Chapter 15

We bumped and sputtered into his driveway, both of us crying with laughter despite the silent neighborhood.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He grinned, pulling the bike to a stop as I swatted at him and hopped off. He parked his bike alongside a four-car garage and punched in a five-digit code to open the door farthest left. I expected the garage to be gray and cobwebbed, but bright white lights illuminated a sleek BMW and red Ferrari occupying two of the spots. Hunter gestured at them with a shrug. "My dad offered to buy me one, but I told him I already had a mode of transportation."

"Wow, so modest."

He led me through the garage door into the pristine kitchen. I slipped off my boots, because his house wasn't the type of place you wore shoes into, even if the host swears you can leave them on.

"I would give you a tour, but I think you've pretty much seen everything. Wanna go to my room?" He pushed an awkward hand through his hair. The gesture made me want to smile, but I bit my cheek instead. I hadn't seen everything, but I didn't feel any burning desire to explore the unwelcoming mansion either.

"Sure." Even barely above a whisper, my words bounced up the empty staircase and echoed through the whole place. It felt as if we were standing in a dark museum that had closed for the night.

He carried my coat and boots with him as he led me up the sleek, twisting stairs and down the same long hallway. We stopped at the door Melody had popped her head out of. He hesitated before opening the door, but it was so slight I almost missed it.

We stepped inside and I stifled my gasp. Hunter's room had next to nothing in it. The entire house was filled with expensive furniture, professionally decorated from ceiling to floorboards with matching paintings and fabrics, but Hunter's room was empty.

There was a small twin bed in the corner of the room with a dark blue comforter. Other than that, there was an old desk and a small three-shelf bookcase, both pieces of furniture plain. Books were spread across the floor in neat stacks, the shelves too small to hold them all. There was one small window and a closet in the opposite corner, not even a dresser. The rest of Hunter's belongings, like electronics and papers, formed a pile near his desk. His walls were bare, not one thing hanging on them. His room was bigger than my own but still rather small for the size of the house. I knew there was at least one unoccupied bedroom much bigger than his, and probably several more.

He eyed me, and I couldn't decipher what emotion he was feeling. "It's not much, kind of empty, I guess," he said, as though just realizing it.

"I like it."

His gaze snapped to mine, and we maintained steady eye contact until it felt as though there wasn't enough air in the room for the both of us.

Hunter tore his gaze away first. "Uh, wanna sit?"

I nodded, headed toward the bed, and edged onto it as if it might swallow me whole. Hunter slumped down in one swift motion, watching me with a small frown.

"We don't have to sit here," he said. He glanced around as if another option might appear out of thin air.

"Why not?"

"Er, I don't know ... you seem uncomfortable."

I twisted my hands in my lap, because how was I supposed to explain this? I wasn't afraid of Hunter, but I'd failed to consider what it would feel like to sit on his bed with him. Maybe he'd reach across to touch my hand and then my waist. Maybe his fingers would slip under my shirt, and instead of my head falling backward in bliss, I'd jump in terror, accusing him of trying to pin me down and snatch my heart from my chest, when really, he was just hoping to catch a glimpse of my bra like a regular seventeen-year-old.

I shifted on the mattress, wringing my hands so tightly I was surprised sweat wasn't dripping from them. "I haven't ... it's ... I've never really hung out with a boy before." I peeked at him, my cheeks capable of heating a small village. "Especially not on his bed."

His eyebrows furrowed. "What about you and that Ken doll?"

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as I cleared my scratchy throat. "Brian and I dated for, like, a month ... if that."

"You guys never hung out?" Hunter asked, crossing his feet at his ankles. He had to be the only boy in the entire world who could discuss an ex-boyfriend as calmly as he was. If we were talking about Melody or any girl, my heart would be racing, but he was more objective than a scientist.

"We were usually supervised." But I faltered, and my face burned brighter as a memory crawled into my head like Brian's hand up my shirt in his basement, impromptu and not entirely welcome.

