Page 58 of Cockpit
“Just work stuff. What about you? It seems to me you got into a fight with a Creeper.” Thank God for the conversation between a mom and her little boy in the soap store earlier, otherwise I would have no idea what a Creeper even was.
His eyes widen and then narrow. “You play Minecraft?”
“No.” I laugh. “But I know Creepers can be pretty vicious. So, who won? You or the Creeper?”
“Well . . . uh . . .”
“I bet it was a hard fight, but that you were victorious.” I resist the urge to reach out and touch him and then am startled by the want to.
“Can we help you?” Grayson places his hand protectively on Luke’s shoulder as he speaks. The warning to leave is loud and clear.
I look at him, see the confusion in his expression, and can only hope he doesn’t see how hard I’m working at talking to a little boy when I have zero to no experience in doing so.
“Dad, she came to see me.” Luke rolls his eyes and reaches out to grab my hand. It takes everything I have not to think of the millions of germs on his little fingers and let him take hold of it. “Let me show you my Minecraft collection.”
“Luke, I don’t think Sidney really cares about your Minecraft figures.” Grayson grabs on to my opposite arm and holds me steady in the doorway. His eyes search mine, demanding answers as to why I’m here and telling me I’m not welcome, all in the same look. “Give us a sec, bud. She’ll be right in,” he says to Luke but never takes his eyes off me.
“’Kay.”
The minute Luke’s feet pound on the stairs, I try to yank my arm from Grayson’s grip, but he just holds tighter and pulls me in to him. “Don’t think for one second that I’ll let you use my son to get to me,” he says, voice near a growl.
I should have a witty comeback. I should tell him to go to hell and that I’m not here to manipulate anyone . . . but, for that split second, with the mint of his breath in my face and his hard, lean body against mine, my synapses misfire. My words falter.
“I—Cathy Clementine told me about the fight. That it was started because of the picture. I didn’t mean for him to see—”
“He doesn’t know it was you in the picture.” He spits the words out almost as if they are a challenge. Will I bail now that I know Luke doesn’t know it was me, or am I still going to stick around?
“Oh.”
“Exactly. Oh.” His fingers dig deeper into my arm. “Since your conscience is clear, you can take off the jeans and tank top you wore to let me know you’re just like us,” he says with sarcasm dripping from every word, “put back on your skirt and red-soled shoes, and stop pretending you care.”
“That isn’t fair,” I argue and hate that he saw right through me. The attempt to dress down and not be so . . . Sidney.
“You and your fair bullshit. I’ll tell you the same thing I said before. No one said life’s fair.”
“I promised him I’d see his Minecraft—”
“Like you really care.”
“It doesn’t matter if I care or not, Grayson.” I grit the words out. “It only matters if he thinks I do, so—”
“Miss Sidney, are you ready to see all of them? There are tons,” Luke calls from behind Grayson, and his words are followed by the distinct sound of things being dumped all over what I can presume is the table.
I look at Grayson and shrug as I step past him and into the living room. At first glance, I’m surprised by how put together the house is. I know that sounds stupid, but maybe I expected a single dad to have a house that’s a mess, with clutter everywhere. Grayson’s house is the exact opposite. It’s dark wood with blues and grays. There’s a television on one wall and an inset den across from it with shelves lined with books. The kitchen is small but homey, a butcher-block island in its center. Luke is sitting at the dining room table and has a heap of miniature figures in front of him.
I take the seat next to him, my grin matching his as I say, “I have no clu
e what any of those are, but I have a feeling you’re about to teach me.”
And he does. For the next hour, Luke goes through each character, explaining their significance in the game. Figure after figure. There are so many that I wouldn’t even be able to remember the names if I tried (like I would want to), and yet, his nonstop enthusiastic chatter tells me whoever designed this game hit the nail on the head marketing to their demographic.
Grayson sits in a chair across the room, alternating between his iPad and a magazine. I catch him staring at us every so often, and I know he’s quietly enjoying this display of my complete incompetence with Luke. I forget the characters’ names immediately. I use the wrong terminology, which earns me Luke’s exasperated but secretly-happy-he-has-an-audience sighs. Regardless of my flaws in knowing how to relate to him, there is something about this little boy that captivates me. Maybe it’s his willingness to listen or his eagerness to share. Maybe it’s the subtle way he asks every so often if I’m sure I’m not here for his dad. Maybe it’s that shy little smile he gives me as he bumps his shoulder against mine when he shows me a character he deems as “really cool” that has me actually enjoying my time with him.
“C’mon, Luke-ster. That’s long enough. It’s time for bed.” Luke’s protests fill the room as Grayson rises from his chair and takes a few steps toward us. He meets my gaze, and I hate that I can’t read what his says, but it definitely says something.
“Aw, Dad. But I don’t have to go to school tomorrow. Can’t I stay up a little later?” Luke walks the few steps to face his dad, and I smile because they both have the same stance as they stare each other down.
“You don’t have to go to school tomorrow because you can’t. You were suspended for getting into a fight.”
