Keeper

Chapter 57

Questions. Sawyer had questions. The unimportant kind. The half-assed kind. I could tell by the way his mouth hung agape like that of a fish out of water. He was improvising. Honestly, I never really took the guy for an actor.

He stood in our living room, hands folded, his curly hair astray. His eyes danced about the room, from our shelf of books, to our wall of family photos, all the way over to the sports channel Dad had on T.V.

I cleared my throat. Immediately, he looked over at me, a smile rising to his lips. At least until he saw Harry standing behind me, that is. Then he turned stiff. Pale. Indifferent. Now he was acting like the Sawyer I knew. Awkward and quite the little wallflower.

"Harley," He said, his voice faint, his lips curving upward, cheeks hinting the slightest hue of red.

I put on a smile. 'Hey," I said, Harry shifting behind me. I could hear him breathing. I could hear the rustling of his keys and I could smell the strange dessert Mom had cooking in the oven. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh yeah," he said, pointing at the door. "I, um-I . . . um . . ." He glanced once more around the room, shifted on his feet, his smile wavering. "I was wondering if there was any spanish homework? Because, you know, Señora De-"

"Sawyer," I said, crossing my arms. "I don't take spanish."

"Oh . . . oh yeah, sorry," he said, laughing. He looked behind me at Harry, then quickly looked away. He shook his head. "I-"

"Sawyer," I said, interrupting him once more. This little improvisation had to come to an end. I couldn't take it. "Just spit it out, why are you here, actually here?"

He opened his mouth to speak-

"Don't bullshit me," I warned.

He sighed. "I drove by your house today . . ." He was talking to Harry now. "And I saw your car was gone, and in it's place . . ."

"I don't want to talk about it." Harry's words were cold, steady. I took half a step forward, steadied myself, took a deep breath.

Sawyer narrowed his eyes, raised a hand up to right below his eye, and cocked his head. "And is that a hint of a bruise on your cheek? Or an I just seeing things? Is it the lighting?"

"Man, seriously . . ." Even without looking I could tell that Harry's eyes were closed, one of his hands raised as if telling Sawyer to just fucking cut it out.

"I'm glad to see you're all right," Sawyer said, his voice nimble. "That's all. I'll drop the subject now. I will."

He turned to me, his eyes soft. "You look sad," he said to me.

"I'm not sad," I said matter-of-factly.

"In fact, so do you," he said to Harry.

"I'm not sad, Sawyer," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe we should do something to get you out of this slump," he said, pointing to the door. I have to hold back to urge to roll my eyes. This boy is trying too hard. But . . . What is he even trying to do?

"We're not in a slump," Harry said.

"And we're just about to eat dinner," I said, gesturing to the kitchen. Just as I said this, my mother appeared in the entrance.

"Who's this?" She said, looking at Sawyer. A large smile sprawled across her lips.

"Hello, I'm Sawyer. It's nice to meet you, Missus." He was smiling so widely, I thought his lips would split. My mother shook his extended hand.