Page 17 of Don’t Let Me Go

Riley was right. Xanadu is kind of unwatchable. Even Duy, who was the one who suggested I come over and watch the movie, checks out halfway through

the film and spends the next forty-five minutes texting on their phone. Not that I blame them.

“Well,” I yawn when the credits roll after what feels like a short eternity. “That is one movie I will never forget.”

“I know, right? What a mess!” Duy laughs, finally putting their phone down on the glass coffee table. “But kind of a brilliant

mess. Like, how many drugs must the people who made this film have been on? I’m guessing all the drugs.”

“For sure.” I chuckle. Despite the epic badness of the movie, I had a good time tonight. Duy might not have said a lot, but

what they did say was always entertaining.

“Anyway, thanks for coming over for movie night. Sorry I was so distracted.”

“No worries,” I assure them. “Looked like you and someone were having an important conversation.”

“That remains to be seen,” Duy replies with a cryptic smile.

Before I can ask what they mean, Ms. Nguyen pokes her head into the living room to remind Duy that it’s almost ten. Duy rolls

their eyes at the mention of their curfew, but I take the hint not to overstay my welcome. I thank Ms. Nguyen for her hospitality,

hop off the sofa, and make my way to the door.

The night air is muggy when I step outside. But Duy lingers in the doorway, letting a cool breeze of AC escape into the soupy Florida evening.

“I’m glad you and Riley are becoming friends,” they announce just as I’m about to stroll away.

The comment comes out of the blue, and for some reason, it stops me in my tracks. Duy’s tone and smile seem genuine. But the

words feel pointed as they hang in the air between us. Almost like a challenge. Or a test.

“Uh?.?.?.?yeah. Me too.”

“Riley doesn’t have many. Friends, that is,” Duy explains. “He’s kind of got major trust issues on account of some drama that

went down his first year at Olympus. I don’t know all the details. I wasn’t there. But suffice it to say, Riley has a hard

time trusting people. Especially boys. That’s one of the reasons I’m always trying to introduce him to new people and expand

our friend group. I know he thinks it’s because I’m boy crazy, and, whatever, maybe sometimes I am, but nine times out of

ten, the boys I bring around are for him. Because I’m worried about him and about how closed off he’s getting.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure how else I’m supposed to respond.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Duy continues. “Audrey, Tala, and I love him. But we can’t be his whole life. He needs to start opening

up and stop pushing away anyone who tries to get close. Because as much as Riley likes to play the cynical loner who looks

down on humanity, he needs people. He needs friends. He needs—” Duy stops and studies me carefully. “ Good friends. Riley needs good friends.”

I’m not exactly sure what Duy means by good friends . But I’ve seen firsthand everything they’re describing. Riley is definitely someone with a lot of walls, and if I can help

break some of them down, I’m more than happy to do it.

“Of course,” I agree. “Riley’s a great guy. I’d like to be his friend.”

Duy continues to study me, their dark eyes scrutinizing my face like they’re trying to peer inside my brain. “Good,” they

conclude. “Glad we’re on the same page. Because if you hurt him, I swear to Diane von Furstenberg, I will end you.”

“Wh-what?” I stammer, caught off guard by Duy’s abrupt threat. But Duy just smiles.

“Anyway, thanks for coming over! Tonight was so much fun! Byeeeeeee!”

With an effusive wave, Duy shuts the door in my face.

For a solid ten seconds I’m too surprised to move. Mainly because I have no idea what just happened.

I get people wanting to look out for their friends. And wanting to protect them. But that conversation was just weird . I mean, Duy’s acting like Mr. Adams did the first time I came over to pick up Micaela for a date. Except, oddly, I’m way

more scared of Duy than I ever was of Mr. Adams.

I wonder if Duy found out about Devon. That would explain their sudden need to lay down the law. Or maybe they got worried

when they saw me roughhousing with Riley this morning. Do they think I was picking on him? Or bullying him?

Oh, crap . Does Riley think I was bullying him?

I was only horsing around. But maybe I took things too far? I did knock the wind out of him with that tackle. And I haven’t

heard from him all day.

Shit, do I need to apologize? If not for the tackle, then for something else I did?

By the time I get back to Aunt Rachel’s house and shut my bedroom door, I’m questioning every interaction that I’ve had with Riley over the past three days.

Aside from a few stupid remarks that I made when we first met, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.

But if Duy’s concerned about my behavior, maybe there’s something I’m not seeing?

With a sigh, I flop down onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to sleep while I’m worried

I’ve done something to hurt Riley. So even though it’s after ten, I shoot him a quick text. Nothing dramatic, just How’s St. Augustine? , to see how he responds.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with his reply.

RILEY: I’m already sunburned and at dinner my grandfather asked me to explain what a throuple is. Other than that, I’m good.

My body relaxes. If there’s one thing I learned from dating Micaela, it’s that people who are mad at you don’t text back.

And they certainly don’t text back with jokes. That means whatever prompted Duy’s warning, it’s not something I’ve done to

Riley. It’s something they’re afraid I’ll do in the future. Like stop being Riley’s friend.

But since I have zero plans to do that, there’s no problem. Everything’s okay.

