Break(40)

“I’m okay. You look . . . f*ck, you look fantastic.”

He smiles. “I’m pretty good.”

He has color and clear eyes and no hives. He’s got a sad mouth but his lips aren’t swollen. So he looks incredible.

“Have you been living at home?”

He laughs. “Yeah. It’s just been a good day.”

“You’re eating,” I say.

“Yeah, I’m eating.”

“That’s good, man.” I slap him on the back. “Glad to hear it.”

“I knew you would be.”

On the way to the elevator, we run into Tyler and Stephen. “Guys,” I say. “This is my brother.”

Tyler says, “What’s up, man?” Neither he nor Stephen is a hand-shaking kind of guy, which saves Jesse his usual awkward I-can’t-touch-you explanation.

Jess smiles as we head toward the elevator. He has his hands in his pockets and kicks the linoleum. He’s nervous, but more politely than Mom and Dad were. “This isn’t so bad.”

“Nah, it isn’t. I should kidnap you for the weekend and you can crash with me. My room’s big enough.”

“Yeah, hopefully you won’t be here long enough to consider that.”

I hit the down button. “So how’s shit at home?”

He shrugs. “Not awful, actually. Naomi’s over all the time. She misses you. I think Will does too. He’s even louder than usual. Mom and Dad both came, you know. Got a sitter. I wanted to bring him, but Mom and Dad still don’t want him outside.”

“Heard from Charlotte?”

He makes his I’m-sorry face and shakes his head.

“She’ll come around,” I say.

“Of course she will.” He squeezes my shoulder. “No doubt, man.”

Leah gets onto the elevator with us just before the doors close. Anyone thicker than her probably would have gotten stuck. “Who’s this?” she says.

“This is Jesse. My little brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says.

He’s so cute around pretty girls. “Nice to meet you.” He points at the buttons, his cheeks getting pink like he’s a cartoon. “What’s on the third floor?”

“Don’t know,” I say. “We never go up there.”

Leah says, “I have it on good authority that’s where they do the electroshock therapy.”

I elbow her. “Don’t scare him.”

He scoffs. “I’m not scared.” As we walk off the elevator and part ways with Leah, he mumbles, “She seems nice.”

“You could get with her, no problem. She’s nice and clean. Doesn’t eat.”

“I don’t want her. She’s way too skinny.”

Mom and Dad sit in armchairs by the doors, like they’re afraid to venture too far inside. They’ve dressed up. I appreciate Jesse extra hard, in his dirty jeans and T-shirt.

“Hey,” I say, and hug them.

“How was your first night?” Mom won’t stop touching me—my arm, my face, my hair, like she hasn’t seen me since I was a kid.

“It was fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m really fine here.” I smile at Belle as she walks through the lobby, cuddling some tiny stuffed bear into her chest.

“Do you know her?” Dad asks, and he says it more gently than I expect.

“There’re only, like, six other kids here. I sort of know everyone.”

“What are they like?” Mom asks.

“They’re fine. Really. Everything’s fine.”

“When can you come home?” Jess says.

My tongue expands with pity and fills my whole mouth, and I can’t talk.

Dad examines my pajama pants and ratty T-shirt. “Do you need more clothes?”

I manage to swallow. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“How’s the doctor?”

“He’s all right. We had our first session this afternoon. Doesn’t talk about much. He mostly just makes me put together puzzles and watches me and stuff. It’s like ADD testing.”

Jesse sneezes a few times and I look at him sideways.

“Everything’s okay,” I say. “We have art every day. And we play basketball outside.”

Jesse’s red ears twitch up. “Basketball?”

“Uh-huh. I mean, I’m mostly just limping around, but . . . it’s cool. And I’ve got lots of books. How’s school?”

Jesse smiles. “Mr. Roskull got a toupee.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“The counselor spoke with Jesse,” Mom says. “Wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Jess swipes his nose. “And I told her you were fine. Which he is. I saw his room. He hasn’t torn up the walls or bled everywhere. Look at him.” He waves his hand from the top of my head to my shoes. “No new broken bones. He’s fine. Bring him home.”

Dad looks at the floor. “Jonah, you understand—”

“Yeah, I do. Stop, Jess.”

He’s tearing up, and I can’t tell if he’s crying or it’s allergies. “I don’t believe this.”