I pull up at my house and go inside. The familiar scent of stale smoke and mold almost makes me gag after living in a clean, light, beautiful house for a few weeks. The inside is dim and depressing, and my room is still tossed. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s still better than Royal’s house with his cooks and maids and butlers.
I sigh and get to work. About five minutes later, a tap at the window disturbs me. I look up to see Blue’s face staring in from the twilight.
I slide open the glass. “Hey, Blue.”
“I thought you left,” she says. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and Olive said you were moving.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m back.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes rounding as she takes in my room. “What happened? Did someone break in while you were gone?”
“Just my mom,” I say with a shrug. “Want to come in?”
I hold out a hand, and she grabs on and scrambles through the window, dropping into my room and wiping her hands on her jeans after holding onto the grimy windowsill. “I’ve never been in your room before,” she says.
I realize she’s right. We’ve lived next door to each other for years, and I consider her a friend, even if we don’t share secrets. We don’t have to. She understands me because we’re the same somehow, even if she’s quiet and shy and I’m loud and prone to getting picked up by the cops. We never judge each other for our differences. I don’t think she’s weak because I know better, even if I’d do things differently. I don’t know her life, but I know she has her reasons, just like I have mine.
And she has her reasons for never having invited me in, I’m sure. She’s come into my house before, but not my bedroom. That’s a boundary she’s always respected. Now, I don’t feel protective of my room. It doesn’t feel like mine, the only thing I have in the world. It’s just a place to sleep now. It doesn’t belong to me any more than I belong to it.
“Need help?” Blue asks after an awkward silence.
“Sure,” I say. “Want to help me put the bed back together?”
After the bed’s back in order, we make quick work of folding the clothes and shoving the notebooks and random school crap under the bed or in the trash. I tell her about my mom while we work. Somehow, it’s easier to talk to her now. I don’t know if it’s because she’s on my turf, or because I don’t belong in her world anymore, or because I’ve gotten used to talking now that I have friends and have let people get close.
When we’re done, we sit on my twin bed with our backs to the wall, smoke a cigarette, and talk about the Brody Villines poster we found in my closet, crumpled and crushed, and how we used to love his music, and about living at Royal’s, and school. Then she tells me Olive is at a friend’s house, and I offer to take Blue to pick her up. As soon as we turn onto Mill Street afterwards, I spot Royal’s Rover in my driveway.
I wave to old Mr. Thomas across the street and pull up along the side of the road.
“Is there somewhere I can find you next time?” Blue asks. “If he takes you home again…”
I give her his address and ask her to call the cops if she sees Bobby Dale around my house. Then she and Olive cross the lawn to their house, and I walk up beside Royal’s car. It’s empty. I find him lying on my bed, his ankles crossed, his arm propped under his head on my pillow.
“Making yourself at home?” I ask, dropping my keys on the dresser and pulling my gun out of my skirt to set it beside them.
“Your home is my home,” he says.
“I think you said the opposite.”
“If you’re staying here, I’m staying here.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. Royal Dolce living on Mill Street.”
“I’d live under a bridge if that’s where you were living. Now shut up and get over here and sit on my face.”
“You’re actually going to stay here?” I ask, staring at him.
“What about it?”
“Royal,” I say, leaning back on the edge of the dresser and crossing my arms over my chest. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this place is a hovel.”
“Noticed, didn’t care,” he says. “You can come home, or you can accept that I’m going to be here until you do.”
“Did Baron tell you why I left?” I ask carefully.
Royal doesn’t do well with betrayal. I know that for fucking sure. And even though he’s not acting pissed, and he’s not one for faking it, I have to make sure. I’m not sure he trusts Baron any more than he trusts me, but I’m not risking anything.
“No,” he says, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed, a frown darkening his expression. “He wasn’t home. Why? What’d he do?”