JACKSON: What are you up to now?

RILEY: Not much. Dad and grandparents are asleep. I’m sitting out on the balcony looking at the ocean and listening to music.

JACKSON: Sounds nice. Send me a pic.

RILEY: Of me?

JACKSON: No, dude, the ocean. I know what you look like.

Riley sends me the middle-finger emoji. Then a few seconds later, a photo comes through. At least, I think it’s a photo. It

looks more like a completely black square.

JACKSON: What’s that?

RILEY: The ocean. At night. What’d you think it’d look like?

Ha-ha , I type. Though I can’t help smiling.

Since breaking up with Micaela, I’ve missed having someone to text with before bed.

It makes a nice change from staring at the ceiling while my brain plays a highlight reel of all my greatest mistakes.

Even so, I should probably say good night.

I don’t want to bother Riley on his vacation.

The guy’s gotta have better things to do with his time than entertain me.

But before I can tell him that I’ll talk to him later, a new text pops up asking what I thought of Xanadu , and my decision to wrap things up goes straight out the window.

Oh, man, I think that movie brOKE my brain! I reply, feeling oddly excited at the prospect of keeping our conversation going.

JACKSON: Seriously. How did it get made? It’s SO bad.

RILEY: Some might say it’s so bad, it’s good.

JACKSON: That’s not a thing, dude.

RILEY: Actually, dude, that’s the definition of camp.

I have no idea what this means.

JACKSON: What do you mean camp? Like summer camp?

RILEY: What? No. CAMP. Like the queer art form.

JACKSON: Like cheerleading camp?

RILEY: Seriously???

I’m so lost, but I’m also shaking so hard with laughter that I’m afraid I’m gonna wake Aunt Rachel.

For the next ten minutes, Riley attempts to explain what he calls “the concept of queer aesthetics” before giving up and letting

me change the topic to something that doesn’t hurt my head—movies. I try to convince him that Zack Snyder’s director’s cut

of Justice League is a modern-day masterpiece. He then spends the next half hour explaining why I’m wrong.

Have you even seen it? I ask when he’s done typing out his exclamation-point-heavy tirade.

RILEY: I don’t need to see it to know it’s garbage!

JACKSON: You can’t have an opinion about something you haven’t seen.

RILEY: I’m gay. I have an opinion about EVERYTHING.

Again, I can’t help laughing. Riley’s intensity would be terrifying if it weren’t hilarious. It reminds me of a video that

I saw a couple of days ago on TikTok where a large golden retriever is being terrorized by a tiny, adorable hedgehog. I find

the video and send it to Riley.

RILEY: Is this supposed to be us?

JACKSON: Maybe...

RILEY: Let me guess. You’re the big hapless dog and I’m the spiky little monster?

JACKSON: Your words, dude. Not mine.

RILEY: Have you seen the video of the baby pig who gets adopted by a bunch of wild turkeys and then grows up thinking he’s a turkey?

JACKSON: No, but that sounds amazing. Send it now.

He does, and for the next few hours, Riley and I swap our favorite videos back and forth.

He sends me a video about a color-blind kid whose parents surprise him with a special pair of glasses that allow him to see

color for the first time; I send him a video about a German shepherd losing its ever-loving mind after being reunited with

a soldier who’d been deployed to Afghanistan for a year.

He sends me a video about a flock of ravens that visit a depressed woman’s backyard every day and help her get through the

pandemic. I send him a video of a little girl opening a birthday card and learning that the foster family she’d been living

with wants to adopt her.

Half the videos have me cracking up with laughter, and the other half have me tearing up with emotion. Which is odd. I’m not

a crier. If fact, I spent the past few months deliberately making myself as numb as possible just so I could get through the

day.

Then again, maybe that’s why everything is coming out now. Not that I mind. It’s oddly freeing to let myself feel again. And to share those feelings with Riley.

Damn, we’re sappy, I text, wiping a tear from my eye after a particularly moving video about a lion that’s reunited with the zookeeper who rescued

it as a cub.

The sappiest , Riley replies. And the sleepiest.

I can’t disagree. Curled up in bed, in the cozy dark of my room, I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my eyes open. Stifling

a yawn, I check the clock on my phone and immediately bolt up from my pillow.

Holy crap , I text. Just saw the time. Is it really that late?

Riley’s response is to send me a photo. It’s the ocean again, only instead of a black square like before, the picture shows

a sliver of bright orange sun rising over the blue water into a hazy pink sky.

I can’t believe it’s dawn.

JACKSON: Wow. I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.

RILEY: No worries. But I think that video I wanted to send you about the sassy sea lions will have to wait. I should probably get

some sleep.

JACKSON: Yeah. Me too.

RILEY: Text you later?

JACKSON: For sure, dude. Get some rest.

RILEY: Will do, bro.

Chuckling to myself, I set my phone down on the nightstand. I can’t believe how late it is. Or, I guess, how early? I don’t

even remember the last time I stayed up all night talking to someone. This might be the first.

I lie down and pull the sheet up around my chest. I’m on the verge of drifting off when I hear my phone buzz. I take a look

and smile.

RILEY: Okay, ONE more video...