I Fell in Love with Hope(29)

With a sigh, Neo glances toward the windowsill where the bouquets lay, infesting pests. In the middle, under just the right amount of light, my succulent’s sibling sunbathes.

“From the looks of it,” Neo says, admiring it, “Hikari wants the same thing you do.”

“I thought you didn’t understand what I want.”

“I don’t,” he admits. “But it doesn’t have to make sense.”

He goes back to work, the origins of our relationship making my hands feel weightless. As he writes, I reach under his bed and grab Hamlet, Wuthering Heights, and the Hit List from the cardboard box before pushing it back under.

Last night, I didn’t go to Hikari and I’s grave as I promised. I didn’t even go to her room to tell her I wasn’t going to go either. It was rude of me, but after what happened with Sony I couldn’t risk it. When you’re empty, the wind can toss you side to side with ease. The sun can shine right through you. Last night was a night I felt emptier than most.

“I’ll let you write,” I say.

“Sam,” Neo calls after me. He catches the books in my hands, the little clay pot and succulent peeking from my pocket. “Don’t let those things you don’t want to remember ruin this for you, okay?”

I nod, even if I don’t mean it, before shutting the door.

—

C is with his family tonight. They took him to dinner.

They’re rather nice. His father always slaps me on the back and laughs loudly when I don’t understand a joke. His mother is strict, much more strained than her husband. She tells me to stand up straight and fixes Neo’s hair without asking. She’s fond of Neo. People with harsh faces are always fond of each other. C’s brothers–he has many, five I believe–are more like their father: bellowish, large, talkative. C is a black sheep in the herd. Whenever they visit, he doesn’t take the time to be in the room with them as he does with us. He keeps his earbuds in and reads some of his and Neo’s book, ignoring the mass of conversation.

I wonder what he thinks about. I wonder if tonight, he thinks of Neo’s back, Sony’s lung, and Hikari’s blood. I wonder if ,instead, he thinks of our soon-to-be escape and the adventures that lay in wait. I wonder if he’s holding the promise Neo gave him the way I hold the promise Hikari gave me.

It’s only a thin, torn piece of paper with a dream in its lines, right? But it has her on it. Like Wuthering Heights, Hamlet, the Hit List, my poor succulent, and her drawing, she is embedded in the matter. Anything she’s touched, either with skin or words, I hoard. I may as well be a smoker clutching nicotine patches.

I press my forehead into the stack of books, walking, walking, walking, till the hum of chatter fades in. The cafeteria is busy for this time of night. Those in scrubs stir black coffee. Others, some waiting for results, some waiting for loved ones, mull over food going uneaten.

At the near center, a couple sits across from a girl.

They’re arguing. I can tell that much. The woman has her head in her hands, frustration flaring as she motions against the table. The man has his arms crossed, his eyes downcast, his head shaking now and then.

Hikari’s back is to me, yellow hair tied back in a ponytail.

I can’t see her face. All I can see is her body. Her legs don’t rock. Her arms stay tame at her sides. I don’t move until Hikari stands and leaves her parents at the table. Quickly hiding in a corner on the other side of the entrance, I wait for her to walk past.

I can’t say her name, but I want her to turn around. I want to see her and make sure she’s okay. I want, and the anxiety of that crawls like spiders up my stomach.

“Hamlet,” I call.

Hikari turns around, no tears to stain her cheeks, no sadness in her eyes. A rush of relief escapes my breath.

“Yorick.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It doesn’t reach me. “Is that your succulent?” she asks as it waves from my pocket.

“Oh. Yes,” I say, looking down at it. “It’s wounded. I didn’t want to leave it by itself.”

Hikari snorts, sticking her hands in her own pockets. She wears shorts, her legs bare. They look smooth beneath the light, unbruised and unblemished except for goosebumps and a few bandaids.

“Are you okay, Sam?” she asks. My eyes snap up, cheeks reddening.

“Um–Yes–I–I just called you, because–well–”

“Because you saw my parents scolding me?” The books in my arms tighten against me. She has the same look as Neo when I brought up wanting, a sort of muted disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” she asks when my gaze draws to the ground, and my chin falls on the head of my books.

“I made everyone mad today,” I murmur.

“No one’s mad at you,” Hikari says.

“You should be.”

“Why? Because a skull stood me up?”

There it is.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hikari laughs. It’s dry, no discernible beats to count.

“You can talk to me about it if you’d like,” I say, nodding my head in her parents’ direction. “About what happened. Or if you need me to carry a box around, I can do that too.”

“You really want to know?”