It takes me the first fourth of the tunnel to come up with a topic of conversation (glassblowing) and the second fourth listening to Dorian’s response (he’s been learning the trade for years … He loves it when he can make his own creations … Hates it when he has to make fancy wares for the Dogio … Seems a waste…), so the next time there’s an awkward silence between us, we’re maybe halfway through.
Thankfully, some of the lights have been replaced so it’s not black as night like it was this morning. Still … I hadn’t thought this through fully. Being alone with Nico in the dark is as natural as fishing. But being with someone else … Some other boy …
I panic.
“Give and Take?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, Give and Take … It’s a game. You know, for conversation?”
He slows. “Wow. Is it that awkward?”
“No, I just…”
He flashes a wide grin under the flickering light above us. “It’s one of my favorites. Fair warning: I’m good.”
We’ll see about that. “Challenge accepted.” A question flies out of my mouth. “Do you still throw rocks at poor defenseless birds?”
He stops dead, clutches at his heart, and stares right at me. “Brutal.”
“Oh … Too personal? Should I go easier on you?” I smirk. Just a little bit.
Quickly recovering, Dorian adjusts his knit cap so it’s tipped precariously to one side. “Pfft! You didn’t say you were good too.”
“I didn’t feel the need to.”
“Touché.” He fights a smile by glancing away.
We resume walking.
“Obviously, I’d hoped you’d forgotten my sordid past.” He side-eyes me. “Yes, yes … I used to throw rocks at birds. In my defense, I lacked parental guidance. My uncle meant well, but I was a handful.” Dorian pauses, staring ahead as if lost in some distant memory. “As for your question? No. I do not still torment the poor things. Not for years.”
“I’m so relieved to hear it … For the birds, of course.” I nod, satisfied, and begin to toss another question his way before he steals the turn, but he beats me to it.
“I remember you too, you know … Hair a ginger rat’s nest, a bit of dirt always smeared cross your cheek, sea salt stuck to your clothes.”
I shake my head and laugh, part embarrassed, part surprised he’d remember such detail. “I used to skip school lessons to fish at the beach. I’d wade in up to my waist, get soaked to the bone. Poppy was forever torn between scolding me and encouraging me.” I glance over, furrowing my brow. “That wasn’t a question. You’re stalling.”
Dorian throws his hands up in mock surrender. “It was my lead-in to the real question … Poppy … Your grandfather?”
“My grandfather, yes.” I raise an eyebrow at his sad attempt. “Didn’t you say you were good?”
Dorian laughs. “You’ve had a long day.” He glances at my fishing basket. “Figured I’d go easy on you.”
I nod, eyes narrowed. “Of course.” He either can’t think of a question or is afraid to ask what’s truly on his mind.
We finally exit the tunnel into the square. I adjust my hat to shade the Sun as he extinguishes the lantern, hooks it to his bag. While he’s distracted, I seize the opportunity. “What’s your favorite glassware to make?”
He swears under his breath, gazing over at me, feigning shock, his expression humored. “I thought the game was finished!” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Who’d have thought … the Protector of Birds is downright vicious at Give and Take.”
I shrug. He knows full well it’s not finished until the person who started it declares it, the cheat. But again, he’s stalling. I stare without a word.
“All right…” We start walking toward the south Basso village, bypassing the market. “I like making most things, but what do I love crafting? Tiny figurines. Usually animals.” He fishes something from his back pocket and presents a tiny black piece of glass from his open palm.
I pluck it from his hand and hold it up toward the light. The thing is so small yet so incredibly realistic—the tiniest of shimmering scales, gills, even small whiskers glisten under the Sun. “Pantera…,” I whisper.
“Thought you’d appreciate that. I always bring one fishing for good luck.”
I’m still staring, turning it over in my hand, studying the miniature version of the fish I caught this morning. “The detail is … unreal.”
“Thanks. That’s my favorite part. The challenge of the details. When I get it right, it’s really rewarding.”
I smile, handing it back.
“No. Keep it.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Please. As a thank-you for helping me out today.” He smiles so it reaches his eyes, and I can’t possibly refuse.
“It’ll go on my altar. A prayer for future pantera.” I tuck it safely into my pocket.
“Good. I actually went through a fish phase. Made so many that sometimes I pass them out to kids at the market.” I realize I’m staring over at him when, I swear, the slightest flush overtakes his cheeks. He clears his throat. “I mean, I pelt them at stray kittens.”
I laugh. “I knew it! The truth comes out.”
He laughs back, the flush traveling down his neck; something about the image of him giving small blessings in the form of glass trinkets to children is irrefutably endearing and instantly warms my own face.
“Ah! I’ve got one!” Dorian nearly shouts, pulling me back into the present and Give and Take. “What’s the story with you and Nico Denali?”
“Oh…” I don’t know why the question catches me like it does, but my pace slows.
“I’m sorry…” Dorian backpedals. “It’s none of my business. Got caught up in the game.”
“No. Not at all.” I quicken my steps, force myself to stand taller. “First rule of Give and Take: Nothing’s too personal.”
“Right.” He nods.
Our boots crunch over gravel as the stone path turns more rugged and I try to collect my thoughts. “Nico and me … It’s hard to explain. We’ve known each other since we were kids, when none of this”—I motion down at my clothing—“really mattered. Or, at least, we didn’t realize it did. He’s always there for me. Always the first to stand up for me. He’s my closest friend.”
“It’s nice you have someone you can trust. It’s important.” But I recognize the skepticism in his eyes as if he doesn’t buy it. As if he’s wondering what’s possibly in it for me … for Nico … that could be worth the scrutiny we must face. Questions of What do you expect to gain? And How the Sun does it even work? Don’t you know your days are numbered?
Or maybe those are my own questions.
“I’m very aware our friendship is risky,” I blurt out.
If he’s surprised by my change in tone, my sudden defensiveness, he doesn’t show it. “I’ve found sometimes risk is worth it.” The Sun sends rays through the trees, casting an iridescent sheen over his already ghostly eyes as he cocks one eyebrow up in a knowing way. Like he’s read my mind. Which he has. And like he knows it. Which he does. I glance over my shoulder and cut off our connection.