Break(23)

“Hay ride?”

I shake my head. She sips her soda.

I suggest, “Roll in the hay?”

“Jonah.”

“Damn. Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

She sets down her glass. “We’re not even dating.”

“So we can’t have sex?”

She rolls her eyes, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth.

“It’s an honest question.”

“It’s a stupid one. You know how I feel.”

I don’t know why I have to honor her feelings when she isn’t honoring mine. But whatever. I’m not an *.

She plays with her carnation. It’s pink and starting to brown along the edges. Pans rattle back in the kitchen, and I spend a moment just looking at this beautiful girl.

I could stay here forever. I look at her easy smile and I know that I’m already enough for her. That I don’t need stronger bones or a stronger heart for this to be okay.

She reaches out and takes my hand. I nod to myself, staring at the French fries.

Enough screwing around, Jonah. It’s time to face facts. This breaking thing . . . it’s time to stop. This is when I decide.





nineteen


THE TROUBLE COMES WHEN IT’S TIME TO GIVE this news to Naomi. She bounds up to me on Monday before third period, a handful of Web printouts in her fist, and then she’s showing me pictures of people bleeding and people in traction and people’s bones oozing infection. “We’re going to have to be very careful with the next one,” she whispers, shoving the pages into my locker.

“Look,” I say, and I know I should be breaking the news to her, but instead I dive into my pocket and come up with my physics test. “Look at this.”

She sees the A and her face breaks into a smile. “Jonah! That’s awesome!”

“It’s not just awesome, babe.” I rip a piece of a Post-it note and stick the test to the inside of my locker. “It’s another deposit on a ticket out of here. Architect school—”

“You want to celebrate?” And she makes a breaking motion with her hands.

Oh, Naomi. She does this all the time. She gets way too wrapped up in what she’s doing. It’s like her thing.

One time we did this report on the 1960s, and she tie-dyed her carpet and stopped eating meat.

One time we learned about the Atlantic Ocean and she filled her entire bedroom with fish tanks.

Now she looks up at me, her pointed chin tilted to the side. Her eyes are huge and humid.

“I don’t think I’m going to do this anymore.”

“We can do something about the pain,” she says immediately. “I’ve been looking into it. If you take a lot of cough medicine before—”

“Naomi, stop. It’s not about the pain. I can’t do this anymore.”

Her mouth bends toward the ground. “But why not?”

I love that Naomi needs a reason for me to stop killing myself. What a friend.

“It’s not fair,” I say. She’s big on fairness. “I’m ripping my family to shreds. That wasn’t the point.”

“I know it wasn’t.”

“This is too much for my parents right now. They’ve got to focus on Jesse.”

“Jonah, come on.” She takes my good arm and pulls me to the hallway window seat. With the sun howling beside us and the hordes of people rushing by, I feel like I’m sitting by a river.

“Look, kid,” she says. “You can’t stop now.”

I shake my head. “You’re insane.”

“No, listen. I know this is getting hard.” She traces her fingers down my cast. “You’re brave as hell, you know that?”

“Don’t do this.”

“No. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this.” A cloud moves in front of the window, and Naomi’s face gets dark. “What you’re doing is . . . shit, it’s a f*cking revolution.”

“Nom.”

“Look, I’m proud of you! You’re telling everyone that this is your body and what you do with it is your business. That takes balls, man.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“You’re brave.”

“I’m desperate.” God, people really needed to stop making me sound like some kind of hero.

“Naomi,” I say. “If people think my parents are hitting me, they’ll take Will and Jesse away from them. Will is f*cking eight months old. He needs his parents. And how the hell is Jesse supposed to survive on his own?” I cut her off before she can start. “Stop. This isn’t okay. I never should have started this, and you know it.”

She swallows and I see all the muscles in her throat. “So we’ll be more careful,” she says. “We can just do fingers and toes and stuff.”

“Nom, what the hell? What do you get from this?”

“The video—”

“Don’t lie. It’s not the video.”

She smiles and stares down at the window seat. “I don’t want to tell you. It’s stupid.”

I realize the sun’s back.

“Tell me anyway.”

She plays with the upholstery. “You’re going for it, man.” She shrugs. “You’re putting your all into something. It’s . . . um, kind of inspiring?”