Page 35 of Maybe You

“Sure.” He grins. “I got arrested for swimming.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“That can’t be it. And if it is, it’s disappointing.”

He smirks. “You traded for the mildest, stupidest one I had in my arsenal. This is it.” He takes another drink and follows that with a lazy smirk. “There might’ve been a bit of trespassing, indecent exposure, and resisting arrest involved.”

“Of course there was. So, in layman’s terms…” I squint at him. “You went skinny-dipping in somebody else’s pool or pond or lake or whatever and then tried to run away?”

“You sound like my lawyer. But when you explain it, it’s strangely arousing.” He lifts his chin toward me. “Your turn. Time to pay up. Tell me a secret.”

“I’ve never been arrested.”

He holds his thumb up and then points it downward while making a fart noise.

I laugh and scratch my forehead.

“Fine.” I hesitate for a second.

Tell him about the scars. Tell him that underneath your clothes you look like a badly put together patchwork quilt. It’s the perfect opening.

“I like to sketch birds.”

Okay. Well. You do you, Wren.

He doesn’t say anything, even though I sort of expect him to scoff that it’s either not a good enough secret or just embarrassing. He just looks at me curiously.

“I go to a park with my sketchpad. I watch birds. I draw.”

He leans back, still simply watching me, which means I start blabbering.

“I… I recognize all the different species of birds you can find in New York. I can also recognize them only by their song.”

He continues looking.

“You’re blushing again,” he eventually says.

“I just realized that if we were in high school, you’d be the cool bad boy, and I’d be the nerd who goes birdwatching.”

He just shrugs. “I always hated high school. And stereotypes. Fuck that.”

I laugh and clink my bottle against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

“So really?” he asks. “All the birds? You can recognize every single one? Just by what they sound like?”

“I’m pretty sure I can, yeah. The ones native to New York for sure. Probably most of the ones common on the East Coast.”

“Impressive. How did you get into birds?” Sutton asks, and he looks genuinely interested in the answer. I think that’s the main reason I’m answering with something other than ‘Oh I just think they’re cool.’

Instead, I say, “I was in a hospital for a while when I was fifteen. There was a blue jay’s nest in the tree right outside my window. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a hospital for a prolonged period of time, but it’s super boring. I spent a lot of time watching those blue jays. And then once… Well, I figured I’d try and draw them, so I’d have a way to remember them later. By now it’s just a way to relax.”

He nods. “Sounds nice.”

I nod too, because it is nice. And relaxing. And I’m not so sure anymore why I’ve always considered it a bit dumb. Something to almost be embarrassed about.

I know a lot of birds.

I can draw a lot of birds.

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