot. I didn’t believe that for a second. But I did believe that he was too proud or private or something to admit he needed a friend.
When I looked up, he was staring at me. I met his stare, determined not to look away. That was easier said than done. His eyes were deep brown and so piercing they seemed to see right through me. I was right. There was something about being around him, someone who had seen me at my worst, that made me relax.
He let out a frustrated breath. “I’m leaving in six months. You shouldn’t come back.”
“I know. You don’t want attachments,” I said. I’d have to try something different with him if I wanted this friendship.
“I don’t have any. I’m worried you might.”
I let out a scoffing breath. “I don’t have any attachments. You’re just a good distraction for me. I need a distraction.” This might work if I could control my facial expressions.
“Distraction.”
“I’ve been at the hospital. That environment stresses me out—sick people, the pressure to miraculously heal someone. It would be nice to have someone outside of that circle to talk to, to hang out with. No expectations. No pressure. Zero commitment.” And that was all true. Maybe that’s why he seemed to believe me.
He nodded. We were close. Too close. I should’ve taken a step away but for the first time all week the tension in my shoulders and the back of my neck was gone, so I was going to stay where I was. Even if it meant Dax staring at me. Even if it meant smelling his familiar scent of laundry detergent and spice. Even if it meant feeling the heat from his body radiating against mine.
I grabbed the sides of his shirt, surprising myself with the action. He didn’t step away, and the rest of the tension in my shoulders drained down my spine. He snaked one arm around my waist and pulled me into a hug, smashing me against him. The move shocked me and I gasped, but didn’t pull away. Friends hugged, we could hug. The tightness in his shoulders seemed to lessen as we stood there as well.
I looked up at him. His face, only inches away, seemed just as calm as I now felt. He was moving toward me, smelling like sugar, when I blurted out, “But no kissing. Just friends.”
“Friends?”
“No. Friends are attachments, right? So no, we’re distractions. Distracted friends.”
He stopped, his look amused. “Okay.”