Hunter tapped his chin. "Hmm, interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"Oh, nothing really. It's just ... even I knew the details of your relationship, and no one even talked to me."

Despite the topic of conversation, I laughed. "That must have been dull."

He shrugged, as if he hadn't minded being part of the gossip mill. "Who doesn't love a good romance?"

I snorted. "Yeah, Brian Cullen and I are right up there with Romeo and Juliet."

His smile turned sly. "C'mon now, you and I are far more star-crossed, and hey, we even have an affinity for suicide."

My heartbeat grew loud in my ears as I stared at him, racking my brain for words that might make sense in a sentence. Hunter didn't have any idea how star-crossed we truly were.

"Come on. I want to show you something," he said.

I remained where I was, sitting on the edge of the bed as though my spine had a metal rod in it, but Hunter slid off. Instead of heading for the door or his small bookcase, he retreated to the window and opened it. The room filled with a rush of cold air as he leaned his head out. When he reemerged, he nodded toward my shoes and folded coat. "You might want to put those on."

I joined him at the window to investigate. "Why?"

He shot me a wild grin and stuck one foot out the window, straddling the ledge.

I peeked over his shoulder, but instead of a balcony, there was empty blackness. "I hope you're not expecting me to do whatever it is you're about to do, because I can tell you right now, I don't have the coordination. Unless this is the part where we're supposed to commit suicide together, and if that's the case, I seriously beg you to reconsider."

He breathed a beat of laughter before twisting his body out the window. His legs dangled in the space he'd been sitting in before they lifted slowly out of view.

"For the love of god." I poked my head out and searched above me. He stared back, peeking over a ledge above the window. "Yeah, I don't have the upper body strength to do what you just did."

He grinned. "Don't worry, I'll help you."

I glanced between him and the ground multiple times. "What happens if I fall?"

He evaluated the ground below as though he couldn't quite remember the distance. "You'll definitely break some shit."

"Great, that's reassuring."

He extended a hand. "Put your feet on the ledge and your hands here." He touched the top of the window. "And I'll help pull you up."

"Hang on, I need my coat and shoes." I pulled them on, grumbling the entire time, and when I returned to the window, his smile was polite.

"Ready?"

I licked my lips. I wasn't afraid of the height, but what if I freaked out as his arms wrapped around mine? I squinted at the ground and muttered a string of curses before I climbed onto the ledge, looking up at him with wide eyes.

His face turned serious as he nodded at me. "I'm not gonna let you fall, Alice."

I gripped the roof, prepared to pull myself up, but as soon as I started to, his hands clutched my upper arms and he lifted me with ease. There was a little bit of a scuffle at the end, and he stumbled backward as I fell into him, his hands still touching my elbows.

"See, that wasn't so bad." His mouth was near my ear, and I stiffened on instinct, but he let go, brushing snow off the knee of my jeans.

The roof was a flat five-by-five platform before it sloped upward in steep shingles. The streetlights were dull below, matching the sprinkle of stars. Hunter's house was taller than the other houses in the neighborhood, and because his street was on a hill, I gazed out at endless snowy roofs and winding streets. I followed the roads to my own neighborhood and spotted the park a few blocks from my house with its basketball courts and playground.

"This is amazing." When I turned back to him, he was watching me, his face blank. I gestured at a small ashtray near our feet. "You come up here a lot?"

He nodded, his eyes guarded before he turned away. He made his way to the chimney rising from the rooftop and stood on his tiptoes to peer inside it. He retrieved a blanket and a packet of cigarettes, put the cigarettes back, and spread out the blanket. He paused at two of the corners, straightening them, and when he sat down, I joined him.

We sat shoulder to shoulder, our breaths filling the air around us. We both looked out into the distance, but when I glanced back at him, he was watching me again.

"What do you usually do up here?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Smoke cigarettes, listen to music, ponder my existence ... the usual stuff."

I smiled, reminding myself to tell my mom all about how he wasn't smoking now. "What kind of music do you listen to?"

Instead of answering, his laughter became the only sound for miles. "Nice try. Last time I told you what I liked, you called it torture."

