“You can always come over here.” I tilt my head back, indicating my house. I climb into her room once a year and spend the night because being around Dad when he’s grieving Mom is too much to handle and I’m afraid I’ll say or do something stupid and upset him even more.
Her smile is sad as she lowers her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ear. “They’d never let me walk out the front door,” she says. “And besides, I don’t think your dad likes me either.”
“My dad likes you. He doesn’t like the asshole who fathered you,” I tell her, hoping it will cheer her up a little. I like when she smiles.
“I still wouldn’t be able to get away.”
I tap my fingers on the rough tiles of the roof and nod. They’d never let her walk out the front door. But they’ve never caught me sneaking into her room either, so maybe…
I climb to my feet and shuffle back at the same time Emerson’s front door slams shut. She pulls back inside her window out of sight, and I press my back against the wall of our house, hoping I blend in in case her dad looks up.
Once the sound of her dad’s truck has disappeared down the street and the coast is clear, I take a few quick steps to the edge of the roof and jump, without a thought or a care in the world.
Em squeals, and I can’t help but laugh as I soar through the air between our two houses and land with a thud on her roof, my hands gripping the window ledge as my feet slip out from under me.
“What are you doing?” she cries and clenches her teeth as I struggle to get a grip with my shoes on the slanted roof.
“Climbing through your window,” I grunt, finally finding my footing so I can pull myself through. Lucky both our houses were built close to the fence line.
It might have hurt if I fell to the concrete below.
“Why?” she whispers.
“We’re friends.” I grin and she narrows her eyes.
We weren’t proper friends.
Sure, I climb the tree daily and leave a plate of food on her window ledge because I’m almost positive the only time she gets fed is during lunch at school. Her face is drawn and her bones stick out. We speak through our windows sometimes when we can’t sleep. Pass each other in the school halls with a glance, a half-smile. Throw the basketball around my driveway when her dad’s at work and her mom is passed out. Then every year on June 29, she leaves her window open for me, and I slip quietly inside and sleep on her floor without a word.
That’s it.
Stepping back as I stand up, she glances over her shoulder. Probably afraid her mom heard me kicking the roof like a stampede of angry elephants.
She shoves me in the shoulder gently. “You could have fallen and got hurt.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Slipping my hands into the pockets of my shorts, I rock on the balls of my feet.
Em rushes over to the door and double-checks it’s locked. “We’ll get in so much trouble.” Her voice is soft. Low. But I’m barely listening. Too busy checking out her room. I’ve never paid too much attention to it before.
It’s boring. No pictures, few toys. A white bed with matching drawers and a desk. Her blanket is the one bright, girly, colorful thing in the room and still it’s old and tatty. The pink has faded to almost the color of strawberry yogurt.
Em looks down at her feet, her cheeks the color of tomatoes. From her window you can see into my room, and it’s a stark contrast. It’s a typical boy’s room. Black, blue, and gray, but there are basketball posters on my walls and trophies on my shelves. My room is messy and full of belongings. Em’s room is barren; she doesn’t have many things.
“When was the last time they came into your room to check on you?”
“I don’t know. A long time.” She fidgets with her shirt and doesn’t look at me. “Most parents panic when their children are quiet for a long time. My parents prefer it. They never come and check on me.”
I clench my hands into fists and clamp my jaw shut before I say or do something impulsive like call her dad knobhead to his face.
“So, we got nothing to worry about.” I move around her room, touching everything, looking at the papers on her desk, her drawings, snooping through her drawers. She barely has any clothes either.
Em presses her ear to the door, still worried her mom will catch us.
“I don’t think she heard,” I reassure her.
Her frown says more than words could. There’s no hope in her eyes. If her mom heard me and came to check on Emerson, it would prove she cared a little. But chances are she is passed out in front of the TV with a bottle of bourbon.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, walking back to the window. “You said you wished you could leave sometimes?”
Em nods.
“Well, I’ll leave my window open for you any time I’m home if you ever need to escape this place.”
I climb back out her window and take those few steps to the edge of the roof at a slow run and jump back over to my house.
Em leans out her window, her knuckles white from the grip she has on the ledge. “Are you crazy?”
“I’ve been told that. Why?”
“I can’t make that jump,” she says, gauging the distance between our houses. It’s a decent jump and she has one thing I don’t.
Fear.
“Well, you can use the tree.” I point to the large tree growing in her front yard and climb back through my window. The tree is huge, the branches stretching between both our houses, so it’s not too hard to imagine she can make it across.
“Why don’t you use the tree?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I tap my hand against the wood frame of my window. “It’s open if you need it.” And then I cross the floor to my door hoping she’ll use it one day.
“Colt!” Her voice is loud, and I rush to the window again before she makes any more noise and alerts her mom.
“Em?”
She smiles. “If you see my window’s open, will you come over?” She eyes the tree. “I’m scared I’ll fall.”
“Sure.” I nod. “Later.”
I pick up my ball and go downstairs to see if Dad’s made food yet. I’m starving.
My feet thud on the floor as I run to the front door.
“Hey, where are you going?”
I skid to a stop, my shoes squeaking as I turn to face him. “Did you realize we eat pizza inside out?”
His eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“Think about it.”
He blinks at me and shakes his head. “Well, what do you know? We do. You want pizza for dinner?”
“No.”
“Then why… Never mind.” He gives up. He doesn’t try to work out what goes through my mind anymore. It’s easier that way.
I pull the front door open and Dad calls after me, “Don’t lose another ball on the road.”
“What about through a window?”
“Colt,” he warns, and I chuckle. I’ll only throw a ball through that intercourser’s window if he provokes me.
I play ball in the drive until the sun goes down, practicing my footwork, dribbling, and shooting until Dad calls me in for dinner.
I forgot how hungry I was, so I run into the kitchen ready for… “Where’s the pizza?” I peer over Dad’s shoulder as he dishes out three bowls.