“No I don’t.”
I clicked a button so I had them both in view. Grabbing another bag of popcorn, he popped it into the microwave.
“You so do. Remember Avengers? Loki?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“You fidgeted then, too. The Joker—I’m talking Heath Ledger and the Jared Leto one. Fidget.”
“No I didn’t.” She turned to glare at him.
“Ramsay Bolton, Game of Thrones? Fidget.”
“Okay, now I know that one’s a lie.” She shook her head. “I wanted him dead just like everyone else.”
“But you fidgeted.”
“Maybe I was itchy.” She turned and settled back into the sofa as the soft pops of the corn tinkled through my speakers.
I leaned forward, touching her image as she denied her attraction to black hats, villains, and demented devils. Her white knight was onto something for once in his useless life. She was made for me, just as I’d been fashioned from the darkest materials for her. Her light would temper my shadow.
“That serial killer in The Fall.”
“Oh, please. Jamie Dornan. That was Jamie Dornan. You were probably fidgeting over him, too.”
He laughed and poured the fresh popcorn in the bowl before strutting back over to her. Because that’s what he was, a strutter. No fucking substance.
Sitting, he flicked the movie back on and crowded her again. She pretended not to mind, but I knew she wanted his touch about as much as I wanted a stint in a padded room.
The rest of the movie went along without incident—until he started kissing her neck. Fire ripped through my mind, setting reason alight and torching my self-control. He ran his hand along her waist then moved up to cup her breast through her shirt.
She rested one hand on his arm and closed her eyes as he kissed her, but she wasn’t there. Not really. She was here with me. His touch was just a placeholder. I told myself that on repeat.
My father had taught me little rhymes when I was a child. They were meant to remind me how to be human when people were watching me or when I felt nervous.
Smile when they smile. It’ll take you miles.
When in doubt, wait it out. Emotions will always show what they’re about.
I hummed the simple singsongs to try and calm my rage. It didn’t seem to be working, not when Link was pushing Camille down onto the couch and covering her with his body.
“”What did I do wrong?” I replayed the conversation I’d had with my grownup neighbor over again in my head. “She was smiling, so I thought maybe I should laugh.” I kicked at the grass as the summer sun beat down on me.
Dad knelt to get to eye level. “I know. Sometimes emotions can be confusing. You have to look for context, Sebastian. The rhymes aren’t enough anymore. People are too complex, and you need to understand the nuances now that you’re older.”
“Like what?” I’d done what I’d been taught. What was the big deal?
He shook his head, his eyes tired. “The nuance of your conversation with Mrs. Penny was that she was discussing her daughter who died last year.”
“And she smiled.” I nodded as vindication welled in me. “So that means I should smile or maybe laugh, right?”
He squeezed my shoulders and squinted his eyes. “No, son. No. She was smiling because she was thinking of a fond memory of Rose. But, the truest emotion, the one beneath the smile, is grief. When someone we love dies, we feel sad.”
“Like when Mom died?” I’d felt more confused than anything. One day, she just didn’t get out of bed. Dad had told me about death, but I didn’t realize it was real. Not until Mom left.
“Yes, like that.” His mouth turned down at the corners, and his eyes watered. I recognized his sadness easily, so why was Mrs. Penny’s so hard to see?
He tilted his head back, then returned his gaze to mine. “You have to look beneath the surface. Find what’s true in a person. See what they need, what they expect from you. That’s what makes you human. Trying to connect. Does that make sense?”
No, not in the least, but I decided to stow away his words until later, when I’d have time to think about them. “I think so.”
“Good.” He stood, his shadow blocking out the sun. “The next time Mrs. Penny mentions Rose—”
“I won’t laugh.”
He patted my shoulder. “That’s a start.”
I stared at Camille, looking for her nuances. She spoke to me, her body, her eyes—all of her. I could read her, no guesswork needed. Perhaps that was what drew me to her in the first place, the way she telegraphed her emotions directly to me, as if we were connected by a thin, invisible wire.
Link was still on top of her, his mouth on hers. I rubbed my sweaty palms down my pants and considered calling him and making up a work issue. Anything to get him away from her. But I didn’t have to. My Camille must have somehow sensed my anger, because she pressed against Link’s shoulders.