How to Save a Life(23)

“Something like that. It helps to hold my breath for a long time if I’m kind of…detached from my body. If I were sitting under there, counting the seconds, I don’t think I’d get very far.” He waved his hands, making little ripples in the water. “Anyway. I’m sure there are far more normal things we could talk about.”

I smirked. “Normal is overrated.”

“I keep telling myself that,” he said with a dry smile. “Doesn’t take.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We exchanged looks, a commiseration; the girl with the scar and the boy with the freaky rep, and something shifted between us. An unspoken understanding that drew me closer to him without having moved an inch.

“So what normal stuff shall we talk about?” I asked. “Our favorite colors? Favorite food? Political affiliations?”

“How about…What’s your movie?”

“Raising Arizona,” I said automatically.

Evan broke out in a surprised laugh. “Oh man, that’s a classic!” His slightly southern twang morphed into a full-blown drawl. “Son, you got a panty on your head.”

I busted out laughing. “That entire movie is one big quote-fest.”

“Agree,” Evan said. “Favorite band?”

“All-time or current?”

“Both.”

“Current favorite would be Cage the Elephant. All-time fave is Tori Amos.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s honest and poetic, and she makes inhaling a breath to sing so beautiful, like it’s part of the song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You should give her a listen sometime.”

Evan smiled. “Maybe I will.”

Another little silence came and went; taking with it more of the awkwardness that exists between two people getting to know each other, until one moment it’s entirely vanished.

“So…you.” I said. “Favorite band?”

“I like old school stuff.”

“Like New Order or…MC Hammer?”

He laughed. Damn, I liked hearing him laugh.

“No, I mean like old, old-school. Like from the 1940’s and ‘50’s. Otis Redding, or Roy Orbison…Ever heard of the Robins?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“I should play them for you sometime. ‘Smokey Joe’s Café’? A classic.”

“Why do you dig so far back to find music that you like?”

“Old music like that…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems really honest. And simple. Not simple, like elementary, but simple like…pure. I like simple.”

“Me too.” I skimmed my fingers over the surface of the water, pushing dead leaves that floated on the surface away from me. “I like uncomplicated. Security, stability. I like those things too.” I blink and look around. “Sorry, what was I saying? Don’t mind me and my random word associations.”

“I don’t mind. Security and stability are good. The Salingers are always harping on that. To keep the business strong, and the money coming in to stay secure.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t care about money. That’s not my idea of security.” Evan made a face. “I’m sure that sounds arrogant or ungrateful coming from a foster kid who was lucky enough to be adopted. I am grateful for that kind of security. For the roof over my head and the food on table. But it’s not enough of what counts.”

“What counts?” I asked softly.

“How you feel when you’re there. Home. It’s not the same word as house, is it? Not even close.”

I nodded, my fingertips dancing over the water. “I know what you mean. My guardian—a cousin of my mother’s—he’s a trucker. Switches companies a lot to get the longest hauls. That’s why I transferred to Wilson so late. We move constantly. Every six months or so, at least. And he rents houses or apartments, but they’re not a home to settle down in, you know?”

“I think I do,” Evan said.

I don’t know why I kept talking; I felt like I hadn’t said so many words in a row out loud in ages. If ever. But I did, and I didn’t worry about it. Evan listened intently, and I thought maybe it had been a long time since someone had spoken to him more than a short string of words in a really long time too.

“We came from Missouri before Iowa,” I told Evan. “In the suburbs of Kansas City. We had an apartment, not a house. And it sucked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, not because it was small or anything—which it was. But because…Okay, so my bedroom overlooked the parking area, right? And every so often a car would pull up at night, like dropping someone off. And they’d just idle their car in the parking lot, lights on, talking loudly with whomever lived in our building, and it just f*cking irritated the hell out of me. They weren’t even being vulgar or playing loud music, they were just idling their car and talking for the whole complex to hear. And every time it happened, I would feel so…unstable. Like, this was supposed to be my home, right? And the parking lot was sort of my driveway, and these people would just hang out there. And I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me but there they were, at my home, and there was nothing I could do about it.”