The elephant on the roof was that Kellan is unpopular.
Radically—and deliberately—so.
It was weird, because based on his looks—tall, lanky, cute, athletic—and last name, he should have had good social standing.
He chose to be a loner.
He dressed Goth at school. All black, safety pins everywhere, eyeliner, leopard patches, and painted nails. He once showed up at St. Paul with fishnets for gloves.
He walked with his back hunched, like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He picked up cigarette butts at lunch and pretended to smoke them, and Sandy Hornbill once caught him licking a frog in biology.
Okay, the last part was a rumor.
Point was—Kellan wasn’t a freak.
He wanted to be one.
I didn’t know what made me so distressed about him jumping. I was going to do it, too, right?
But somehow, for Kellan, it seemed like a waste. He had shabby, overgrown auburn hair and eyes the color of a thunderstorm.
The more I looked at him, the more I realized he was kind of boy-band gorgeous.
“Don’t jump,” I repeated, curling his fingers around my book.
They were icy, and I wondered how long he’d been up here, working his way toward death.
“Kinda hypocritical of you to say, everything considered.”
“My situation is different.”
“Yeah, it is. You have hope.”
“I have no parents, money, or prospects. Hope is not really in my cards.”
“Just a sister who agreed to sacrifice her life for you,” he said. I recoiled, his comment hitting home more than he’d ever know. “And now you want to leave her alone. Real nice, Lottie.”
I bit back a flinch at the nickname, throwing him an exasperated look. Even though he said really harsh things, he did it in a nice way.
As if he actually cared about me.
“We’re in the same situation,” I pointed out. “With our siblings. If I don’t jump, neither should you. They love us.”
As I said this, I realized the truth of it.
Leah loved me.
Even if she hated me now, she still cared for me. That was why she’d made the sacrifice. That was why she’d dropped out of school.
My chest was jam-packed with warm epiphany.
Kellan shook his head. “Not my brother.”
“Humor me. I’m not saying don’t kill yourself. I’m saying, think about it tonight. You haven’t even read On the Road yet. What a way to go.”
He drank more beer. “Yeah, no.”
“Wheelchair,” I reminded him.
“This shit is six stories high.”
“People jump this height from yachts and slice through the water like a knife. You might just break all your bones. If that happens, you’ll never live it down.”
He stared at me. “You’re relentless.”
“I know!” I said cheerfully.
He smiled.
Actually smiled.
It wasn’t a huge smile, or even a happy one, but it was a start.
“Fine, let’s see what the fuss is all about.” He picked up the book and squinted at the sleeve.
I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t. It seemed too easy, but maybe what we were doing right now made complete sense. Hearing that someone else is going through something shitty is comforting.
Even the devil needs a friend.
“How do I know you’ll keep your side of the bargain? You could do it as soon as I leave here.”
“I could,” Kellan agreed. “But I won’t. I gave you my word. I’m depressed, not a lying jerk.”
“Then what?”
He shrugged. “It was your idea to bail.”
His eyes glittered, and for a brief moment, I thought he might be truly happy.
I snapped my fingers. “Let’s make a pact. I read about it in a book, actually.”
“A Long Way Down.” Kellan nodded, rolling his winter-in-London eyes with a smile.
Nick Hornby was the guy who made contemporary literature great again in Britain and cemented the coolness of soccer to the middle-classers.
I shouldn’t have been surprised Kellan knew this. He came from a house where people actually read.
The books. The punk-rock music. It was like Kellan and I shared a secret language. Locked in the same orbit, completely in sync when everyone else around us was off key.
Kellan’s eyebrows jumped with surprise, maybe realizing what a pact would mean. “You want to stay in touch?”
My cheeks burned. “I do.”
I thought about all the crap I would get for befriending Kellan Marchetti, but somehow, I didn’t really care. Kellan did, apparently, because his face shifted from hopeful to agonized.
“Sorry, I don’t do friendships.” He nudged my shoulder with his, his voice almost kind. “Better for both of us. Don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t care what people say.”
“That’s because you haven’t heard them saying spiteful shit yet. Let’s make sure it stays that way. I’m not saying no to friendship.” He shook his head. “I’m just saying… Well, ours would be adjusted. Fri-end-ship.”
“Every Valentine’s Day.” I grinned. “On my birthday, we meet.”
“On this rooftop.”
He looked up to the sky, at the vastness of the universe. Shoulder-to-shoulder, we star-hunted for a supernova that would crash and burn.
I felt more alive than I had since Mom and Dad died now that I’d decided not to join them.
“Same day, same rooftop, same time.” I checked the clock on my phone. It was close to midnight. I’d arrived here at eleven.
We sat here for an entire hour?
“And if one of us decides to do it…” he trailed off.
“We give the other a heads-up,” I finished.
Kellan nodded in agreement. “I know the drill.”
“Oh, and don’t forget to give me back my book. It’s from the library. I don’t want to get fined.”
“Rock ‘n’ roll, Charlotte Richards.” He saluted me with the hand that held the book. “Before we leave, I want you to promise me something. Like, really promise.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. I knew better than to agree before I heard the fine print.
“One, don’t talk to me publicly. Like, ever. Trust me, it’s for your own good. Two, this pact is from freshman to senior years. Once we turn eighteen, we no longer need to babysit one another.” He dropped an invisible microphone, signaling that he’d finished.
I knew he was doing this for me, for my reputation, my chances of surviving this school. It made me want to cry. I wanted to fight to be his friend—his real friend—but I didn’t want to push him too much, either.
“Agreed.”
Kellan got up. He offered me his hand. We shook on it, me from the shingles where I sat and him standing.
He pulled me up. I felt dizzy and disoriented. He tugged me deeper to the roof, away from the edge, then stuffed On the Road into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder.
“You’re bleeding.” He jerked his chin toward my wrist. I looked down, not surprised to learn that I was. “You should probably get a tetanus shot for that.”
“I’m afraid of needles.” I realized how ironic my words were.