Goodbye, Evan

5

It's more like a mansion, Theo's home. Dark, tall, gothic, gorgeous, and situated in the middle of nowhere. Three cars parked outside. A stained glass window inlaid in the front door. A path we had to walk up to even get to the damn porch. I mean, I expected him to be rich judging by the inside of his wallet, but not... this.

"I can't believe I just invited a stranger back to my house," he says, laughing nervously. He pulls the front back on and scowls at me. He looks serious, as I'm soon learning he almost always does, but his next words are stupid. "You're not secretly an ax murderer, are you? Or a robber?" "Why would I, a ghost, want to murder you? I'd likely get stuck with you forever."

I wouldn't. That's a fact.

But it eases the tension in his shoulders. He tells me to look the other way while he unlocks the door, which I do even though it's stupid. This generation is so het up about security. I turn back around as soon as I hear a click and Theo motions with his head for me to follow him inside. The interior of the house is just as posh as the exterior. The floor is made of polished dark wood and the walls are plain white and hung with expensive paintings. The kitchen, which is to our right as we walk in, is massive, and all of the surfaces look like they're made of marble.

"The place should be empty," he says, dumping his backpack on a chair and unzipping his hoodie partway, burying his hands awkwardly in the pockets. Beneath it, he's wearing a shirt, V-neck school jumper and blue and red striped tie.

"The cleaner's gone by the time I get home and the maid gets Saturday, Sunday and Monday evenings off. Dad won't be home until Saturday." He says it lightly enough, but he won't meet my eyes. "I bet you have the coolest house parties here," I comment, eyeing the rows of liquor bottles above the cupboards and fridge.

"No neighbors to bother you, lots of space, plenty to drink." Theo scowls. He's going to get terrible wrinkles around his eyes.

"People have asked, once they find out how big my dad's wallet is," he murmurs. He walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of raspberry cordial, then heads to the cupboard and retrieves two glasses. "And I did have one once, about a year ago, during one of dad's many business trips." He laughs dryly. "I locked myself in the bathroom all night."

I chuckle, and he frowns at me. I think he knows I'm not making fun but it must be a sore spot for him because he doesn't stop scowling. "Not a social person, huh?" "Never had the chance to be," he mumbles, holding out one of the drinks to me. I take the glass - its blue, decorated with glass vines - and tap the side with my fingernail.

"That fucking sucks," I observe. When he doesn't respond, I say, "You know I don't need to drink, right? You can stop wasting stuff on me." He shakes his head and most of his curls shift to hide his left eye. "How is it a waste if it's social? People go out for lunch together as friends, dinner as dates, breakfast with their kids - you could say that's a waste, but how is it when you're enjoying the company?" He drains the glass in one go, takes it to the sink and adds, "Dad always said that if you don't know what to do with someone, buy them lunch." He's rambling, and it's admittedly adorable. I take a sip of the drink - it's delicious and cold, even to me - and let the rim of the glass hide my smile.

"So... are you enjoying my company?" I don't know why I asked that. (Because I need him to be happy. Yeah.) "Or maybe I just don't know what to do with you," he smirks, over his shoulder. I grin and finish the rest of the drink, going to stand beside him so I can put it in the sink.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one figuring that out? What to do with you, I mean," he smirks, over his shoulder. I grin and finish the rest of the drink, going to stand beside him so I can put it in the sink. "Aren't I supposed to be the one figuring that out? What to do with you, I mean." Our hands brush as I place the glass down. I step away quickly, leaning on the side and looking up at him. Always looking up at him - he's so damn tall.

"Figure away," he says dryly. He pushes his curls out of his eyes and I can't help but notice how nice his face looks when I can see all of it. "In the meantime... have you ever seen Star Wars?"

"What's that?"

"Dude," he laughs. "You're missing out."

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