Chapter Seven

For the three years or so before that day, I'd walked the same route to school, passing in front of Charles' house. When we started high school that year, I made sure my walk took me past his house even though it meant going out of my way. But that day, I took the most direct line to school I could find, disregarding Charles altogether; my anger bred practicality. I arrived at school early enough that I wouldn't have to worry about running into him at our lockers and sat alone in homeroom until classes started. Using the same tactics I had the day before, I managed to avoid him all day. My success was such that I had begun considering a career as a spy until, just as I had gathered my books and was turning to head home, I nearly collided with Charles as he approached his own locker.

"Oh," he remarked. He looked like he hadn't seen me either, like our meeting had just snapped him out of some far-off thought. His face hid neither his surprise nor his discomfort. "Uh, hey."

I stood, staring at the floor. I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to still be mad, to walk away, but at the same time, I was ready to stop making things worse. Charles was my best friend - my only friend, it sometimes felt like - and I wasn't even sure he was the one I was mad at. Of course, that bit of information wasn't going to be volunteered. Instead, I mumbled back, "Hey."

Charles began opening his locker; I was grateful for the break in awkwardly averted eye contact. He might have felt the same way, since he seemed to be taking his time getting everything. "So," he said, still not looking at me, "I showed everyone."

I had busied myself with indifferently spinning a pencil between my fingers. "Yeah. I saw."

"Well, that's what you wanted."

I didn't respond.

"Well," Charles said, shutting his locker and beginning to turn, "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah," I replied. Then, quickly, "So did, uh, did you figure out how to do anything else?" Charles stopped and looked at me. I kept my eyes on the pencil in my hands. "Like, did you figure out any more tricks?"

He hesitated. Whether he was contemplating his answer or deciding if he should answer at all, I couldn't tell. "Not really," he finally said.

"Oh," I offered. "Yeah, I'll see you around." Charles stood there a moment longer then turned and walked off down the hall. I left in the opposite direction and, for the second day in a row, walked home alone.



I was laid out on my bed later that night, finishing up a particularly frustrating math assignment, when there was a knock on my door. "Yeah?" I called out.

The door opened, and my mom stepped into my room. "Phone's for you," she said, holding the handset out to me.

"Thanks." I made sure she shut the door as she left before I started my conversation. "Hello?" I said.

"Hey, it's me." Charles. His tone hadn't changed much since our conversation that afternoon.

"Hey," I responded.

"So, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe come over. We never did play that game."

I looked down at my homework and back up at my bedroom door. "Um, yeah. That'd be cool, I guess."

"Okay. So, I'll see you in a bit?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye." We both hung up. I pushed my math book aside and got up. I wasn't in any hurry to get over to his house, but I had already more or less accepted that that assignment wasn't getting done. I went downstairs and told my parents I was leaving, lied about having finished my homework, and made my way to Charles' house.



Up in Charles' room, the awkward situation between us hadn't changed any, but thankfully, having the video game meant we didn't have to try and talk. So we sat in silence for half an hour, waging war against relentless swarms of aliens, until Charles killed me.

"What the hell? You're on my team," I exclaimed.

"Sorry, it was an accident."

"Like it was an accident to steal Ashley from me?" That sentence must have been waylaid somewhere in my subconscious, because even I didn't know I was going to say it. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.

"What are you talking about?" Charles said.

Since it was out now, I decided to run with it. "Yesterday. In the gym. She gave you her apple."

Charles was immediately angry again. "Seriously? That's what you're mad about? I didn't even talk to her after that. I don't even think I talked to her when she gave it to me."

I had no defense. On some level, I had known this all along.

"This is why I didn't want to show everyone," Charles concluded.

"Why?" I asked, more so just to have something to say.

"Why? Because I knew things would get weird. Why does it matter if everybody else knows what I can do?"

"It doesn't matter. I just-"

"No," he interrupted. "It mattered to you two days ago. It mattered enough that you wouldn't leave it alone. So whatever happens, it's your fault. Remember that."

I was motionless for a moment, staring straight ahead; I didn't know my next move. After a few seconds, I slid off the bed and headed for the door. I opened it, stopped, and turned around. "Look," I told him, "I said I was sorry for bothering you about it." I couldn't actually remember if I'd said I was sorry for that. "You don't have to be a jerk."

"You're the one who put me in this position," he shot back. "I don't like it either, but you're the one who did it."

He obviously wasn't going to let go of that point. I turned, shut his door behind me, and walked home.



Eight years ago. Once it's passed, time seems to have moved so quickly that it's hard to believe the numbers are real. But now, with Charles asleep on my couch - broken down, stubble darkening his weathered face - the first time I've seen him since we graduated, I finally realize just how long ago that was.