The aged academic’s eyebrows creased. “Hay, my boy, is for horses, and I have a name.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Good morning, Mr. Haywood Smith,” he intoned in his best private school voice.
“Politeness is the sine qua non of civilization.”
“Yes, Mr. Haywood Smith. I agree entirely with Mr. Heinlein.”
“Well done.” HS, who spent his days buried in the stacks, shuffled off.
Relieved to be alone, Francis settled on the couch, leaned back, and closed his eyes, listening to the muted sounds around him: pages turning, a swallow scolding outside the window, the whispered conversations of other boys, and the occasional throat-clearing from Haywood Smith. Although he let his thoughts roam freely, they kept returning to Kevin’s dad, to his emaciated frame and hollow eyes, to his shaking hands and feeble voice. To his final request.
What had he meant when he said, “I know I can count on the two of you to grow up to be the right kind of men”? What, Francis wondered, is the right kind of man? A man like his father—stoic, dependable, decisive, trustworthy, strong? Francis knew his dad was a good dad because he provided stability. A man like Mr. Croyden—loving, warm, wise, funny, educated, athletic? Mr. Croyden was a good dad because he gave time.
What about the disappeared men—the ones you couldn’t see? Sawyer’s dad didn’t even rate, and yet she loved him, sort of. The twins must have had a dad somewhere in Africa, but no mention had ever been made of him.
Maybe, for most guys, it was difficult to be a good man and a father at the same time.
In the end, he didn’t have an answer. But I’m never having kids, Francis concluded. It’s too hard.
Being a scholarship student was difficult. Unlike the boys whose parents paid tuition, Francis had to excel in all of his courses. If he didn’t, he’d lose his place. He couldn’t afford another minute pondering philosophical questions. His classes were not easy, and exams were just around the corner. For the rest of the day, he concentrated on his studies and put everything else, including his date with Sawyer, out of his mind.
But when the final bell rang, Francis tore out of school and made a beeline for the bus stop. The ride to her apartment took forever, but at last he arrived, out of breath from racing up the stairs. “I missed you all day,” he panted when she opened the door.
She looked so pretty, kissable, even though she hadn’t combed her hair and she was kind of pale.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room and onto the couch, planting a wet kiss right on his lips. “I like you,” she bubbled. “I seriously like you. I’ve never actually had a boyfriend I liked before.”
A warning bell went off in Francis’s head. “I’ve never had a girlfriend at all,” he admitted. “But if I had, I hope I would have liked her.”
“It doesn’t always work that way,” she said wistfully. “But now you have me.” She leaned back against the cushion and closed her eyes. “I wish this flu would go away. I’m so tired all the time.”
“I thought you were feeling better. Maybe you need a nap.” He ran his hand over her soft thigh, only half-teasing.
She jerked her leg away. “You’d better not mess with me, Francis. Don’t disappear on me.”
Francis made a face. “Not every guy is an asshole. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She sighed and muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch.
“Come here,” he said. “Let’s not argue. Not today.”
She leaned into him, so close that when he closed his eyes, he could feel the length of her body.
“I love you,” she whispered, and her soft breath tickled his ear.
Francis nodded, unable to speak, and gathered her into his arms. Things got a little heated after that. Seriously hot.
• • •
A half hour later, Francis and Sawyer lay on the tattered couch, toe-to-toe, knee-to-knee, nose-to-nose. They remained like that until Francis’s arm began to go numb. Reluctantly, he sat up, pulling Sawyer beside him. He ran his fingers through her hair. It was mussed up, but he didn’t mind. She looked beautiful. He told her so, and she smiled.
“You’re sweet. But on a more serious note,” she said, gazing, up at him, “I was thinking that…there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Francis groaned inwardly, but he gave her an encouraging nod. “Your shirt is undone,” he pointed out, not really listening to her at all.
“Francis, I’m trying to have a conversation with you!”
“And I can’t focus if you don’t cover yourself up!”
She did up the buttons on her shirt. “Better?”
He grinned. “Shoot.”
“Okay, as I was trying to say—” Sawyer stopped midsentence. “Oh god.”
They both heard it at the same time. The unmistakable rasp of a key turning in the front door lock.
“Shit! Mom’s home.” Sawyer leapt off the couch. “Go sit at the table,” she whispered urgently, plumping up the couch cushions. “Oh god. She’ll kill us if she catches us. Cover for me. I’ll be back in a sec.”
She sprinted into the bathroom while Francis scrambled to the table, knocking over a lamp in the process. “Shit,” he cursed, quickly righting it.
From behind him a voice boomed. “Who on earth are you?”
Francis spun around and found himself face-to-face with an older and much fiercer version of Sawyer. “Who am I?” he stammered.
Sawyer’s mom crossed her arms. She was petite, dressed for work in a blue blazer and gray skirt. Her hair, the same color and texture as Sawyer’s, was closely cropped. Businesslike was how he would later describe her to Kevin—no-nonsense, the kind of person who would shush you in the library, even though she was only a clerk. The kind of person you’d listen to if you had even half a brain.
“Are you an idiot?” She wasn’t smiling.
