Page 41 of Every Broken Thing

He smiled shyly at her undivided attention. “Since the beginning of the summer. I moved here after last school year ended.”

“Why?” Caroline shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, California is amazing! In what world would you want to come here?”

The plastic booth squeaked as Ben shifted in discomfort. “To live with my aunt and uncle. I aged out of the foster system in May and didn’t have anywhere else to go, really. They were kind enough to open their home so I could finish high school.”

She grimaced, covering the back of his wrist with her palm. “That must have been hard. Foster care, leaving your home behind.”

“I wanted to come here,” he corrected as he focused on his napkin, tearing it into pieces until they littered the tabletop like snowflakes. “I would have lived with them sooner, but my aunt was battling cancer, and the state wouldn’t let me stay with them. So once I aged out, it was a no-brainer, really.”

“Shouldn’t you have graduated? If you’re already eighteen, I mean?”

“I was held back a year,” he answered shortly, removing his hand from beneath hers, but she didn’t take the not-so-subtle hint.

Instead, she leaned closer, her eyes brimming with curiosity. “Really? How come?”

Ben paled, and I jumped in to save him from the uncomfortable conversation. “Caroline, what happened to that guy from Concord you were talking to?” I grasped at the first distracting idea, and Caroline rolled her eyes, launching into the story.

A hand landed on my knee under the table, and I jumped at the intimate touch. Ben didn’t move his hand inappropriately or even glance my way. He simply squeezed the spot above myknee like he’d done in his room last weekend, and I took it as an unsaid thank-you.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you guys Monday,” Ben announced less than five minutes later, and my gut curled with anxiety as he waved half-heartedly.

“Oh, I need to talk to him about a sociology project,” I lied, scrambling to my feet and chasing after him. I caught him before he climbed into his car, and when I called his name, he shut the driver’s door and leaned against it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, “about Caroline. She doesn’t always pick up on social cues, but she didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Ben shifted his weight as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s cool. I’m used to people asking. Normal kids don’t flunk their sophomore year. Normal kids live with their parents. Kids that live in foster care or with their aunt and uncle are there because shit happened. It’s human nature to be curious.”

“Still.” I stuck my hands in my pockets as the chilly wind breezed over my bare arms—I’d forgotten my jacket inside. “Sorry.”

“I’m not mad. Sorry for leaving so fast.”

I shrugged, unsure why he apologized when my friend ruined our good time. “It’s cool.”

After a pause, Ben’s normal calm cracked, and he fidgeted with the buttons on his coat. “Why didn’t you ever ask? About my living situation, I mean.”

Not wanting to mess this up, I thought carefully about my answer. “Your shit is your shit. If you wanted to tell me, you would. If not…” I left the sentence hanging.

Ben’s expression was unfathomable as he stared at me. He licked his lips, the skin around his eyes tightening as he battled with himself. I remained quiet, leaving him to his internaldebate. After several long moments, he came to his decision and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“My mom died the summer after I turned fifteen. The year that followed was”—he hesitated—“unpleasant. I had to repeat sophomore year.” My heart broke as he released a shuddering breath, staring at his shoes, and I mirrored his position with my back to his car, our shoulders almost touching. “I’m not embarrassed about it, exactly, I just don’t like talking about my mom with people I don’t trust.”

“I get it.” I scuffed my shoes against the asphalt as I tried and failed to control my word vomit. “My mom checked out when I was twelve. Just took off one day and never came back. I don’t remember the last time I talked about her. So, yeah, I get it.”

His arm brushed mine, the material of his sweater tickling my skin, and I instinctively leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry that she left.”

“I’m sorry your mom died.”

We stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a long time, neither of us speaking, and I relaxed beside him as we shared our matching pain. I didn’t understand what was happening between us, but I couldn’t ignore the way he made me feel. It was one thing to be attracted to him, but it was another thing to like him. I didn’t do emotion; it was the reason I’d wasted time fucking around with Eli. Sex was simple, easy. Feelings were hard and complicated. They terrified me… Ben terrified me.

I needed to find a way to stop these traitorous emotions before it was too late, but I feared I couldn’t. I was already sinking, the sand giving way beneath my toes until I was stuck. Hopefully, I could dig my way back out because the alternative was far more daunting than suffocating neck-deep in the sand.

13

Perfectly Proportionate Bulge

With three days ofschool left before Thanksgiving break, we weren’t able to break down the set pieces as quickly as I hoped, which meant I would return from the four-day weekend to a whole stage filled with shit to destroy. Annoying, but not entirely unexpected.

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