“That’s not funny,” she said, holding back a nervous laugh.
“The grid’s actually yellow tape,” he said. “Took forever.”
“Oh wow,” she said, feeling the tape with her fingertips. “You bring every girl you meet to this creepy room?”
“That is funny,” he said, hopping up from the floor and reaching a hand down to hoist her up.
“Thanks.”
“Sorry,” he said.
Solomon and his family had a shorthand way of showing their affection for one another and it usually involved poking fun at even the most serious things. Just the week before, he called his dad a “dork” and was met with a simple and quick “recluse” and thought nothing of it. They were just like this—smart enough to make fun of themselves before anyone could beat them to it.
“No worries,” she said, nudging his arm.
It was only her elbow and only for a quick second, but it still felt foreign and strange and exciting to him. And, without even realizing it, he gently held the spot on his arm where she’d done it as they walked out into the living room.
“Thanks for the tour,” she said.
“Please stop by the gift shop on your way out.”
“You sound like Clark.”
“I guess that’s your boyfriend?” he asked.
“Yeah. Been together a while now.”
“I didn’t think I could remind anyone of anyone.”
Lisa laughed and shook her head. “It’s a compliment, of course.”
“What’s he like? I’m betting he doesn’t have a holodeck.”
“Well, he’s a water polo player. Smart but not a know-it-all. His mom’s a nightmare, but his dad’s cool. They’re divorced. He’s tall, but just a little shorter than you, I think. The season just ended and he’s depressed about it or something because he’s been, like, flaking a lot lately . . . with everyone but me. I tried talking to him about it, but he doesn’t like to get too serious. It’s a problem, really, but I’m working on it.”
“Okay . . . that was a lot of information on Clark. Got it.”
“Also, he hides his comic books under his bed when his friends come over. How stupid is that?”
Lisa clicked around on her phone and handed it to him. It was a picture of her and Clark, in formal wear, taken at some school dance or something.
“Tell me why someone who looks like that would ever be embarrassed of anything.”
“No clue,” Solomon said quickly, barely glancing at the screen. “Looks like the king of high school to me. I’d die there, wouldn’t I?”
“You watch too much TV,” she said. “High school isn’t what you think it is.”
“Isn’t it a little, though? He hides his comics.”
“So, maybe a little,” she said. “But you’d be okay at it, I bet.”
“Is there a fountain?” he asked with a half-serious expression.
“You’re very different from what I expected, Solomon Reed.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Absolutely.”
He was glad she didn’t stay too much longer because, despite having had a good time, all that talking and trying to come up with new things to say or questions to ask was making his head hurt. Then, as soon as he shut the door behind her, he started to feel like he couldn’t catch his breath. He leaned against the wall for a second, trying to breathe through it, hoping he could shake it off. But he couldn’t. Now hyperventilating, he stumbled down the hallway and into his bedroom, where he crawled under the covers and rode it out, his body shaking from side to side, his eyes closed so tightly they were starting to hurt. It was brief but intense, and afterward Solomon just lay there listening to his breath as it leveled out. Sometimes that’s all you can do when it happens—hold on just long enough for the world to stop shaking. There’s a reason people mistake them for heart attacks and every time it happened to Solomon, a little part of him wondered if maybe his chest would explode. Other times, he wondered if that would make it all better.
“So . . . how’d it go?” his mom asked when she got home from work.
“Good,” he answered. “She’s nice.”
“Solomon,” she said sternly, “use your words. It’s all I could think about today. I should’ve just stayed home. How you talked us into leaving you alone for this, I will never . . .”
“Sorry,” he interrupted. “Yeah . . . she came over and I showed her around. We just talked a little. No biggie, Mom.”
“Did you show her the garage?”
“Maybe.”
“That may be something you want to ease your friends into.”
“Friends? Mom, don’t blow this out of proportion. Who knows if I’ll ever even see her again?”
“I don’t care about that,” she said. “What’s important is whether or not you want to see her again.”
Solomon thought about that for the rest of the night. He’d already given his parents so much more hope than they’d had in a long time just by seeing Lisa. So now he had two choices: He could refuse to see her again and break their hearts, or he could keep going along with this whole friend thing and see what would happen.