Seven Days in June(38)

“I don’t know. It’s just chill. Like, I don’t know why.” Ty paused for a moment. “I mean, in the sky theater…”

“Sky theater!”

“That’s what Mr. James calls it. In the sky theater, it’s like I’m a real astronomer. Like, for real for real. I can see the sun’s path from east to west. Look up close at the moon.”

“That’s incredible, Ty. I know the moon’s your shit.”

“Yeah, and today we learned about bizarre stellar objects. Like neutron stars, pulsars, black holes. And there’s…there’s…a girl.”

Shane smiled. “Oh, word?”

“Yeah. She be in there sometimes. She draws or whatever. Today she drew a white dwarf.”

Shane stared blankly into the sky. “But why?”

“A white dwarf’s a star that’s exhausted its nuclear fuel.”

“Ohhh. What’s her name? You talk to her?”

“Nah. I can’t talk to her.”

“She bad, huh?”

More silence.

“Ty, are you shrugging?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen. You’re smart. You’re loyal. You’re one of the most interesting kids I’ve ever met. You never know, this girl might go to the planetarium every day, hoping that you’ll speak to her. Just try.”

“Can I ask you something.” As usual, Ty’s questions sounded like statements. “How you know when you’re really feeling a girl.”

Shane sat up a bit, leaning back on his elbows. Liking the planetarium girl was monumental for a deeply insecure kid like Ty and must be dealt with gently.

“When it’s real,” declared Shane, “you won’t even have to ask the question. It just hits you. Kind of like being shot.”

“Shot,” repeated Ty, sounding doubtful.

So much for gently, thought Shane.

“Hear me out,” said Shane. “It’s like you know something dramatic happened. But you don’t know your insides have been ripped open until after the fact. That’s what falling in love is like. When it’s real, you don’t fall in love with any awareness. You don’t get a say. You get hit fucking hard and then process it later. You know?”

More silence.

“I ain’t tryna get shot, fam.”

“Ty, it was a metaphor.”

“Yeah, but like, I just wanna ask her if she wants to go with me to Cold Stone or whatever. Get some ice cream,” grumbled Ty. “You’re doing too much.”

“See, you don’t even need my help! You got a plan,” said Shane encouragingly. “Just ask her out tomorrow. And be confident with it. If you believe you’re that dude, she will, too.”

“Maybe I should ask her if she’s lactose intolerant first.”

“Under no circumstances should you do that.”

“Nah, you right.”

“Listen, you got this,” said Shane. “Hit me back, let me know how it goes.”

“I’ll get at you. Good lookin’ out,” said Ty, and then he clicked off.

Shane slipped his phone back in his armband, buzzing with hope for that kid. Ty would be fine.

The sun had just set, and there was still a chance—an off chance, a slim-to-none chance—that Eva would come. He set off jogging through the bendy West Village streets, back to Horatio Street.

There was a strong possibility that the diner was the last time he’d ever see Eva. But he couldn’t help wanting more. Seeing her again was stressful and world tilting—but underneath, it was good. Too good. On the flight to New York, Shane had imagined a million scenarios of how their meetup would go. He’d hoped he wouldn’t feel anything.

But like he’d just told Ty, he didn’t really have a say in it, did he?





Chapter 12





Twenty Questions




2004

IT WAS AFTER DARK WHEN SHANE BROUGHT GENEVIEVE TO AN IMMENSE, uninhabited mansion on Wisconsin Avenue. As always, he felt nothing but derision for people who’d own a place like this and not even bother to live there. If it were his, he’d have to be forcibly removed.

The decor looked like a museum. There were gold-filigree accents and animal-skin rugs everywhere. Twinkling chandeliers. A dizzyingly abstract, primary-color-splashed painting hung over a horsehair couch in the foyer. That couch was a prickly horror, never meant to be sat on.

Genevieve plonked herself down on it immediately.

She didn’t ask how Shane knew the alarm passcode. Or why, despite the house being bathed in darkness, he knew his way around. Tomorrow, he’d explain that it was his friend’s childhood home. She lived on campus at Georgetown Law. Her dad was the Korean ambassador, and since her parents more or less lived in Seoul, the house was usually empty. She’d extended an open invitation for Shane to stay whenever he wanted to escape.

He hoped Genevieve wouldn’t ask what he did in return for her generosity. Not that he was ashamed. He just didn’t want her to know how desperate he was.

But then Shane remembered her expression in the ER when he asked her to run away. The look on her face had been wild, a flash of despair mixed with thrill. An automatic yes, because the alternative was unthinkable.