A List of Cages(39)

“Why don’t you sleep over?” she offers suddenly.

“Uh—”

“And I’m not suggesting whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything.”

She raises one perfect eyebrow.

An hour later, she’s leaving the shower, dressed in a long white cotton nightgown like some Victorian-era maiden. It probably shouldn’t be a turn-on, but it is. Her skin’s showing through the wet fabric on her stomach and thighs. Her hair’s still damp and loose around her shoulders. All that’s a turn-on too.

She crawls into her bed next to me, and rests her head on my chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

“Me too.” I lean down to kiss the little mole under her eye.

“It’s too quiet at night.”

I kiss the one on her cheek.

“I don’t like it.”

I kiss the one on her shoulder.

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

I get that feeling—air loss and a heart attack. “I love you too.”





RUSSELL IS STANDING in my room. He’s smiling, but something is wrong, something I can sense more than see. “Where have you been?” he asks.

“The library.”

“The library.” He picks up the battered Elian Mariner book I forgot to put back in my trunk. “To read something like this?”

When I nod, he laughs. “Do you know who stopped by earlier?”

“No.”

“Adam.”

I feel sick, like I’m in a speeding car instead of standing still.

“He said he’s been here before. That he came inside.” His smile goes wide and artificial like the face of a clown. It’s a smile painted around a sneer.

“I…I told him to leave.”

“You mean he forced his way in?” Russell pulls his cell phone from his pocket. “Should I call the police?”

Slowly, I shake my head.

“So you let him in.”

I fiddle with the hem of my sleeve.

“Answer me.”

When I nod, the thick vein jumps in his throat. “What did you tell him?”

“Tell him?”

“That’s what I said.”

“About what?”

“About why you were home.”

“Nothing.”

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“I just said I was sick.”

“Do I give you too many rules?”

“No.”

“Maybe I do.” He puts a hand under his chin like he’s seriously contemplating this. “Remembering things isn’t easy for you. I know that.” A little laugh. “But this isn’t really a case of forgetting, is it? You told him to leave, so you knew he shouldn’t be here. Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he repeats, wearing that same strange smile.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a sudden blur, a moment of blank empty space, and then pain so intense it knocks the breath from my lungs. I’m on the floor and my cheekbone throbs and my stomach heaves as I roll over and push myself up with my hands.

Above me, Russell is holding my conch in his fist. He’s never hit my face before. Never. Another blur and this time the shell crashes into my mouth. Lips tearing on teeth, I fall onto my side. Stunned, I hold my face and watch the blood spill through my closed fingers.

My eyes flick back up. Russell looks even angrier, his whole body expanding and contracting like an unstable molecule.

He lifts the shell high into the air.

I cover my head with my arms.

Hear a splintering crash.

I peek beneath my arm to see the dent in the wall and my shell—shattered into sharp pieces on the floor. But I don’t move, not until I hear Russell’s heavy feet leave my room, not until I hear his car start and drive away.


I’m not sure what time it is or how long I’ve been standing here. I know that my hair is wet and my legs are numb and that every cold breath burns my nose and lungs. I’m straddling my bike across the street from my real house, but I’m not really looking at it. It’s there, but just an out-of-focus, hazy green.

Mostly I’m watching my breath as it emerges in light smoky crystals. If it were a list, it would just be numbers. One. Two. Three. A list of proof that I exist.

I’m still counting when a car slows to a stop. I barely notice it. So many cars have driven past while I’ve been standing here in the dark. Then I hear my name, and I cough a wet cloud.

“Julian?” the voice repeats, full of concern, then a door’s slamming and Adam is standing in front of me. Before I can ask him why he’s here, he says, “Brittany called me. What are you doing?”

It’s too dark to see much of his face, but I can hear the worry in his voice. “Jesus, Julian, it’s freezing. How long have you been out here?”

Maybe I could answer if time were measured in exhales, because I’ve counted all my breaths. He watches me with shrewd eyes for another minute, then straightens as if he’s come to some decision. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.”