17 Skyler Takes Control, Kind Of

July 20th

Don't chicken out. Just call him.

I dialed— Shit, should I have texted first?

"Thank you for calling Paolo's Pizza Parlor, home of the famous Pineapple Supreme, where we put a full pound of pineapple on whatever pizza you order whether you like it or not, then stare at you while you eat it—"

I sighed. "You can turn your camera on, Matt, I know it's you."

A brief lag, and my brother's face and infamous bedhead came into focus. His lips pulled into a smirk. "Are you sure? You sure you haven't forgotten what I look like after skipping town like an absolute tool?"

I took a shaky breath, hoping this hadn't been a mistake. "I'm sorry—I ... I was trying to find the right time to tell you, I swear."

"When? When I died of natural causes at the tender old age of barely-nineteen?" Matt's phone shook as he slumped onto the couch. "I'm just mad me and Delia never got a chance to see you off like onlookers waving their handkerchiefs at the Titanic."

I cracked a smile, missing him so much my throat hurt. "You're right. I formally apologize for not giving you an opportunity to break out your trusty handkerchief collection."

Matt laughed, the sound warm and familiar, before catching himself and sobering. "But you're okay, though? This isn't some sort of quarter-life crisis I need to stage an intervention for? Because we agreed we would schedule our quarter-life crises for the same time."

"I've ... had some stuff to work out." Ugh, that was possibly the most enigmatic thing I could've gone with. "Everything happened really fast, and I'm sorry I threw off our plan. I think I just needed to try and be independent. Do, you know, adult stuff. On my own."

"Like pay bills, do taxes, and weep at the tragedy of lost youth?" His smile was tight, never quite reaching his eyes.

"Something like that." Matt's mention of a tragedy brought the memory of Robin Finch dangling helplessly from a statue back into vivid focus. I let out a heavy breath, tugging a hand through my hair. "Okay, I have to tell you what just happened, though."

Matt perched his chin on his knuckles. "You already have gossip? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"No, it's—" I swallowed.

Robin Finch had looked so helpless, hanging like an abandoned doll. The thought still filled me with a prickling heat—that there was someone, maybe multiple someones, wandering this campus who were willing and able to assault another student and leave them in a dangerous, painful position.

Torturing them.

I did my best to explain, though there was so much I didn't grasp about the situation, and Matt—understandably—gaped at me.

"What the fuck, dude."

"It was awful. I keep thinking about how long he must've been up there, and what would've happened if I hadn't found him." I really needed to talk to my brother about this, even if things were weird with us right now. He was always so good at helping me understand myself. Luckily, Delia's weekly pottery class still met at the same time so I knew I'd get him alone.

I propped my phone up on the bench I'd commandeered so that I could run my hands down my face. Out of the corner of my eye was the same statue, thankfully now devoid of a person. "You should've seen his face, Matt. I've never seen anyone look like that before."

Matt was chewing his lip, eyebrows pursed as he processed the information I'd been sitting with all night. "So this is a hate crime situation?"

"It seems like it could be, but he said he didn't want to go to campus police about it. He did offer to meet up again to talk on Friday, though, and I have his number now, so." I shrugged awkwardly. "Maybe he just needs someone to talk to."

And it wasn't like I had many people to talk to around here either.

Matt was quiet for a long moment, a conversation's worth of unspoken things hanging in the silence. "That's really cool of you, you know? Making sure he's okay."

It was a kinder sentiment than I deserved, but something in his tone sounded off. "Thanks. I learned that from you, the way you always took care of me."

"Well. At least I'm good for something." His jaw worked for a minute. "Nice to see that you're making new friends out there."

My throat closed. "Matt, I—"

"I, um, actually have to go, but I'll text you later." He barely waited for me to nod before he ended the call.

Leaving me sitting on the bench, muscles locked from our conversation as well as a prickle of insistent protectiveness for Robin Finch.

I still hadn't heard from him since he promised he'd text and then darted into his dorm without a single look back. The way he'd trembled so badly in my arms, I wasn't convinced he'd be able to walk back on his own ...

Before I could overthink it, I tapped out a quick text, asking if he still wanted to get together for coffee.

To my surprise, the response was immediate, almost frantic.

Robin: OMG HIIIIIII

Robin: yes yes love to but I can only do the evening so maybe not coffee??? Cuz coffee keeps you up and we need our beauty sleep

Robin: not you but some of us uggos

Robin: should we do dinner instead??

Robin: is dinner too early in our relationship? Not that we have a relationship, you know what I mean though

Robin: was the dinner thing weird? We don't have to do dinner, I don't even eat

Robin: I don't know why I said that

I'd never seen anyone text that fast in my life.

I responded: it's all good, what if we drank tea?

Robin: omg you're a genius

Robin: I love tea. Pip pip

Robin: was the pip pip a bit much? I feel like it was a bit much. I'm not British. Which you know because we've met. Last night. I was the guy hanging from a statue.

Robin: Just in case you like forgot or something

I snorted at my phone, then typed back: Thanks for clarifying. I meet a lot of guys hanging from statues.

There was a solid minute of triple-dot purgatory after that, and when Robin finally responded, it was with approximately twenty laughing emojis. Then he told me which coffee shop to meet him at, and a quick google showed it was a little place just off campus.

And that was that. I was still tense, but as I read back over Robin's last couple of messages, a small ripple of affection unfurled in me. It was a horrible way to have met someone, but there was something about Robin Finch; underneath the terror of whatever he was going through, he sounded as willing to meet up as I was. He clearly wanted, even needed, a friend. Like I did.

I told Robin I would be there, and I made sure the number for campus police was in my contacts.

Just in case he changed his mind.