One day, Lisa and Solomon were putting together a puzzle that had been taking up one end of the dining room table for going on two weeks. They listened to the radio, silently scanning for the right pieces and bobbing their heads to the music. Having a friend was no longer new to him, but he was still Solomon—and that meant he’d sometimes overthink every little thing they said to each other, letting their conversations hang in the air around him for hours after she’d leave, hoping he hadn’t said anything stupid or offensive or too immature. Before her, he had nothing to lose except the safety of his home. But now, since she was part of that, too, he couldn’t risk losing her.
“You’re telling me you’ve never chatted with anyone online?” Lisa asked.
“Do Star Trek forums count?”
“Sure,” she said. “But you never Skype with anyone?”
“Strangers looking at me through my computer screen? No thanks.”
“Agreed,” she said. “You know . . . there are sex ones, too. Like video chat rooms.”
“I know. What’s wrong with people?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I put a little piece of tape over my webcam a long time ago. I don’t trust any of my electronics anymore. My phone probably just sent our whole conversation to Wal-Mart or something.”
“Yep. We’ll get coupons in the mail for condoms and webcams tomorrow.”
“America the beautiful,” she said.
“Even on the forums, I don’t post too much,” he said. “It’s just never really been my thing.”
“I like that. A true loner.”
“The world’s too big,” he said. “And the Internet is way too big. I don’t hate everybody. I hope you don’t think that. I just have to protect myself—and I can’t deal with talking to a bunch of strangers who could be anybody from anywhere. It just never feels real.”
“I get that.”
“Lisa?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you miss Clark?”
“Say what?” she asked, finally looking up at him.
“Well, you’re over here, like, every day and, I don’t know, I guess I’m starting to feel like I’m stealing you or something.”
“Are you getting tired of me? Is that what this is?” she asked, trying to stop her widening smile.
“Shut up. I just . . . I think maybe I’m ready to meet him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I mean, it’s been over a month now. The guy’s going to hate me if I don’t start sharing you a little.”
“He has his video games,” she said, slapping Solomon’s words away in the air.
“I’m serious, though,” he said. “You think he’ll like me?”
“Why’s it matter what I think?”
“He’s your boyfriend,” he said. “Maybe we won’t get along.”
“That would be unfortunate,” she said. “However, impossible.”
“You don’t think the gay thing will bother him?”
“Bother him? Oh my God, he’ll probably volunteer to drive you to a pride parade on day one.”
“He can’t be that good.”
“I have this theory that he wears a Superman costume under his clothes at all times,” she said.
“His name is Clark.”
And then, like a sign from Jor-El of Krypton himself, Lisa’s phone started lighting up and vibrating on the table.
“Speak of the devil,” she said, picking it up. “Can you give me one second?”
“Sure.”
“Lisa Praytor, Girlfriend of Your Dreams,” she answered, shooting Solomon a big smile. “Uh-huh. Right. Well . . . okay. Can you do me a favor? Exactly. Thank you. Love you too. Okay. Bye.”
“How’s he doing?” Solomon asked, looking down at the puzzle.
“Super,” she said. “I’ll talk to him later, okay? About coming over.”
“Now I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. I’m jazzed about this, Sol. Do you believe in destiny?”
“Not really. But I like the idea of you believing in it.”
“Then we’re all set, aren’t we? And you’ll see.”
“Lisa,” he said, knowing she could hear his quickened breathing.
Solomon had never had a panic attack in front of her, but there’d been a few close calls for sure—a couple of times he’d even pretended to go to the bathroom just so he could calm down and breathe like normal. He was sure she’d noticed, though, and just hadn’t said anything. Maybe it made her uncomfortable. Or maybe she was like everyone else and just didn’t know what to say or do. Most people would rather do nothing than risk doing the wrong thing—that’s something Solomon learned a long time before shutting them all out.
“Okay . . . okay . . . ,” she said calmly. “It’s okay. You’re good, Sol.”
“Sorry,” he said, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands.
“No apologies. Just breathe and count to ten, okay? That’s good . . . now exhale slowly at five. You’ve got this, buddy.”
He looked up at her, counting in his mind, and instead of hiding his face in embarrassment or leaving the room, he did exactly what she told him to do. It was five minutes of panic in an otherwise quiet, normal day—five minutes of near silence that told him more than any conversation they’d ever had. He was safe with her. She did something instead of nothing. And suddenly destiny didn’t seem all that far-fetched an idea.
FOURTEEN
LISA PRAYTOR