The Fragile Ordinary(34)

While he carried a tray of food upstairs for Carrie, I hurried to my bedroom to print out what I’d written so far based on my and Tobias’s notes. Back in the kitchen with the essay, I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

After twenty minutes, I went into the hall and quietly climbed a few stairs, straining to hear.

Carrie’s giggles and the low rumble of my dad’s voice met my ears. I climbed a few steps more. The sounds of kissing and soft moans filtered down from above and just like that, melancholy crashed back over me.

Resentment filled my chest until it was so tight that it hurt.

I strode back down the stairs and threw the essay into my room, the papers flying up and floating down to land all over. I grabbed my jacket from the coat hook by the door and shoved my feet into wellies while I zipped it up.

After wrenching open the front door, I stormed outside then slammed it shut, hoping the sound interrupted my parents’ amorous pursuits.

Selfish arseholes.

All of them.

Every one of them.

Or maybe I was the problem.

After all...out of everyone who had hurt me today, I was the only one who was alone.

Blinking back tears, I strode out of my garden and was almost out the gate when I heard Mrs. Cruickshank’s voice. “You all right, Comet?”

I turned to find her sitting on the bench that abutted the wall of her house, wearing a thick cardigan and cupping a mug of something that steamed in the chilled air. I was pretty sure it was peppermint tea, her favorite. “Hi, Mrs. Cruickshank.” I almost winced at the croaky sound my voice made in the air between us. I hoped she didn’t see the sheen of tears in my eyes.

I knew from the way she leaned forward, frowning, that she did. “Do you want to join me for a cup of tea and tell me your woes, sweetheart?”

On any other night I would. But tonight I just needed solitude. “Thanks, but I’m just going to take a walk.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. “Well, you know I’m always here. A cup of tea goes a long way to fixing a problem.”

I gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Cruickshank.”

“Happy walking, Comet.” She sat back against the bench and raised her mug to me.

Giving her a small wave, I darted out of my garden and began to walk along the esplanade. The tide was high in the evenings this time of year, so I couldn’t walk along the beach. Instead I watched the water rush the sand, like fingertips stretching toward something that was just out of reach. It persevered, slowly but surely growing closer and closer to the wall of the esplanade.

“Comet?”

The familiar voice jerked me out of my isolated thoughts.

Somehow—and I didn’t know how—Tobias King was standing on the quiet, sand-speckled esplanade, staring at me. He wore only a thin sweater over a T-shirt, the fabric fluttering in the coastal wind. His hands were jammed into his jean pockets, and he was staring at me almost as if he were willing me not to run away.

“I was hoping I’d see you,” he said, taking a few steps toward me.

I hugged myself, wondering why this boy kept seeing me at my most vulnerable. “Why?”

Instead of answering me he asked, “May I walk with you a little?”

I didn’t know if it was his correct use of grammar or the gentlemanly way he asked...or if my reason for nodding yes was bigger than an appreciation of good manners. He’d caught me in a moment of absolute loneliness, and I was so desperate for company that I let myself believe he was sincere. Tobias’s interest in me was too tempting to ignore.

Falling into step beside him was surreal. Here was the most popular boy in our year walking beside me, casting me surreptitious looks as I tried to find something to say to him. Strangely, my struggle to find words wasn’t borne from shyness like it usually was. I was beyond that with Tobias now that he knew so much of me. In a weird way, knowing that he seemed drawn to me even after he’d read my poetry obliterated my insecurities with him.

My inability to make conversation was borne of having too much to ask. I was no longer afraid of being nosy. He knew so much about me; it felt only fair that he reciprocate.

I didn’t know what to question him about first: his life before Scotland; his parents; why he was friends with Stevie and Co. Was it familial obligation? Still, I’d seen them interact at school and at home. The two cousins might seem like night and day, but they were clearly close.

Above all, I wanted to ask what was it about my poetry that drew Tobias to talk to me.

“Are you sure you’re not scared of me? Or shy, or whatever? Because you’re not talking.” Tobias gave me a small smile, but he looked uncertain.

The idea that this too cool, too popular, too good-looking boy was worried I was afraid of him or unnerved by him made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I grinned at him, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“I just don’t know what to ask first.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, you know so much about me already, I think you should allow me to ask some questions so we’re more even.”

Tobias considered this and then smirked at me. “Okay. Hit me with it.”

“Okay. Where in America are you from?”

It could have been my imagination, but he seemed to relax at the question as if he’d been expecting me to ask something that would make him uncomfortable. “I’m from North Carolina.”