Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter nineteen

Harris

A week passes, and I'm still grounded. Luckily for me though, I really enjoy hanging out with Grandma. And as an added bonus? So do Seb and Saanvi, who have been over every evening like clockwork since that first night of Parcheesi.

Mom speaks to me as little as possible, any "conversations" being had largely through Post-It notes left on the fridge and front door. I think she prefers paper messages over texting, because I can reply to text messages. Not that I have anything I want to say to her, either. I mean, what am I supposed to tell her? That I have fuzzy recollections of what happened that night, and I don't know what I can do about it? That this isn't fair, but I understand, but I'm frustrated that I can't tell her the truth, because I'm already enough of a disappointment?

"You're awfully quiet today," Grandma says between bites of gemelli pasta. I made pesto pasta for dinner, because it's easy and Grandma says that she's my prison warden, not my personal chef. Honestly, valid. Normally at this time of day, I cook for Mom too, so I'm used to it.

"Just thinking," I tell her. We're on the first episode of Dexter, because she and I both think it's melodramatic, our favorite kind of thing to mock.

"That's new."

On screen, Dexter stares into an empty box of donuts and says via voice over, "Just like me: empty inside." That elicits a solid laugh from both of us. I finish my pasta and set the bowl on the coffee table, eager to do anything but talk—anything to avoid serious conversation.

After a few minutes of silence, Grandma sighs and reaches out with the remote in hand to turn down the TV. "Are you okay, duckie?"

"I'm fine, Grandma. Don't worry about it."

She sighs. I keep my focus on the TV, but my skin begins to crawl, the anxiety that accompanies anticipating a conversation. "What happened at that party, Harrison?"

"Nothing," I insist, hating how whiny it comes out. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

"You're not fine." Her voice is sharp. "You've been acting strange, and if you don't tell me what's wrong, I'm going to make you suffer emotionally, physically, and spiritually."

My grandmother has very interesting approaches to normally sensitive topics. The threat may be empty ... or she could legitimately be planning on making me suffer. Either way, I'd rather not give everything away. It feels like too much of a risk. Mom and Grandma have this way of extracting information from me, and I'm a god-awful liar anyways.

Still. Maybe a little bit wouldn't hurt.

"I got really drunk," I tell her, still hesitant, "and kind of got into a fight with another guy from the track team."

"What was the fight about?" she asks. When I don't answer, she adds, "Was it a boy?"

"No," I tell her. It's a lie, of course. I can vaguely remember asking him why he cheated on Seb. The fact that I asked that, when it's hardly my business, is one thing. Asking it in front of all those people was just straight-up disrespectful. I fucking outed him. I feel terrible. I've been wanting to reach out to apologize, but I haven't been able to muster up the courage yet.

"You're a terrible liar."

I'm so tired of this already. "Grandma, I—"

"Is it Sebastian?"

I stay silent.

"Okay," she says, nodding. "I can't say I disprove. He's a cutie."

This time, I groan. "Grandma, I—"