Page 73 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“This is awesome.” I furiously chew. “Just great.”

But it’s not great, is it?

But it’s not great.

It’s the opposite of great.

It’s adisaster.

Because a full-grown man is currently trapped in my bedroom with no food, no dignity, and nothing to do to keep himself occupied.

15

luca

So. This is how I die.

Not in a blaze of glory.

Not in some noble act of sacrifice.

Not while heroically saving a cat from a burning building or wrestling a shark off the coast of Maui. Not even by drowning in a tragic but oddly cinematic way.

Nope.

I’m going to die of boredom.

Alone in a bedroom that smells like vanilla candles and lemon chicken.

With absolutely nothing to do except stare at a collection of half-burnt Bath & Body Works and wonder if this is what rock bottom feels like.

Nova’s been gone for what feels like hours. Real talk: it’s probably been about fifteen minutes, but I’ve already walked a lap around her room. Counted the ceiling dots. Tried—and failed—to meditate. Even contemplated reading her old planner for fun.

I sigh so dramatically the ghost of Shakespeare probably claps somewhere.

Death by boredom. That’s my legacy now.

This is my lore.

Her bedroom is cute. Organized chaos. There are candles on every surface, a stack of unread books by her bed, and a stack of clothes piled on a desk chair. One of her drawers is slightly open and I’m tempted to look inside but don’t want to invade her privacy.

I lie back on her bed with a heavy sigh and stare up at the ceiling.

There is literally nothing to do.

No TV. No phone—I left mine out on the kitchen counter.

I sit up again, restless. Her bed creaks beneath me.

Too loud.I freeze. Wait. Listen.

No footsteps.

Okay. Crisis averted.

I wander over to her desk and peek at the notes scattered across it. Lots of scribbles, random song lyrics, a doodle of a slice of pizza wearing sunglasses.Of course Nova draws cool pizza…

I glance at the drawer again.

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