Page 123 of The Difference Between

“Are you crazy?” Gavin demands through gritted teeth.

“My sisters would say yes.” My knees bounce as muffled voices echo around the inside of the house. I do a double take at his angry eyes. “You wouldn’t do the ground thing and I was out of ideas. And I said I was sorry.”

The door swings open at the same time I wrap my arm around Gavin and paint a smile on my face.

A woman with a grey bob stands in a flannel nightgown and a worried look, eyes widening at Gavin’s bloody hands at his nose. “Can I help you?”

“We’re so sorry to disturb you. My”—I look at Gavin—“husband got a freak nosebleed on our walk.” The yappy dog—a godforsaken chihuahua of all things—is at her ankles, looking at me with its beady eyes and barking so loud I want to squash it with my foot. “And I was wondering if we could have some tissues to stop it?”

“Oh, dear.” She’s genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

We both look at Gavin. With his eyes on mine and through his still gritted teeth, he says, “Fine.”

The woman looks back to me, wary as she pinches her nightgown.

With a too-big smile I say, “Nothing like getting caught red-handed for picking your nose, right, honey?”

Gavin’s severe glare needles my throat.

From somewhere in the house, a voice hollers, “Mom! Who is it? I’m live!”

Live?

“A nice couple who needs tissues,” the woman calls back. She scoops up the dog and its yap turns to a steady growl. To us, she says, “C’mon in and I’ll get those tissues.”

Bingo!

“Thank you.” I sigh appreciatively. “You’re so kind.”

She directs Gavin to a bathroom and me to a living room where I sit on a couch. Across from me, an entire wall is covered with lights and technical equipment. There’s a microphone. Several screens. A camera. A glowing ring light.

And Holden.

He glances over his shoulder from a chair that looks like it belongs in a space shuttle and holds up a finger.

I nod, trying to make this make sense.

“Those guys came out of nowhere,” he says in a loud, dramatic voice into the mic. “Noooooo!”

On the screen in front of him, blocky cartoons hop around.

Gavin sits next to me—most of the blood is gone, but his scowl is intact. “Barely bleeding, my ass,” he mutters.

Holden shouts about creepers and spiders and a place called the Nether then a black box fills the screen. He sighs the most audible sigh I’ve ever heard. “Gah! Guess that’s a sign to call it a night.” He chuckles into the mic. “Like, subscribe, and Hold On because I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

He clicks a few buttons, closes out a screen, then spins in his chair to fully face us. He looks exactly like he did in his picture, just fifteen pounds heavier, covered in grease-stained grey sweats . . . and playing computer games.

“This is my son, Holden,” the woman says, handing Gavin a plastic bag of ice and a box of tissues. “I’m Donna.”

“Hi,” I think I say, mindlessly plucking tissue after tissue from the box then smashing them against Gavin’s face. “Sorry for interrupting your . . .”

“Work,” Holden finishes for me.

“He’s an internet video game player,” Donna clarifies.

Oh, God.

“Ow!” Gavin barks.