Underneath the Sycamore Tree(8)

His head tilts. “Which of the ones you spoke of is your favorite? I couldn’t tell.”

“My Sister’s Keeper.” He doesn’t ask why, yet I find myself explaining anyway. “I find that the books with the saddest endings are the best because it makes us feel. We don’t always get a happily ever after no matter how hard we work for it.”

I think Lo always knew that.

His smile is genuine. “Have a great weekend, Emery.”

I murmur a you too before grabbing my jacket from my locker. It’s been raining on and off throughout the week, nothing unusual for upstate New York’s early fall season. With summer fading into the distance, the transition from sunshine and warmth to clouds and cold hasn’t been a fun one. Especially not with my sensitivity to abrupt weather shifts that has me hunkering down in layers.

Dad put a small electric space heater in my room when the sixty-something temperature turned into fifty-something with the nonstop rain showers. My fingertips turned blue until I’d have to walk around with winter gloves on. Cam would frown and ask if I want the heat turned up, but nobody else has the same problem as me so I always tell her no.

The heater is a peace offering, a way to tell me that it’s okay to ask for help. I think it was Cam’s idea, though Dad must have thought it was a good one since I watched him set it up and show me the different controls on the tiny remote. When Kaiden saw it in the corner of my room, he stared with furrowed brows before leaving without a word.

When I walk outside, jacket zipped up all the way and shoes hitting the tiny puddles, I see Kaiden all alone leaning against his car. It’s new, probably made in the past few years, and a polished black. Dad mentioned he’d look into getting me my own if I wanted since Kaiden will start going to practices soon. Lacrosse doesn’t start until the spring, but he trains for the season with his friends. Dad tells me it’ll be easier if I don’t have to depend on Kaiden for rides.

Kaiden pushes off the car as I approach him. I note the empty parking lot before walking toward the passenger side of his Audi A6. Until a few days ago, I didn’t know what it was. Just that it had to cost a pretty penny. One of his jock friends, the one with moppy brown hair like Kaiden’s, was begging to take it out for a spin with his leggy girlfriend. Kaiden’s response was the usual bluntness, something about not wanting to get it back with a stained back seat. I stopped listening to the conversation after that.

Just as I’m opening the door, he taps on the top of the car. “You can’t screw Nichols, you know.”

Halting with the door half-open, I stare wide-eyed at him. His expression gives nothing away, as if stating something like that is no big deal, much less offensive.

“Excuse me?”

I think he shrugs, but the car hides his body from my view because of the height difference between us. He’s at least six foot to my five-four. Between that and the car separating us, all I see is his indifferent features.

“All the girls at school seem to think they can stay after class and flirt their way into his attention,” he replies casually. “The guy seems smart enough to not fall for their tricks. I’m just saying, he won’t sleep with you.”

I’m gaping, trying to gather a reply. There’s a lot I could say, could call him, but nothing gets past my lips besides a squeaky noise that he laughs at.

“I think I’ll call you Mouse.”

“M-Mouse?”

He grins. “You’re quiet like one.”

Stunned speechless, is more like it.

“Mouse,” he repeats, nodding. He taps the hood of the car again and gestures toward the interior. “Get in, I want to go home. Got shit to do, people to see.”

Climbing in after he does, I drop my bag on the floor by my feet and buckle up. “Doesn’t seem like you like it there.”

“Doesn’t seem like that’s your business.”

I glance out the window as he pulls out of the parking space and toward the exit. “Your mom seems nice. I like her.”

No response.

“You should talk more at home.”

“Mouse isn’t a fitting nickname if you insist on talking,” he informs me, turning onto the road heading home.

My jaw ticks.

He sighs. “Cam and I have an understanding that you wouldn’t get.”

I shift toward him. “You call your mom Cam?”

He grunts.

“But she’s your mom.”

He looks at me. “You call Henry, Dad, yet I can tell you don’t want to. It bothers you to label him for what he is. That’s where you and I are different. I don’t have to call Cam anything that I don’t want to.”

Why is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the question. He won’t answer it. And if he does, it’ll lead to some snarky remark that I don’t have the energy to dissect, so what’s the point?

The ride home is quiet. I watch the scenery pass, the patches of evergreens and sycamores changing into developments that look identical to each other. Lo and I used to want to live in houses just like these right next to each other. Mama would tell us that it’d change when we got older because we’d be two different people, but neither of us believed it.

Mama probably wishes she could see us live out that old dream. Identical twins living in identical houses, raising families together and being happy. Coffee dates on Sundays. Our children on swings in a park somewhere. Lots of smiling and laughter.