“No. I’m Francis.” He realized he really sounded like an idiot.
“Oh. Well, hello, Francis. Who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment? What did you do with that lamp? Where’s my daughter?” It was like being under cross-examination in a criminal court.
“I’m your daughter’s…BF. I’m Francis.” He stuck out his hand.
“Ah, boyfriend is the word I think you are looking for. No last name? Are you like Drake or Shad?”
“Sloan. Francis Sloan.”
“Hello, Francis Sloan, or should I call you the Sloan Ranger?” She cackled at her own joke and her hand closed over his. “I’m Mrs. Martin.”
She had a grip like a vice. It reminded him of Mr. Croyden’s, and Francis liked her for that, despite his terror.
“What exactly have you two been up to?”
“Uh.”
“Don’t give him a hard time, Mom,” Sawyer yelled from the bathroom. “He’s kind of naive and sheltered. You’ll scare him for life.”
Mrs. Martin’s face softened. “Oh, the private-school kid and much-talked-about boyfriend. What’s the name of that fancy school again?”
“Stop interrogating my guest,” Sawyer shouted, slamming the bathroom door.
Mrs. Martin’s face took on a mask of innocence. “I’m doing no such thing. I think it’s nice that you’ve brought a friend home, but I wish you had let me know.”
Sawyer appeared in the doorway. She’d brushed her hair and straightened her clothes. There was color in her cheeks. “You’re home early, Mom.”
Mrs. Martin raised her eyebrows. “I was worried about you when you didn’t go to school today, but you look like you’re feeling better now.”
Sawyer hadn’t mentioned skipping school. Why? Weren’t they supposed to share those kinds of things? Now was not the time to ask. Now was the time to get out as quickly as possible.
“Much better, thanks.” Sawyer sat down at the table and
took Francis’s hand. He resisted, pulling it away. She turned to her mom with wide, innocent eyes. “Remember I told you I thought I might be in love?”
“I recall something like that, Sawyer.”
“Well, Mom, this is the lucky boy.”
When she turned back to him, Francis was sure she could smell his fear.
“Not too lucky, I hope.” Mrs. Martin didn’t blink. Just kept staring.
Francis squirmed. He blushed. His heart sped up, and his hands began to sweat.
Sawyer saved him. “Don’t listen to my mom. She’s trying to make you uncomfortable. Stop it, Mom. We’re twin flames, so you’ll have to get used to him being around. Isn’t that right, Francis?”
“Huh? I guess.” He shot her a pleading look that said, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care. Get me out of here. Now.
Sawyer smiled. “Twin flames.”
Mrs. Martin’s expression turned from anger to—was he imagining it?—pity. “She’s referencing Zeus, Francis. According to Greek mythology, we’re all searching for our soul mate—our twin flame—but take it from me, it’s not that simple. Here’s how I see it. At first you love someone so much they consume you, and then later, unless you are very lucky, you hate them so much that they do consume you, but in a bad way.”
Francis listened to her, but he didn’t understand a word she said. “Oh,” he managed.
“Mom, don’t be so maudlin,” Sawyer scolded. “Lucky for Francis, he was just leaving.”
Grateful, Francis jumped up. “Yeah. I was just on my way out.” He bolted for the door.
“Wait!” Sawyer’s mom ordered.
His heart lurched to a stop. “Yes?”
She grinned at him. “You might need this. It’s raining.” She plucked his jacket off the back of the couch.
“Thank you,” he blurted and turned to go.
“And this.” She handed him his backpack.
Sawyer suppressed a giggle. “See you later.”
“Bye,” Francis managed to choke out. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Martin.”
“I bet it was. Sorry you have to run off.” She nodded curtly.
The door slammed shut behind Francis, and he found himself alone in the hall, guilty as hell. His breathing didn’t return to normal until the bus pulled away from the curb and turned toward the West Side.
“That,” he breathed, “was way too close a call.”
The streetlights came on while the bus rolled across the city. Outside, the rain glimmered on the black roads. It was later than Francis thought. His mother would not be pleased with him. His mind wandered. Francis wondered what it was that Sawyer had seemed so eager to talk to him about before they were interrupted. She could be so serious sometimes.
He hoped it wasn’t more about her dad; she clearly had some pretty deep-rooted issues around his abrupt departure. Her tone had verged on threatening when she’d said “Don’t disappear on me.”
As if. He’d spend every second of every day with her if he could. He decided to look up Zeus as soon as he got home so he would understand what Sawyer and her mother meant with all of that talk about soul mates and flames.
In the meantime, he had a lot to think about. Having a girlfriend was great, but it came, he decided, with a lot of unexpected complications. He sighed so loudly that the woman in the seat in front of him turned around with a worried look. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Sorry,” he mumbled.
For example, he didn’t get the chance to ask her about that dude, Jack. That must have been what she wanted to talk about.
Overhead, clouds gathered and the rain grew heavier. Inside the bus, the heat and breath of the passengers clung to the windows, and he couldn’t see a thing. Francis shivered, though the air in the bus was warm and sticky.
If only Kevin’s dad wasn’t sick. If only Kevin wasn’t mad at him. If only Sawyer wasn’t so unpredictable. She should have told him that she’d skipped school.
