Page 29 of These Secret Years

“If it were yours, what would you do? Tear it down?”

“Maybe,” I mumble. “Probably.”

“So, can we talk?”

Right. That. Turning slightly, I plant my ass on the couch cushion I dragged in here. Another puff of dust rises.

“Let me…” he looks toward the living room. “I’ll be right back.”

“Lose the gun, okay?” I call after him.

I hear his short laugh echo in the hall. He returns a few seconds later with another couch cushion. The gun is no longer weighing down his nylon pocket. He drops his cushion in front of mine and sits. I draw up my legs and wrap my arms around them. He sits crisscross applesauce, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees. He looks good. Really good. Healthy, like he’s been enjoying the summer sun. More freckles dot his nose and upper cheekbones than I remember. Have I missed him?

“What’s up?” I ask.

“So, you really are from here.”

“Ha. Yeah. I guess you are, too.”

“You gonna be here all summer?”

I swallow, looking down at my hands. “Some of it.”

“I heard you have a girlfriend.”

“Yeah. Chelsea. Where’d you hear that?”

“Deandre. We’re pretty tight.”

“I like Deandre,” I say unnecessarily.

“The twins are with me,” he says. “They’re staying the summer at my parents’.”

“Are they here?”

“Not here. It’s just you and me in this place.”

“Mm. This is what you wanted to talk about?”

“I just wanted to talk,” he says.

“Okay. Why?”

“I feel like I owe you an apology.”

I make a face. “No, dude. You don’t. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Do you regret it?” he blurts, almost too loud for the room, louder than anything he’s said so far.

“No,” I tell him without equivocating. “I don’t. Do you?”

“No.”

I nod. “Okay. So, we’re cool.”

“I guess my point is if neither of us regret it, then why did we ignore each other all year?”

I didn’t spend a lot of time wondering why Knight wasn’t approaching me for a repeat of what happened in the woods. Maybe i thought about it an odd night or two, but the truth is, I had too many other things on my mind, and he’s got his life all figured out. It seemed pointless to try being friends with him. “Because we don’t have anything in common?” I venture.