Two Broken Souls

chapter sixteen

The front yard is empty, so Harry and I sit down on the front steps. Neither of us says anything for a while. By now the blackness of evening has fully descended, and the light from the streetlamps is soft enough that I can still pick out stars in the sky. I like the chill, too, surprisingly sharp in the way of the desert night, washing over the concrete and stucco as if the sun never existed.

Behind us, the muffled sounds of a party beat on. But here, on this unremarkable step, at the edge of this expanse of lawn, I discover a pocket of solace. Or, I suppose, Harry and I discover it together.

He's leaning against the side of the house now; I'm not. We're close enough to touch, but we don't.
The specificity of the image, thrown so casually into the conversation, startles me, like he's just grabbed hold of my hand. I even pull back, as if he's really touched me, and retreat my fingers into the sleeves of my sweater.

"Here," he says, unlocking it. "I made you listen to my playlist. Let's listen to something you like."
He passes me the phone, and I cup it in both hands.

"Now?" I check around us. "Out here?"

"Why not?"

The night surrounds us with its stillness, and I almost don't hear the party anymore.

"Okay." I think for a moment, and then I know exactly what to type into the search. "Here's my favorite band."

That's how Harry and I end up with our heads close, foreheads bent over his phone screen, piercing the suburban calm with a Taylor Swift song playing.

"This is awesome," says Harry, grinning at me.

Suddenly, we're both leaning in, but then he pulls back abruptly. "It's okay." I think that maybe he's stopped because of what I said earlier, but at this moment, my fingers caught in his flannel, it's hard to remember why I cared.

"No."

The grim syllable makes me go still. His expression is stricken with uncertainty, and I see a flash of what he might have looked like when he was a little kid, long before he learned how not to let his face betray him like this.

"What's wrong?"

He looks away. "Is the picture the reason why you were at the bridge? Because I won't judge you. It might be a stupid reason, but I understand."

This comes at me from nowhere, like a slap in the face, and my brain, normally so reliable, refuses to connect the synapses. In one instant, everything the noise from the party, this sitting on the steps, the kissing turns sordid.

"I don't think you were the type." He finished.

I don't even know want to say to him. "You don't really know anything about me, Harry." I barely spit out the sentence. I lean over and grab my side, panting heavily. I really should get out more.

The cool grass tickles my ankles, sneaking into the open space of skin between where my jeans should meet my sneakers.

"I don't know anything about you because you won't tell me anything," he yells at me.

His eyes meet mine, and I feel a shiver in spite of myself. There isn't a trace of his normal glib humor, no layer of sardonic bubble wrap around his words. He seems exposed and soft in a way that I've never seen before—in a way that I think few people have.

He took a small step closer towards me. "Why were you at the bridge?"

"I'm not doing this with you right now." I turn to leave.

"I'm the one who told principal Alders to check in on you." He said. I kinda figured that he did that, but it still sucks to hear.

"Screw you, Harry." I snap at him and when he tries to come closer, I lightly shove him away. "You're trying so hard to understand how I feel, but you just don't know." I shove him again and again. "Stop acting like you know how I feel." I keep pounding at him with my fists, and he just stands there taking it.