If only he didn’t have to deal with the unwelcome intrusion of a boy named Jack. If only life could be more simple.
Chapter Five
Francis had two good reasons for a girlfriend break. Number one, he had no desire to run into Sawyer’s mother for a while. It hadn’t been a stellar first meeting. And number two (and he knew this was selfish), he didn’t want to catch whatever strange bug Sawyer had—not with exams looming.
He called her up, somewhat wary about her reaction to his idea. He had expected some attitude, but to his relief, she agreed. To his disappointment, she did so without hesitation. Still, he managed to hide his displeasure, along with his suspicion that Jack probably had something to do with her acquiescence.
“Great.” He made his voice light, and quickly changed the subject. “By the way, what did you want to talk to me about the other day, before your mom got home?”
“It can wait,” she said, “at least until I see you again.”
“Okay. It won’t be long. I just have to get some serious studying in.”
“Same,” replied Sawyer. “My mom’s been bugging me to hit the books, and so has Jack.”
“And I need to spend some time with Kevin and his dad,” Francis acknowledged.
“Okay. Text me when you’re around.” She hung up, and Francis couldn’t help but feel a twinge of insecurity, or was it jealousy?
At least his mom would be relieved to have him around again after school for a while, and he really did need to spend more time with Kevin.
Except Kevin’s dad was no longer well enough to have visitors. “Wait until he is a little stronger,” Kevin said apologetically, but they both knew that ship had sailed.
Francis and Sawyer didn’t see each other all week, or on the weekend. They texted daily and talked on the phone at night, but Sawyer was usually tired and cranky by ten o’clock. He attributed her moodiness to her increasingly poor health and she confirmed this when she confessed she’d had to miss a few days of school. “I was, like, puking and felt really sick.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” he suggested.
“Maybe. That’s what Jack says too.”
“Well, then it must be true,” Francis snapped. Always Jack. He knew he was acting like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it.
When he didn’t hear from Sawyer all the next day, he panicked and sent her a text. When R U around? I can’t wait much longer to C U.
Her answer came quickly. I miss U 2. Come over anytime, but Mom’s working late tomorrow.
His stomach did a slow flip. That night, he slept better than he had for a long time. The next day after school, he called his mother and told her not to expect him for dinner. He didn’t have to tell her why. As a mom, she used her sixth-sense thing to figure it out.
“Oh,” she grumbled. “I thought maybe you two had broken up.”
“No such luck, Mom.”
The bus ride across town seemed longer than ever. When he arrived, he bolted up the stairs and banged on Sawyer’s door. She threw it open and fell into his arms. “You’re here!”
For a long time, they stood in the doorway and kissed, and then Sawyer pulled him inside. “How did your exams go?”
“Great.” But he didn’t want to talk about school.
“I’m glad we don’t have midterms like you guys,” Sawyer said. “School’s hard enough right now without a bunch of tests.”
He was surprised. Sawyer was bright, a straight-A student. “What’s going on?”
“Remember?” She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “I’ve been sick.” She had every right to be frustrated with him.
“Sorry,” he said. “I knew that.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
She was flushed and excited, but her high color had nothing to do with Francis’s arrival and everything to do with s
omeone else’s. “Today is the day you get to meet Jack! He’ll be here soon, and you’re going to love him.”
Francis didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “Oh, perfect. It’s been a week, almost two, since I saw you. I thought we’d be alone.”
She gave him a gentle push, and he sank into the couch. “Sometimes, Francis, I think the only thing you think about is sex.”
“I just don’t get why this guy has to come over right now.” He was whining, but he couldn’t help it.
“He wants to meet you. Unlike you, he’s friendly. Anyway, don’t worry. You’ll adore him as much as I do. I promise. And you’ll see that he is no threat.”
“I never said that he was.”
“No. You didn’t have to. It’s in your expression, your tone of voice, and your body language. Please, Francis, try. It means a lot to me.”
He glanced up at her and saw that she really wanted him to cooperate. “Fine,” he agreed with a frown, “but I hope he doesn’t stay long.” It took a lot to even concede this.
Outside, a dog barked. Someone yelled, “Keep that mutt on a leash before it gets run over!”
Francis chuckled. “I’ve missed being here, and I’ve missed you,” he said.
“Same.” She sat down and curled up beside him. When her lips touched his, his temper cooled, and for a long, delicious moment, he forgot to be annoyed.
And then she pulled back. “Sorry. I’m still not feeling great.”
She brushed her hair off her face, and he noticed she’d lost her earlier color. “Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly scared.
“It comes and goes.” She shook her head. “Mom thinks maybe I have some kind of allergy, or that maybe the food at the corner store isn’t exactly fresh. Whatever it is, I’m tired of it.”
“Maybe eating dinner at the corner store isn’t the best thing,” Francis joked, half-meaning it.
“Easy for you to say. You have a personal chef called Mom.”
Francis stroked her cheek. “You’re right. How much time do we have until this guy shows up?”
“Enough time to talk,” she answered, her lip trembling. “We have to talk.”
Saying Good-bye to London Page 6