I'll Be Holding on to You

coffee and confessions

He was down the next day, unable to get out of bed and unable to care. I was willing as always to sit with him but he declined repeatedly. He wanted to be alone, which in our world meant someone still had to check on him every ten or fifteen minutes. So I left his door open and lay with a pillow and my book outside of the room while he slept.

Everyone else had taken the opportunity to check in at their houses or run errands or do whatever they did when they weren't with me. The list couldn't be very long.

I received my first text from Mara around four. You drink coffee?

I put down the fourth book of the Fablehaven series and tried to think of something clever to say but ended up just texting back I do.

Want to meet me at Tiny's in an hour?

I considered. I wasn't in the most sociable mood. But I was sick of lying in the hall reading. And my mom was home. And Cam was really tired of me. Sure, I sent back.

My phone buzzed immediately. Are you allowed to come alone?

I was immediately annoyed. I had reasons for not going places alone, not that she could be expected to know that. And I knew she was hoping it would just be us two. Still, I didn't like to be questioned.

I just picked up my book and read some more. It was a fabulous story.

A minute later I got another text. I'm totally joking, the more the merrier.

I relented and an hour later we were sitting at a table for two in the sun, out front of the little coffeehouse. "Hopefully no one will show up with a gun today," she said, making a face.

"Seriously." I sipped my mocha but it was too hot and burned my mouth.

"Although I'm pretty sure that's the kind of thing that only happens once."

Uh, what could I say to that? I didn't want to get into what had happened way back when. "One would hope," I said enigmatically.

"Ugh, can you imagine getting shot? That's like my worst nightmare. That and getting stuck in an elevator full of spiders." She shuddered.

Now I was screwed. Not saying anything would be akin to lying, if we ended up being friends and she found out later. "Yeah, I mean, it actually happened to me once," I said, as if it were no big deal. I took the lid off my cup and stirred.

She grinned. "You were stuck in an elevator full of spiders? Damn." She pulled some of the streusel topping from her apple muffin and ate it. She had on a blue tank top and a swirly black skirt.

I had a chocolate old fashioned donut because I have a terrible weakness for them. "Well, um, getting shot." How the fuck else was I supposed to say it.

I watched her face as first amusement and then solemnity played across it, when she realized I was serious. "Wait, what?"

"Like, some crazy guy shot up our class when we were eleven. Killed our teacher." I shrugged, not thinking about the actual event itself but just saying the descriptive words. I can separate shit like that sometimes. "She was a good teacher. It sucked. I got off lucky."

She was stunned. "Jesus, I'm sorry. That's terrible. I didn't mean to . . . Wow, that must have been really awful for you at the store that night. Fuck."

"Yeah, it was a long time ago. I'm fine now." Our mantra. And because I knew she was curious, I pulled the collar of my shirt down to show her the little jagged scar. "Broke my collarbone, but they fixed it." Broke was a weak word for it. More like splintered, shattered, destroyed. But time heals all wounds and all, which is a huge lie people like to tell each other.