I offered him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I don't know when I became so opinionated. Usually I don't care about ... well, anything, to be honest."

His eyes roved over my face, and it looked as if he meant to say something but settled on something different. "You go first this time so I can properly make fun of you before you return the favor."

I considered it. "I'll play you my favorite song if you want."

He pulled out his phone and opened his Spotify before handing it to me.

I scrolled through the list of playlists on his home page. Instead of being labeled, they were all numbered. "I'm getting a preview of your favorite music."

He tried to grasp at the phone. "Don't you dare."

"What's with the numbers?"

"They're based on moods. Play your song or give me that."

He tried to grab it again, but I waved it away. I grinned as I held it high on the other side of my head. It was meant to be playful, but when his face was a mere six inches from mine and his chest pressed against my shoulder, I relented. "Okay, okay, I'll play it."

I angled the phone so he couldn't see it as I typed in my song. He watched me with narrowed eyes, but he did lean away, which helped me breathe easier. When I pressed play, I bit the corner of my lip and waited for the first few notes to start. As soon as it did, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, and when the singing started, he laughed. "Is this Mulan?"

I nodded, pleased he recognized it. "This is my all-time favorite song. Hands down. Ever."

"I haven't heard this song in years. Mulan is the shit."

I grinned back. "My brother is really into theater, and when he was a freshman in high school, they put on this musical." I stared out in the distance, smiling as I pictured Chris on stage. "He sang this song and it was ... he was amazing." I turned back to Hunter. "He has an amazing voice, but it wasn't just that. It was like he inspired the entire audience. My mom and I went to all six shows, and I swear no one even moved when he sang this song."

My cheeks warmed under Hunter's intense gaze. "I mean, everyone went to watch their kids or whatever, but when Chris was on stage, it became so much more." I shrugged. "He demands more than indifference, and I'm still trying to figure out how he does it."

I fiddled with his phone, turning it over a few times. "I like listening to musicals and movie soundtracks." I could feel him looking at me, but I stared at his phone, thumbing the edge of its black case. "I like that there's a context ... a scene I can imagine. If it's just a song and no scene, I'm left with nothing but the thoughts in my head."

I picked at a hangnail that gave back a sharp response of pain. When I glanced at Hunter, his green eyes were boring into me, studying every feature, and despite the freezing air, I suddenly felt hot and clammy. "Anyway, yeah. That's it. Your turn." I thrust his phone at him, and my fingers brushed against his cold ones.

"Why'd you quit drama club?"

I startled. "How do you know I quit?"

His eyebrows slanted even more. "Uh, because you were in all the plays and then you weren't."

Instead of focusing on his question, I decided on my own. "You went to see the school plays?"

He smirked. "We had to."

I tried to catch my breath, because that meant Hunter remembered me from two years ago. Possibly even before.

What he said next made it even harder to breathe. "You played JoJo in Seussical your freshman year. You were really good too."

I swallowed. I was the only underclassman cast in a lead role, and I remembered Chris tackling me with a hug in the living room when the casting list came out. After Seussical, I was even featured in the town newspaper. A reporter interviewed me, and when she asked me what I loved about performing, I blanked. I could have said anything. I loved the attention, the lights, the adrenaline. I loved practicing until all my notes were perfect. I even loved the camaraderie. But instead of saying any of that, I told her I loved performing because I always knew my next line. And at that moment, I could have really used a rehearsed line.

"I quit to focus on my schoolwork."

He grinned as if we shared an inside joke. "You're lying." But it wasn't accusatory. It was a statement of fact.

And he was right. I felt sick with envy whenever I saw the theater kids hurrying to practice after school, but no matter how much I used to love performing, I couldn't bear the thought of captivating the attention of an entire audience anymore.

My gaze trailed over the snowy rooftops. "Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."

I only knew it because it was the last line, which meant I'd finally reached the end of Holden Caulfield's wretchedness. Hunter's head whipped in my direction, his eyes wide as he gaped at me. "Nooo shit."

