Dirt

26

Princeton

I bite my tongue, neck stretched down for focus to try to connect a quote from this chapter to apply to question three. My paragraph already had one, and one was questionably enough, but a second one to back up both my claim and first quote would really sell it. Sell it enough to at least get an 80 percent on the assignment.

The dying bulb in my thrift store lamp isn't making this homework any easier. I shift the book more onto my knees so I can still read what I wrote to find something that fits. Hamlet is by far the best Shakespear I've read in school for the past few years. Juliet and Romeo is bullshit, lovey-lovey play that gets too much credit. Julis wasn't flaming, Macbeth was better. I've read others, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Tempest. Twelfth Night has been my favorite since I read it freshman year. Something about it is just so alluringly humorous.

I finally find one, keeping track of it with my finger as I balance the playbook on my knees so I can set it up in the paragraph. Knox's Sleep Content playlist is lofting in the room, faintly covering dogs barking or cars rattling that is always in this area. I've grown used to it, I can sleep in any environment now because of the noises that surrounded by my bed since we first moved here. I can sleep anywhere -except in high episodes. Nothing can help me sleep enough.

I force myself to keep focused on my paper, writing against my English binder. I know if I let myself look up and away I'll get distracted watching Knox's curls fall on his forehead or his lips parting in some dream. I even try to write slower in some false attempt to make it sound lighter. Knox isn't exactly a light sleep either. As long as the music is playing he can probably sleep through a bit more than a normal person would. Though I haven't had a whole lot of time to test it. 

Knox has slept over at my trailer about five or six times. The first two counted as before he had to start sneaking out so he only counts after. By sneaking out it meant we had come up with a plausible excuse that Roger nor Mrs. Kelly could see a big hole in. A lot of it was me helping Knox with his English homework or reading. Which did mean we had to do work despite what we actually wanted to do. Tonight he's allowed to stay because he stayed at the cafe playing the piano after Mrs. Kelly, him, and his sister came to get Mrs. Kelly's new bookclub book.

Grace knew. She was just like Cedar; I expect it has something more to do with them being siblings and her not having a creepy sixth sense. She did give me the side-eye, occasional smirks when I caught myself looking at him too much or sounding too excited to have him just come home with me. 

I'm beyond glad she forgave me for forcing her brother to take drugs with me. Roger and Cedar both looked uncomfortable when I apologized to her at lunch the next Monday. I couldn't tell if they were embarrassed I did it or embarrassed I was apologizing to his sister. They didn't get away from either, I guess, in the long run.

I set the book down beside me on the pile of dirty clothes I'm sitting on, leaning in further to finally finish the paragraph off and go to bed. 

"Icarus?" The crackled grunt from across the room has me snapping my head up. Knox is laying on his arm, his hand hanging in the air, his curls pushed up against his hand. He's squint, his eyes shot from dark to the shocking light of my lamp. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he squints at me, "What are you doing?" He still has sleep-filled in his raspy voice, his question dumbfounded I'm not laying next to him.

Helping him read is great. The conversations are amazing. The sex is pretty mindblowing enough. But the best part of him being here -wrapped in my sheets, under the streetlight outside glaring- is the fact that he is always there. His face is full of color, freckles stardust along is full face, eyelashes long, lips pink and pouty. He's always there. That's the best part of it all.