Her lips curl and she shakes the liquid from her sandal. “Thanks.”
My voice catches in my throat and the noise from the people around me grows louder in my ears. Fireworks of discomfort go off inside of me. “Sorry,” I say—but it’s as if I can’t hear my own voice. I walk back toward James and his easy disposition, but the smoke clouds my vision. I can see the people in front of me, but I can’t—there is too much smoke from the fire, as if someone just put a wet piece of wood on the flames. My head is fuzzy and I feel a little light headed, like I’m slowly spinning.
There’s a free chair two steps away and I take it, no longer worrying about James on the opposite side of this circle. I just keep seeing my mom—at least the conjured picture of her my head has made. She’s always kind and loving in my mind. I know she couldn’t have been perfect, but I have no memories of her yelling at me or being unkind.
I guess I don’t have any memories of her playing with me, either. Memories may be few, but I do have feelings. I remember those.
“Don’t you think so, Dom?” Finn stands a quarter of the way around the fire circle from me, close enough that his face isn’t a blur and his words are discernible. “Your mom acts all righteous at times—I know she does. You know mine does. They act like they know what life is like for us, but they don’t.” Finn’s eyes shift from Dominic to me.
Some of the people around me smirk and laugh in agreement with him.
“Dude,” Dominic hushes, “my mom is inside. And she lets us do this fire any night we want.”
Finn wraps an arm around Dominic’s neck and laughs. A gust of wind takes the smoke from the fire and smolders around them. Dominic’s hands flail it away and Finn starts to cough. There’s an awkwardness in the group, maybe because the mighty Finn was just blown off his pedestal by a breeze of campfire smoke.
It gives me a little more courage. “You’re a jerk,” I say above the chatter.
“Excuse me?” Finn coughs again and takes one step farther from the fire. His face would have amusement written all over it, if he could keep from coughing.
I get up to leave—I don’t need this. Finn takes a swig from a bottle of water he’s holding and follows me.
“What did you say?” he asks again.
I turn, and though I can’t see everyone in the dim and smoke, I can see him. “I said—You. Are. A. Jerk.” My voice is loud and steady. Marley is the sweetest and has only praised her kid on high this past week. This is how he repays her? “You act like your life is so hard, like you’re so picked on. When really you’re just a middle class brat who doesn’t have as many toys as his wealthy friends. Well, get over yourself, Finn. Your parents aren’t a pain. They are present and devoted. Oh, poor Finn, he has two loving parents in his life. If anyone is a pain, it’s you.”
Eleven sets of eyes are bright in the dark and through the smoke—each staring at me. The silence is thick. My muscles quiver—I am so angry, but I fist my fingers and keep from shaking on the outside.
Finn clears his throat, holding his sleeve to his mouth in case of another cough. But his eyes are on me too.
“Thanks for the fun night,” I say to the group. “Guessing I’ll see you again—never.” I might as well seal my fate, since everyone is watching me, and I just insulted their friend over and over.
I didn’t come here for friends anyway.
I hurry out to my little red Chevy and climb into the driver’s seat. But before I leave, I pull out my phone to text Cytha. It’s only nine and going back to Rodrick’s doesn’t sound like fun either. My hands quiver over the letters, but I get out my message.
Can I come home yet?
She’s quick with her response.
Yes, please.
And then a second text comes through.
Everything okay?
I don’t know how to answer that—yes and no.
Nothing life threatening.
I hit send, just as someone taps on my window. My phone fumbles out of my hands and onto my lap. Finn stares at me from the other side of the glass.
Crap. I am so fired.
9
I get out of the car and lean my back against the door. I can’t bring myself to take back anything I said—even to save my job.
“You’re pretty high and mighty, yeah?” he says, his face either red with anger or red from his coughing fit.
“No.” I grind my teeth together. “I am not. You were talking like a jerk in there. No?”
He tilts his head and shrugs one shoulder—it isn’t denial.
“Why do you act like that?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Did you really mean those things?”
He coughs into his elbow and wipes the tears from his eyes. “You’re telling me your parents never drive you crazy?” Another cough.
I don’t have an answer for him.
He coughs again and the red in his cheeks deepens.
“Are you okay?”
“Can you take me home?” he says through a wheezing breath.
I hesitate, but only for a second—his face is so red. “Yeah, get in.”
Finn lays his head back against the passenger seat of my car, his breathing labored through spouts of coughing while his chest rises and falls in rapid motions.
The Bookcase isn’t far and I’m grateful—he needs an inhaler or a steroid or something. The store is dark and I don’t ask, I just follow him inside. He starts up the stairs, but he’s slow, holding to the rail as he goes.
I follow behind him. “Finn,” I say, the trepidation in my voice giving away how I feel, “are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer, but hunches over, his breathing haggard.
“Hey,” I say, stooping to see him better. “Should I call Marley?”
“No.” He shakes his head and finally says something. The flush has left and his cheeks blanch to a pasty pale. When he rises, I step up beside him and he flanks an arm over my shoulder. His body is warm and the weight of his arm around me sends flutters throughout my body.
I help him onto the couch in the Matthew’s living room, but Finn’s heart still beats like it’s trying to escape his chest. “What should I do?”
“The oxygen,” he pants, pointing to the machine by the stairs.
I scramble to the corner by the upper staircase where I saw the machine earlier. The clear tubing is wound around the handle rather than leading up the stairs now. I turn the big black off button to on and yank the tubing until it unwinds from the machine’s handle.
Finn fits the nasal cannula around his nose and parts of the tubing over his ears. He takes a deep breath of the flowing oxygen and lays his head back, closing his eyes.
I sit there a long time—worrying. But Finn is resting and I’m not really sure what I should be doing. I can’t text Cytha—I don’t know what to tell her. She’ll have a million questions I can’t answer. So, eventually, I scroll through Insta and then check my email. My art teacher from back home emailed me a tutorial she’s made. I write her back, telling her I’ll watch it soon, and then wince at the swish noise the send button makes. Finn doesn’t move, but I switch my phone onto silent anyway. I text Rodrick and let him know I’ll be home by eleven. It’s 9:15 now, most likely I’ll be home sooner, but if Finn stays asleep, maybe I’ll sit here in the peace of Marley’s home where there are no expectations for me.