29
Hamilton
“Are you seriously watching that again?” Hollis mutters, walking across the room. She stops to pick up a pair of shoes—my shoes—and dumps them on top of my suitcase. “Isn’t that like, the third time?”
“Only the second,” I say, but she has a point. It’s not like I didn’t just binge watch Stranger Things three weeks ago. There are a few reasons I keep going back to the show. It’s easy, first of all. I don’t have to pay attention. But it’s also a nice distraction. I need something to keep me from remembering the look on Gwendolyn’s face the last time I saw her. I thought I knew what hatred looked like, and especially from her, but that had been so much worse. It had been betrayal, and emptiness, and pain. Even if I hadn’t meant to, I’d hurt her, and she’d made it clear that there was no going back.
My sister stops in front of the TV. Babysitter Steve is in a battle with a Demogorgon and I don’t need to look too deeply into why the ‘douchey boyfriend turns into the unexpected hero’ trope is so appealing to me right now.
Hollis says, “Hamilton.”
I tilt to the side to peer around her. Steve is kicking some serious ass here. “Hmm?”
“We need to talk.”
I nod distractedly. “Sure.”
She shifts into my line of vision. She’s got her hands on her hips, and her jaw is stubbornly set.
Oh.
I grimace and turn off the TV. “Sorry.”
She circles the coffee table and sits on the couch next to me. “Look, you know I don’t mind you being here. In fact, I love that you’ve come to me. I will always be here for you, even when you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
I give her a dubious look. “But…”
“But I would be able to help you better if I knew what was going on.”
“It’s nothing.” I shrug, shifting my gaze to the dark TV. “Just school bullshit. You know how it is.”
She nods. “I do. Or, well, did. But this is obviously a whole new caliber of ‘school bullshit’. I can tell, because…” She trails off, eyes sliding reluctantly to me.
“Because what?”
“Because, dude, you are rank. You need a shower.” She looks me up and down, grimacing. “And to change your clothes, and to get off the couch and do something—anything. And if you wanted to start by cleaning up the mess you made in the kitchen, then I’m just saying, I wouldn’t have any immediate objections.”
My late-night attempt at cooking hadn’t turned out particularly well.
I rub my chin—there’s at least a week’s growth there—and sniff my shirt. When was the last time I took a shower? Honestly,
I can’t remember. I guess I am a little gross.
“It’s winter break.” She says, shaking my shoulder. “Go do something fun with your friends. Call the girl you told me about.”
I suck on my teeth and reach for the remote. “Not possible.”
She grabs the controller from me. “Why?”
“Because I fucked it up, that’s why.”
“It can’t be that bad,” she says, and I snort, shaking my head. “Have you talked to her?”
I run my hand through my greasy hair. “Hol, she doesn’t want to talk to me. I screwed up. Big time.”
My sister isn’t an imposing person. She inherited my mother’s grace and beauty, but her face shifts, eyes flashing in something sharp and vaguely terrifying. “If you did something to hurt that girl, you need to apologize. Right now.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing.” My laugh is entirely without humor. “I didn’t actually do anything. She thinks I did it. The school thinks I did it. Dad thinks I did it. But I didn’t. Figures, right? All the shit I’ve gotten away with over the years, and I end up going down for something I didn’t even do.” I give her a bitter grin. “Guess that’s like karma or something, right?” My smile falls. “But how do you apologize for something you didn’t do?”