As he vanishes into the hall, I start writing INFERNO across the top of the poster. I know perfectly well how to spell inferno, but I catch myself starting to draw the wrong letter twice. Something about these giant, red, unsubtle letters makes the word stop looking like a word.
Matt returns before I finish the N. “Sorry,” he says, sitting down. “I gave him a bunch of stuff to keep him busy, but three-year-olds are sort of, you know. Attention-thirsty.”
“He’s adorable.”
“Yeah, I know,” Matt says. “And he’s super smart for his age. I couldn’t do actual sentences until I was five or some shit, but Russ already knows words like—what did he say the other day?—‘effective’ or something. And ‘philosophy.’ It’s crazy th—” He cuts himself off. Something in his eyes happens, like shutters closing, hiding away the fondness. “Anyway.”
I fight back a smile, returning to the poster. “You’re a good brother.”
“What?”
“You are. You’re, like, enthusiastic about him. It’s cute.” I glance at him, but he avoids my eyes. “Um,” he says.
We sit in silence for a second. I examine him—his narrow brown eyes, his thick, heavy brows—and our phone conversation swims back to the forefront of my mind. I want to tell him how Kat acted last night—progress!—but he could so easily turn back into the kid from English class, the too-cool-to-care guy. He could say, Oh, I was high on Thursday, and dismiss it.
“So,” he says carefully. I tense up. I don’t know why or what I’m expecting him to say.
“What’s up?” I ask.
After a second, he picks up one of the sheets of paper strewn across the poster. “I—nothing,” he mumbles. “Nothing. I, uh, I didn’t finish reading Inferno.”
“Oh. Right. Me neither.” I cap my marker. “I’m a slow reader.”
“Really?”
“You surprised?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I am, a little. ’Cause you’re smart.”
I grin. “Hey, thanks, but I’m also slower than a slug in quicksand. Anyway, I got a bunch of themes and stuff off SparkNotes, so we can put the important bits on here.”
“I did start it, though,” he says. “I swear, I read like fifteen cantos.” He sounds so urgent, you’d think his Inferno progress was the only thing standing between us and Tartarus. A hint of intensity shows in his face, too, the corners of his thin mouth tightening.
I tilt my head. “I mean, I believe you.”
“Right.” He flaps the sheet in his hand. “Right, I . . . yeah.”
I look down at the poster for a long second, not thinking about the project at all. “Hey, um,” I say.
Matt meets my eyes. I’ve never seen a brown that clear. Like dark honey, or amber, with something bright crystallized deep in the center. The tightness in my chest winds up.
“I wanted to thank you, I guess,” I say. “For talking on Thursday. I . . . yeah.”
He sits quiet and still. I hold my breath, praying he won’t shrug it off. Talking with him felt like it meant something, late at night like that, quiet and unexpected. I don’t know why I mentioned Mom like that, in retaliation, but he didn’t throw it back at me. He traded me a little piece of his life, instead, and that deserves a thank-you, in my eyes.
“It’s . . .” he says, a crease forming between his straight eyebrows. “I . . . it was a good . . .”
He doesn’t finish.
“Yeah,” I say. “It was a good.”
Matt smiles. His cheeks press his eyes up into half-moons.
“All right.” I clear my throat. “We should probably work on this thing.”
And for two hours, we do, cutting orange paper into tongues of flame, writing quotes, collecting characters from each circle, listing sins and virtues.
It’s quiet except for the occasional rumble from the refrigerator, and sometimes we lean close enough above the poster that the light sound of his breathing distracts me. The sight of his dark forearms folded on the table catches me, too, his knobby wrists and the thin hair leading up to his elbows. It feels weirdly intimate, the two of us tucked into a corner of his kitchen, working in silence that’s more comfortable than it has the right to be.
I WAKE UP AT 11:30 PM TO MY RINGTONE BLARING. Instantly alert, I grab my phone, squinting at the screen. The blue light makes my eyes ache in the dark.
I pick up. “Juniper? What’s going on? What’s happening?”
“Claire,” she sings. “Claire fair, Claire bear. Claire Clah-Claire, Claire, Claaaire. We’re hanging out, and we miss youuu.”
I shut my eyes, settling back under my covers. So nothing’s wrong—just a drunk dial. I’m not sure whether I’m more relieved or irritated. “Juniper, I need to sleep,” I say. And I don’t need a reminder of how much fun they’re having without me. Is a little consideration too much to ask?
“Oh no,” Juniper says. The phone rustles. I hear her talking to Olivia. “I woke her up.”
“Well, yeah, you dork,” Olivia says in the background. “It’s, like, eleven thirty.”
“Juni,” I say, “how much did you drink?”
“Whaaat? Drink? Don’t worry about it,” Juniper says. “Don’t even worry about. Yeah.”
I scowl, nibbling my thumbnail. Before I can say anything, static rubs against my ear. I catch a snatch of a muffled protest. Then Olivia’s voice says, “Yo.”