Page 69

69

We are on his bed. I am curled up near the headboard with my laptop on my knees; Finny is stretched out on his stomach, finishing off a boss in his video game.

I just finished a chapter and my head feels light. I watch his character throwing bombs at the dragon. It’s just past noon, but I’m not hungry; we stay out late now and sleep past breakfast time. We spend most of the time driving around with the windows down. We go to drive-thrus after midnight and wander the aisles of twenty-four-hour grocery stores. Last night we sat on the hood of his red car and ate sugary candies with neon food coloring and artificial flavors. Finny left the radio on and we leaned back against the windshield, but the streetlights were too bright to see stars.

I close my laptop and Finny must hear the click because he says, “You done?” Another bomb explodes on the screen and his controller buzzes.

“For now,” I say. I lay my computer next to me and stretch my arms above my head. I watch him win the fight and save his game.

“So when do I get to read it?” Finny says.

“Never,” I say without thinking. “Sorry,” I add.

“Why not?” He sounds surprised. He isn’t looking at me; he’s playing his game again.

“Because it’s private,” I say, “and it isn’t very good yet.”

“Can I read it when it’s good?”

I shrug even though he can’t see. “Probably not.”

“Why are you writing it if nobody can read it?”

“I didn’t say nobody could read it.”

Finny looks at me over his shoulder. “So it’s me then?” he says. On the screen, his character runs in a circle and hits a tree repeatedly.

“No,” I say. I scoot forward on the bed and stretch out on my stomach next to him. “It’s—it’s that I know you. And if you read it you might think ‘Oh, this character is that person’ or ‘she’s talking about that time here,’ but it’s not really like that.”

“What if I promise not to read into it? No analysis at all. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“Come on, please?”

I shrug and roll my eyes. “Maybe.”

“Ha.” Finny turns away and looks back at the TV. He holds up his controller and begins pushing buttons. “That means yes.”

“It does not!”

“Does too.”

“Does not!” I punch him in the shoulder and he laughs.

“So what do you want to do now?” he says. I shrug again, but I’m smiling.

“This,” I say.