Page 29 of Fragments of the Lost
I nodded. “I called.”
He held up his phone on the bedside table, currently plugged into the wall. “Dead battery.” Then he looked at Mia beside me. “Hey, Mia, can you make Jessa a necklace? Her favorite color is blue.”
Mia took off down the steps, and he walked toward me, stepping over his lacrosse bag to close the door behind me.
“I missed you,” he said, pulling me toward him.
“Ow,” I said, his hands brushing over the sunburn on my back.
“Ow?”
“Turns out we were closer to the equator than I thought.”
He dropped his hands, pulled the edge of my collar aside. Shook his head. Instead he kissed my wrist, the inside of my elbow, where he knew I was ticklish, and I laughed, relenting. I let him fold me up in his arms and drop me onto the bed, both of us laughing. “Still hurt?” he asked.
“Nope.”
He lowered himself slowly, slowly, until his mouth brushed mine. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer.
He was easing my shirt over the sunburn when the door flew open, and he jumped back, like my skin could burn him.
I yanked my shirt back down. Mia stood in the entrance.
She blinked slowly between us. “Max is here,” she said, thumb jutting behind her at Max on the steps.
But Max was already cringing, looking away. “Yeah, I’ll just, um. Later, guys. Come on, Mia.” He took her by the hand, and she looked once over her shoulder, but Max kept moving.
Caleb laughed deep in his throat, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Oh God,” I said.
“She’s eight. She doesn’t even know what she saw. But I’m going to put an end to her escorting people up the steps….”
“I was talking about Max,” I mumbled, standing up.
“Well, Max probably understands just fine. What we need,” he said, rummaging through his bag on the floor, “is a lock.”
He pulled out his lacrosse stick and wedged it across the door handle, jamming it between the dresser and the wall. He pulled the door handle, which opened an inch before getting jammed on the stick—not enough to see in. He turned around, smiling. “Good enough,” he said.
“Oh no,” I said, hands held out in front of me. “No, no, no. In case you didn’t notice, the moment is totally ruined.”
I looked out the window. No Max.
Caleb followed my gaze. “Seriously, Jessa? You’re embarrassed about Max? We’ve been together for almost a year. I’m sure he assumes far, far more.”
It was the beginning of April. I scrunched up my face, doing the math. “Closer to half a year,” I said, dissecting the statement from all angles. “And assuming and seeing are two very different things.” Then I was thinking: Does he tell Max about me, about us? Confiding in him about the things we had done, and not done? I had always thought Caleb was like me, keeping those details to himself. But suddenly I wasn’t sure, and I couldn’t stand the thought—thatImight be a secret, to be shared.
I gathered up my things, removed the lacrosse stick, and jogged down the steps, sure to make enough noise so they would know I was coming.
I passed Max sitting with Mia at the kitchen table. She had Max’s earbuds in, and he was playing something for her. When he saw me, he looked up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. “I didn’t know you were in there. I swear. Mia neglected to mention that part.”
“You’re making it worse by refusing to look at me now.”
He laughed then, dipped his head, looked at me, smiled. Smiled too wide. “Better?” he asked.
“Nope. No. Definitely not.”
I spun out of the room, out the front door, and waited for Caleb to meet me there.
