Call It What You Want(40)

Owen picks up a chip. “I’m having a hard time drumming up sympathy.”

“Maybe because he wasn’t crying over forty dollars.”

Owen doesn’t take the bait. “You going to go to his party?”

“What? No.”

“Don’t you miss your friends?”

“What, are we six? No. It’s fine.” But I’m lying. I don’t miss all of them, but I do miss some of them. I miss the camaraderie.

It feels like a weakness to admit that. I give him a look. “Why? Want to go?”

“No offense, but you’re not my type.”

Wait. “I’m not—”

He gives me a look right back. “I know. I’m kidding.”

I can’t tell if we’re fighting or bickering or messing with each other. Owen is the last kid I thought I’d ever share lunch with, but I suddenly can’t stand the thought of losing …

Losing what? A friend?

I reach out and steal one of Owen’s chips. “Don’t worry. I know you’re holding out for Zach Poco.”

He looks startled, then smiles. “Seriously, there’s no contest.” He hesitates. “What do you do after school?”

I look back at my food, but my appetite dries up in a heartbeat. “Didn’t you hear Connor?”

Owen freezes. “Oh.” Another hesitation, heavier this time. I wonder what he’s thinking. At the same time, I avoid his eyes because I don’t want to know.

I breathe. Swirl the water in my bottle. Listen as the weight of the silence around me settles in.

Then Owen says, “Do you have to do that every day?”

I shrug. My brain supplies the repetitive image of me going through the front door of the house. Being greeted by the sound of soap operas, which the nurse watches with my dad in the afternoons. If he’s aware of what he’s watching, I guarantee he hates it.

“My mom works late on Thursdays,” Owen says. His voice falters. “If you want to come over and play Xbox or something. Or not. If you’re busy. Don’t worry. Forget it.”

“Did you just invite me and uninvite me in the same sentence?”

He looks abashed. “Maybe.”

“I don’t have to be home until five, really.” That’s when the nurse leaves, and we know from experience that they’ll leave at five on the nose, regardless of whether anyone has come home. Once Mom asked me to stop at the store and I didn’t make it back until ten after. I walked into a pitch-dark house, my father sitting in the middle of the living room, alone. It should have been sad, but it was actually creepy as hell.

I hate when these memories invade my thoughts. “Well. If it was a real invitation …” Now I sound as faltering as he did. I tell myself to knock it off. “I could play some Xbox.”



Owen lives in a two-story duplex south of the school. He says he usually walks, but it’s windy and freezing and I don’t want to leave my car, so I drive us over there. If he’s surprised about the car, he doesn’t say anything. I’m surprised that someone who can’t buy lunch has an Xbox, but I can return the courtesy, so I keep my mouth shut.

His fridge is mostly empty, but a whole shelf is bowing from the weight of three cases of generic diet soda. He offers me one, and I take it. “My mom loves them,” he says. “Her weakness. Come on, we can crash on the sofa.”

His living room is small, with older furniture, but it’s tidy. Owen fires up the television and suddenly we’re killing Nazis in Call of Duty. I’ve never been huge into gaming—lacrosse and school took up too much time. But I can hold my own.

Or, I thought I could. Owen is kicking my ass.

“I can run the tutorial for you if you want,” he says.

“Shut up.”

I want to ask if he has any friends. The invitation to come over here took me by surprise every bit as much as the invitation to come play lacrosse with Maegan’s sister.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

He swerves with the controller like an opponent on screen is actually attacking him. “Sure.”

I stop pressing buttons and study him. “Why did you invite me over here?”

“What, did you think my mom was going to be waiting in the kitchen with a revolver?”

“Um. No. Not until you said that.”

He taps a button and the screen goes still, then he looks at me. “The same reason you gave me the ten bucks on Monday.”

Because I felt bad. That’s what I said when he asked me.

My cheeks feel warm. I stare back at the controller in my hands.

“And you seem like an all-right guy,” Owen says. He’s unpaused the game, and his arms swerve again. “Honestly I always kind of thought you were the asshole and Connor was the nice one.”

“Wow, Owen, don’t hold back.”

He grins. “I guess you can be wrong about people.”

“I guess you can.”

“I used to hang out with Javon Marshal. Do you know him?”

I search my memory banks and come up with nothing. My expression must give it away, because Owen says, “He graduated last year, so he kind of left me on my own. He lived down the street.”

“Did he go away to college?”