“Why not?” I ask, despite my resolution not to pry.

He shrugs, but the careless gesture reveals a world of vulnerability. “I remind him too much of my mom. It hurts, I guess.”

“Because she’s gone.” I have no idea what that means, though. Did the woman move to California to find herself, or—

Before I can speculate, he says softly, “Yeah. Her funeral was the worst day of my life.”

Wow. So, forever gone.

Without even thinking about it, I move over beside him on the sagging couch, gently nudging his guitar aside to cover his hand with mine. This is new to me; I’m more familiar with distant kindness, leaving Post-its and moving on. I don’t know much about making real connections, but for Shane, I’ll crawl out of my comfort zone. He wraps his fingers around mine, and I think, I could live in your eyes.

“What happened?” Belatedly, I realize he might not want to talk about it, but if he doesn’t, he can say so. I won’t back off the bravery with a babbling disclaimer.

“Things were okay when I was younger. My dad was never around a lot. He’s always driven a big rig, as long as I can remember. But when he came home, my mom would light up and it was like Christmas. He always brought presents…”

“That sounds nice.” I don’t remember a time when my mom and dad were together and happy. She left right after I was born. Things were better when my dad had custody, but I’ve never been part of a typical family unit. I know how it feels to lose a parent, though. Later, I’ll tell him so, but right now, I don’t want to interrupt.

“I was always closer to Mom for obvious reasons.”

I nod.

“She got sick when I was twelve.”

There should be some words in the world that could make it better somehow, but if they exist, I don’t know them. So I just cling to his hand, gaze locked on his bruised face. His eyes are just swimming, not in tears, but sadness. His chin drops.

“We went through rounds of radiation, aggressive meds, chemo. Year after year. She had two remissions before it finally got her.”

No wonder the football team didn’t have the power to bother him.

He goes on, “My dad bailed when I was fourteen. He couldn’t stand watching her die.”

“That was a pussy thing to do,” I say. That’s not a word I normally use, but it applies.

Wry smile. “You’re telling me. But my mom forgave him. Said he just loved her too much to let her go. And that’s what I had to do … so she could finally, y’know.”

“Rest?” I supply, unsure.

“Yeah,” he says tiredly. “Dad wouldn’t come back to Michigan City, said he couldn’t. I was on the verge of going into the system for the last time when I cut this deal with him.”

“The last time?”

He hunches his shoulders. “I didn’t handle it well after my mom died. A friend of hers let me stay with him while he looked for my dad, but I wasn’t … cooperative. Or law abiding.” I can see that he regrets it, probably feels like he let his mom down.

“You went a little crazy. It’s understandable.” I’m guessing whatever he did, like get into fights, shoplift, drink, maybe drugs, it isn’t as bad as what I’m hiding.

“So I’m lucky I avoided a permanent stay in juvie,” he concludes. “My dad came through.”

“And bought you all this.”

My disdain must’ve penetrated because his brows draw together. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. It’s all he could afford. My mom’s medical bills…”

“I am such an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“It is a dump. But it’s better than foster care. I just … I couldn’t deal with a new family right now. I just wanted to be by myself.”

I wonder if that’s really what he needs, but it’s not my place to judge. I had years of court-mandated therapy and I don’t feel fixed. I just feel like a different kind of broken.

He goes on, “Promise you won’t tell anyone. I’m not sure if this is strictly legal.”

Most likely it falls under the heading of neglect, though if he’s been looking after his terminally ill mother for years, he’s not a kid in the usual sense of the word. I respect his desire for privacy.

“I promise.”

His silence makes it clear he’d prefer not to say more.

Then it dawns on me. “I’ve been pestering the crap out of you.” I should’ve known there would be a reason he avoids people, but I only thought about how he made me feel. It’s been a long time since I was so selfish, since I let myself be. Ryan was right after all when he dubbed Shane antisocial. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He’s smiling. “I haven’t had friends the past few years. It was too hard. I was taking care of my mom, no time to hang out. Most of them got tired and went looking for fun.”

Friends? Well. If that’s what he needs, what he sees in me … I die a little inside because this feels like Ryan all over again. Maybe I’m just destined to play that role. I muster a smile.

“I think you’re fun,” I say.

“You pick up garbage for a good time.”

I shake my head. “That’s giving back to the community.”

If Ryan taught me anything about friendship, it’s that hugs are acceptable. And I could use one after hearing Shane’s story. So I reach for him, winding my arms around his neck. At first he’s stiff, like he doesn’t know what to do, then he gets it, softening into me, and his arms curl around my back. It feels so good I almost moan.

Friend. He wants a friend. I’ll get right on that.

He murmurs into my hair, “I came here looking to finish school quietly. Stay out of trouble. Maybe write some new songs. I never expected you.”

CHAPTER NINE

Come Wednesday, I’m still wondering what Shane meant. Today, when I get to my locker, the Post-it isn’t blue; it’s green, and it’s written in normal ballpoint pen. I told her. You’re still everything. Despite my best intentions, I glance over at Ryan. He looks worse than he did yesterday; I can tell the conversation with Cassie wasn’t easy. I’m glad he manned up, but I’m not sure what he expects from me. It would be easy and safe for me to walk across the hall and into his arms, just slip into the relationship he let everyone think we already had.

But that doesn’t feel like the right choice. I mean, it’s not that I want to hurt him, but this isn’t as easy as Ryan wants it to be. Quietly, I take down the Post-it and stick it inside my binder. I don’t know if I’m keeping this one, but I won’t throw it away in front of him. Despite what he’s done, he was my best friend for years.

Lila joins me, her gaze following mine. “Ouch. I think he’s really in love with you.”

“Maybe he should’ve realized that sooner,” I mutter.

“Hey, I’m not advocating a reconciliation. Do what you need to.”

He shapes the word please as we stare at each other across the hall. Please, what? Forgive you? Talk to you? Deliberately, I turn away.

“See you at lunch,” I say to Lila, heading off to class.

Shane’s in Geometry today, a fact that makes me happy. He smiles at me as he takes his seat, but there’s no chance to talk. Mackiewicz dumps another quiz on us, but this time, I can do some of the work, possibly even enough for a passing grade. If I can show something other than an F, dated later than the prior two, Aunt Gabby will be less disappointed. When I hand forward my paper, I’m relatively confident that I didn’t fail.

Shane waits for me after class. Dylan and his crew linger for a few seconds, but when they see he’s not forever alone, they move on. They’re cowards like that. It’s one thing to pick on a kid, another to deal with his friends. While the teachers will look the other way in some instances, when you start involving lots of other parents, that becomes impossible. Which is why Shane shouldn’t wander the halls by himself until the jocks lose interest in him.

“Lunch?” I ask.

“Sure. Just let me stop by my locker.”