says.
Two minutes later, we walk out the front door to a dreary February afternoon absent of sun and ripe with the promise of rain.
*
Cameron
“So what exactly did you want me to show you?” Shaye asks. We’ve taken seventy-three steps away from the house and now we’re approaching a patch of evergreen trees lined up like military guards at the back of the property. It’s clear they were planted here purposefully; nothing grows wild in an arrangement this precise. Their order makes me feel like a kid in juvenile detention, like I’ve broken some unspoken rule written in a leather-bound book that no one has handed over yet.
In the time I’ve been here, I’ve never ventured far enough to notice these trees before. I follow Shaye through a cluster of them. If she isn’t nervous, I won’t be either. I might be only fourteen, but any year now I’ll be a man. I’m not a kid, no matter what she said while we folded that nasty underwear. It’s time to suck it up and prove it, if only to myself.
“I didn’t have anything in mind, actually. I just wanted to get you…to get us out of that house for a few minutes.”
I feel her body go tense even before she stops walking. When she plants her feet in front of me and tucks her hands in her back pockets, I figure it’s time to break off my relationship with the single blade of green grass I’ve been staring at for a full five seconds, and I look up. I desperately miss that piece of grass.
“What?” I say. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What did you mean—get me out of that house?”
“I didn’t say you. I said us. Get us out of that house.”
“First you said you. As in, me .”
“Slip of the tongue. I have them often.”
I’ve been shaking my head for almost as long as I stared at that grass, so I force myself to stop. Her slits that barely pass for eyes do not open up, however.
“You know,” I say, “we can keep standing here—in partial view of the house, mind you—for a few more minutes. Or you can show me tools. I’m okay with either one, just so you know. But one of these days Mr. Bowden is going to want me to mow, and I’d hate to tell him that I have no idea where the lawn mower is because you never showed me.”
The storm brewing behind her eyes takes a moment longer to clear, but it finally goes away.
“Fine. Follow me.”
She takes off walking again, and I have no choice except to follow her. She still holds all the power in this non-existent relationship. Even by default, I still feel like a kid.
“But just so you know, I don’t need anyone defending me. And even more than that, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If I want to leave the house, I’ll just walk out the front door. End of story.”
“Cool. Maybe tomorrow we can catch a movie then.” I hope I’m the only one who hears the sarcasm in my voice.
She sighs. “I don’t have a car.”
“Kind of makes the I’ll just drive away statement a little less powerful, then.” And now we’re swinging our shared bent towards sarcasm back and forth between us like a toddler.
I’m pretty sure I’m enjoying our little game a little more than Shaye. With a sigh, she opens the door to the shed and takes a step inside.
“Shut up, Cameron,” she says over her shoulder. “Just look at the tools and hurry up about it.”
Chapter 8
Shaye
W e’ve been in here five minutes, and I started sweating four-and-a-half minutes ago. It started under my arms like it always does, but now it’s traveled to my hairline, my upper lip, even my feet. It will only be a matter of seconds before my sweat glands open up, throw their hands to the heavens, and break into the Hallelujah Chorus, but there’s nothing I can do about it except thank God Cameron hasn’t noticed. Then again, it’s dark. As soon as we step into the daylight he’ll be asking all sorts of questions.
“What’s the matter with you?” he says.
I guess he’s the sort that notices everything,
Two minutes later, we walk out the front door to a dreary February afternoon absent of sun and ripe with the promise of rain.
*
Cameron
“So what exactly did you want me to show you?” Shaye asks. We’ve taken seventy-three steps away from the house and now we’re approaching a patch of evergreen trees lined up like military guards at the back of the property. It’s clear they were planted here purposefully; nothing grows wild in an arrangement this precise. Their order makes me feel like a kid in juvenile detention, like I’ve broken some unspoken rule written in a leather-bound book that no one has handed over yet.
In the time I’ve been here, I’ve never ventured far enough to notice these trees before. I follow Shaye through a cluster of them. If she isn’t nervous, I won’t be either. I might be only fourteen, but any year now I’ll be a man. I’m not a kid, no matter what she said while we folded that nasty underwear. It’s time to suck it up and prove it, if only to myself.
“I didn’t have anything in mind, actually. I just wanted to get you…to get us out of that house for a few minutes.”
I feel her body go tense even before she stops walking. When she plants her feet in front of me and tucks her hands in her back pockets, I figure it’s time to break off my relationship with the single blade of green grass I’ve been staring at for a full five seconds, and I look up. I desperately miss that piece of grass.
“What?” I say. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What did you mean—get me out of that house?”
“I didn’t say you. I said us. Get us out of that house.”
“First you said you. As in, me .”
“Slip of the tongue. I have them often.”
I’ve been shaking my head for almost as long as I stared at that grass, so I force myself to stop. Her slits that barely pass for eyes do not open up, however.
“You know,” I say, “we can keep standing here—in partial view of the house, mind you—for a few more minutes. Or you can show me tools. I’m okay with either one, just so you know. But one of these days Mr. Bowden is going to want me to mow, and I’d hate to tell him that I have no idea where the lawn mower is because you never showed me.”
The storm brewing behind her eyes takes a moment longer to clear, but it finally goes away.
“Fine. Follow me.”
She takes off walking again, and I have no choice except to follow her. She still holds all the power in this non-existent relationship. Even by default, I still feel like a kid.
“But just so you know, I don’t need anyone defending me. And even more than that, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If I want to leave the house, I’ll just walk out the front door. End of story.”
“Cool. Maybe tomorrow we can catch a movie then.” I hope I’m the only one who hears the sarcasm in my voice.
She sighs. “I don’t have a car.”
“Kind of makes the I’ll just drive away statement a little less powerful, then.” And now we’re swinging our shared bent towards sarcasm back and forth between us like a toddler.
I’m pretty sure I’m enjoying our little game a little more than Shaye. With a sigh, she opens the door to the shed and takes a step inside.
“Shut up, Cameron,” she says over her shoulder. “Just look at the tools and hurry up about it.”
Chapter 8
Shaye
W e’ve been in here five minutes, and I started sweating four-and-a-half minutes ago. It started under my arms like it always does, but now it’s traveled to my hairline, my upper lip, even my feet. It will only be a matter of seconds before my sweat glands open up, throw their hands to the heavens, and break into the Hallelujah Chorus, but there’s nothing I can do about it except thank God Cameron hasn’t noticed. Then again, it’s dark. As soon as we step into the daylight he’ll be asking all sorts of questions.
“What’s the matter with you?” he says.
I guess he’s the sort that notices everything,