The Blind Boy

35.

Come Valentine's Day, there's a brilliant red rose with a violet ribbon resting in her locker. Ash falters momentarily, shutting the locker door halfway, (as if it's some nefarious secret that needs hiding) then her lips twitch into a half-smile, unbidden.

She had been so sure he wouldn't have gotten her anything, let alone this.

Warmth spreads through her chest. She's never gotten flowers before.

There's no message that comes with it, no tag, no romantic poetry, no prose, but she doesn't need any. The single rose is enough.

And it's so – him. So Rory. His gestures are rarely showy. He doesn't show up to Helen's house with a bouquet so large it can't fit through the door, he makes sure she's fed. He doesn't buy her pretty jewelry, he buys her a motorized skateboard so she can get to and from her job with ease.

His gifts are expensive, but practical, and they act as a salve – it's like Rory knows she's in survival mode, and so he is desperately tempering to cool the burn of that.

She knows that the high school does rose grams, but Rory is private – both about him and them, so it makes sense this rose would be delivered quietly, beyond prying eyes, in the spaces where only him and her exist

She reaches out to touch it, to run her fingertips along the green stem (where all the thorns had been cut or filed down).

"Got an admirer?"

She flinches at the sound of his voice, at his sudden close proximity – like he came from nowhere – and swallows thickly.

"Morning," she greets, robbed of breath, the jauntiness she felt dissipating, until it felt like it had never been there in the first place.

They haven't talked in a while, save for good mornings, for questions about what she got on her history final, or things of that nature. There's an awkwardness between them that won't dissipate, the shared truth between them hanging heavy like a crippling burden.

And he stares. Sometimes she catches Joshua looking at her, his eyes flat. That has been the extent of their relationship, up until now.

He unwraps a piece of heart candy, offers her one, and she shakes her head.

"Helen keeps bugging about me, you know," Joshua says, leaning against the row of lockers and studying her with an unimpressed gaze. "Ever since that stunt you pulled over Christmas break – you know, your disappearing act," he elaborates when Ash remains silent, almost paralyzed.

Ash clears her throat, twists at the straps of her bag, and struggles to come up with something to say.

"I'm not lecturing you," he continues. "I just – you know. You don't seem like the type, I guess."

"The type?" Ash prompts, her voice barely mute.

"Yeah, you know – the type to sleep around."

Ash stiffens, her jaw setting. Those words seem to snap her out of the stupor she tends to end up in whenever Joshua is around. "I am not sleeping around –"

"So you haven't been spending your weekends and breaks with that blind kid?" he smirks all darkly, sucking on a hard candy. "And that rose isn't from him?"

"It's none of your business who I spend my time with," she comments dryly, hating the way her hands start to spasm, start to shake –

"We are siblings."

"We are not siblings," she snaps, her voice dropping to a disdainful mutter. "We're just orphans in the same shitty boat."

Joshua shrugs at that, all loftily, like they're friends – like he isn't towering over her on purpose, to try and draw out some kind of reaction, and his grin deepens. "I guess so. I'm just curious, that's all. You were so different, growing up."