Shine - Lauren Myracle [58]
“Hey, Robert,” I said. “You ready to talk to me yet?”
He angled his body toward the bus window, presenting me with his skinny back. I saw the knobs of his spine through his threadbare T-shirt.
“Well, don’t go wandering off in Toomsboro by yourself,” I told him.
“I’m eleven years old. I can take care of myself.”
“I know, but still.” I doubted Robert would ever be able to take care of himself.
The bus rolled to a stop. The doors shushed open.
“How about this,” I said, standing up. “Meet me back here in an hour, and we’ll ride back together. Can you do that?”
“Can you do that?” Robert mimicked.
“Well, can you? It’s like . . .” I tried to think how to put it. “Like the buddy system.”
“Don’t need no buddy, especially you.”
“Well, all right, then.”
I got off the bus. He followed. I headed for the college, and he trailed behind me. He was as sneaky as a rhinoceros.
I found Braiden Hall, and miraculously, Robert didn’t enter the dorm behind me. When I glanced to check, he was gnawing his thumbnail. Perhaps he felt as intimidated by the fancy campus as I did.
“Stay,” I told him, like you’d say to a dog.
He looked caught out. Then he said, loudly, “I think I’ll sit here by this tree. I think I’ll just sit here and enjoy the morning air.”
I went inside the dorm. I found a student list stuck to a row of metal mailboxes and saw that Jason resided in room 101, so that’s where I went. I rapped on the door, trying to act braver than I felt. I banged louder.
“One sec,” a guy said groggily, and my heart jumped into my throat. There were footsteps, and then the click of a deadbolt. The door opened, and there, in the flesh, was Jason. It really was him. He was wearing loose pj pants with brown monsters all over them, and his hair was messy. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Whoa,” he said. I jerked my gaze from his chest to his face. “Uh . . . whoa. What are you doing here?”
You have monsters on your pj’s, I wanted to say. And they’re cute. Cute little monsters. Who are you to be wearing pj bottoms printed with cute little monsters? I caught myself noticing his build and looked away. I wasn’t here to notice the fact that he happened to be . . . well . . . built. Good heavens.
“I need to know about Patrick,” I said. “You gonna let me in?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I guess.” He opened the door wider. “How do you know where I live?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “Would you please tell me how you know Patrick? For real?”
He didn’t answer, so I used the time to take in the details of his room: the boy smell, the posters of indie bands, the stacks of books. The one and only bed, which I sat down on. Guess he lucked out and got himself a single.
Jason scratched his bare chest, which must have made him aware of the bareness of it, because he blushed and yanked a shirt from a hanger in the closet. He slid it on and went to work on the buttons. “Seriously. Why are you here? How’d you know where to find me?”
I gave him the basics of how he shouldn’t post personal information on the online college directory if he didn’t want people reading it. While I spoke, he rolled up his sleeves. I had to pull my eyes from his tan forearms.
“Anyway, you may not be aware of this, but last night someone may or may not have tried to break into Patrick’s room in the hospital,” I said.
He blanched.
“Was it you?” I demanded.
“What? No.” He went from confused to pissed, and he said a lot of things about was I crazy? and what was wrong with me? and how could I even think something like that?
I chose not to respond. I just folded my arms over my chest.
He pulled his desk chair over near me and dropped into it. “Tell me more,” he said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I told him what I’d heard, and his face darkened. Then, because nothing in life was free, I returned to my question: How did he and Patrick know each other?
“From the Come ‘n’ Go,” he said, dazed. “Fuck. Who would do something like that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I said. “What do you mean, from the Come ‘n’ Go? Did you buy beer from him?”
He