Page 33 of Something in Between

“Maybe,” he allows. He’s the one blushing now, and I feel my cheeks growing hot as well.

“Can I be honest with you?” I ask, changing the subject. For some reason I feel comfortable with him—he’s easy to talk to.

“Sure,” Royce says.

“This is the most downtime I’ve had since I can remember,” I say. “I’ve always judged myself by how much I can achieve. How good I am at things. It’s what I do. I never have any time just to appreciate things.”

Royce sits up a little, adjusting his pants so they cover his ankles. “It’s good to be busy. At least it means you’re good at something, unlike me.”

“That can’t be true,” I say. “Why would you say that?” He looks so crushed for a moment that I know he’s not being falsely modest like some people can be.

He shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way, really. I’m the son of a congressman and my family has money. My life is all set up for me.” He turns to look at me directly. “Look—I know how bad that sounds. Like I’m complaining about my privilege. I get it. People like you and all the other honorees have worked so hard to get here. But I’m just here because of my dad.”

I’m about to say something, then decide to listen instead.

His shoulders slump. “I guess sometimes I just want to know that what I do matters. That people aren’t judging me by who my parents are, but by who I am.”

I nod sympathetically. “Who are you, then? Who do you want to be?” I ask him, thinking I’m asking the same questions about myself.

Royce knits his brows and looks out at the view. I’ve caught him off guard.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I say.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he says, leaning back again, and when he shifts, his knee brushes against mine, and the heat inside me builds. “It’s just that no one has ever asked me that before. I don’t know how to answer.”

I turn to him and look him right in his dark eyes. “What are you interested in? Sometimes it’s easier to figure out what you want to do when you figure out what you like.”

He stares at me. “I never thought of it that way. You’re so wise—you’re sure you’re only seventeen?” he teases.

“Well?”

He runs his fingers through his hair again, messing it up. “I like to read. I didn’t learn how to for a long time. I’m dyslexic, and for the longest time everyone just thought I was just slow. So when I finally learned how to read, I couldn’t stop. I felt like I had to catch up.”

“Who’s your favorite writer?”

“Ah, it’s hard to choose,” he says. “Saul Bellow maybe. Or Norman Mailer. Did you ever readArmies of the Night?”

I shake my head. “I’ve heard of it though. It’s about the sixties, right? The protests against the Vietnam War?”

“Yeah. There’s a line from it that’s never left me. ‘There is no greater importance in all the world like knowing you are right and that the wave of the world is wrong, yet the wave crashes upon you.’” Royce looks out at the view, pensive and still. The space between us is so tight and close it feels as if I can hear his heart beating under his shirt. Can he hear mine?

“I always liked it, about how it’s so hard to be brave and stand for what’s right when everything’s against you, you know?” he asks.

I do know. I take my phone out of my bag and start typing.

“What are you doing?”

I flush. “I, um...it’s silly...but I collect quotes. I write them down and I post them in my room on my corkboard.”

“Not to Pinterest or Instagram?” he teases.

“No, because they’re just for me,” I say.

“Are you going to put my quote on it?”

“Yourquote?” I tease. “You own it?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I had to read the whole book.” He smiles back. “But I’ll let you borrow it.”

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