I let out a wistful laugh.

"You quoting Catcher in the Rye in my secret hiding spot is not something I ever would have predicted. In fact, I think you just played out one of my fantasies."

I meant to roll my eyes, but I grinned instead. "It doesn't mean I like the book."

"I would never think such a thing."

"Now you have to play out one of my fantasies." As soon as I said the words, I felt my cheeks heat, because if that was my lame attempt at flirting, I might as well jump off the roof altogether.

But instead of sharing my horror, Hunter's eyes grew wide and dark. "And what would that entail?"

"Sing Mulan," I said before his brain might consider anything else.

He burst out laughing. It carried in the distance, over the rooftops. It felt as though it went on forever before he pinned me with a lazy grin. "Let me get this straight. Your fantasy is me serenading you with a song titled ‘I'll Make a Man out of You.'The same song that also reminds you of your brother."

I scrunched my nose. "Well, now you've made it weird."

"Right, yeah. I'm the one who's made it weird."

We huffed clouds of laughter before settling into a comfortable stretch of silence. We sat huddled together, close enough that I could have put my head on his shoulder if I wanted to, but not quite touching.

"What playlist do you listen to when you're sitting up here?" I asked after a while.

He propped his hands on his knees, inspecting his palms before tracing a line across one, following the cracks. "Number four usually."

"What mood is that one?"

His face grew haunted. "Melancholy."

He scrolled through his phone. The air around us filled with slow, heavy guitars and a voice with a rough edge to it, almost as if the lead singer was begging. It was eerily pretty.

"So you sit here and listen to this and smoke cigarettes and ponder your existence ..."

He nodded.

My voice grew gentler. "What do you ponder?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, his words as somber as the music. "Should I jump off or keep sitting here."

I stared at him, but he stared forward, entangled in his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was like a chainsaw as his words tore through the air around us. "I overdosed on my stepmom's painkillers my sophomore year. It was a random Wednesday night, and I don't know ... I guess I didn't feel like sitting here anymore."

"Why not?" I whispered.

He turned back to me, his eyes filled with a burning intensity, but there was something darker too—a sort of desperation. "My body knows how to live. When I take a hit, my blood clots and then scabs, and my cells fix themselves. My body just does it without any effort on my part. My mind isn't like that. It doesn't heal. And I haven't figured out how to live with that."

I had so many questions about his suicide attempt, questions I'd been storing since that day in gym class, but with his eyes searing into mine and his words that were as beautiful and moving as any play I'd ever read, nothing came.

"My dad shipped me off to a mental health facility after that. My mom ..." He paused to glance at me. "My real mom, she had a lot of issues. My dad is away on business a lot, as you've probably noticed, and it was the same when I was younger. I have vivid memories of my mom being in bed for days at a time, only because I don't think I could ever forget the hunger. I used to make these sandwiches ... ketchup on white bread. It was all I ate when she was like that. Sometimes she'd wake up and bang around the kitchen for days on end, making all these Italian dishes, letting me stay awake and lick the spoon, but sometimes it was like she wasn't there at all, like she'd died."

He pulled up his hood and drew the drawstrings of his sweatshirt tighter. I couldn't tell if he was cold or just needed something to do with his hands. "My dad would come home and find her in bed, or see I hadn't changed my clothes in a week, and he'd freak out. He just ... he didn't know how to deal with her, and she ended up leaving. Two days before my seventh birthday. I don't know, maybe she wasn't cut out to be a mom or a wife. She barely had enough energy to get out of bed most days, but somehow she managed to pack all her shit and walk out the front door."

Hunter shrugged. "So then my dad met Carol. Met her when I was nine and married her when I was ten." He let out a joyless laugh. "And to be perfectly honest, I'd rather be starving with my bipolar mom than living with any of them."

My hair blew across my face, and he caught a strand of it. He twirled it between two fingers as he stared back at me. We were six inches apart, and I couldn't have spoken words even if they were there. He released the strand, his eyes digging even deeper. "And now I'm going to miss you when you leave."