Page 46 of Only Mostly Devastated

“Wait, so you were judging me the whole summer?” he asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately. I didn’t wanna say anything ’cause I was totally into you.”

“‘Was’?” Will said. I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a genuine question. Maybe he didn’t want me to be able to tell.

“Hey, count yourself lucky. Earlier today you thought I might hate you, remember?”

He didn’t reply, so I glanced behind me to check on him. He was staring into space, but put on a forced-looking smile as soon as he noticed me.

“Mom made me practically scrub it down with disinfectant this morning,” he said, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking about his room. “You know. Just in case all the visitors wanted to gather in my room to inspect it.”

“And aren’t you glad she made you now?” I asked, running a finger along one shelf. Spotless as Juliette’s complexion.

“Soglad. Not that I expected you to end up in it, of all people.”

“Yeah. Thank you so much for inviting us. It made a shit day… less shit. Especially for the kids.”

“Of course. I’m really glad you came. So, how’s your aunt, anyway?”

“She’s okay. She was awake, and talking, and stuff. But she’s pretty sick right now. It’s hard, you know?”

“I know. I can imagine.”

We fell into an awkward silence. I felt like I was supposed to be doing or saying something, but I had no idea what that might be. Why had he closed the door? Did he want to talk about us? Or was I imagining things?

I cleared my throat and walked along the length of the wall, where about fifty-billion trophies and medals lined the shelves. “So you’ve had a good game or two in your time,” I said.

“I guess.”

“I feel inferior right now.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. You have your band.”

“Like, yeah? I don’t get trophies for playing, though, I just get, you know, tolerated. But this… you must be good, huh?”

Will’s voice was tight. “Not good enough for a scholarship.”

I picked up one of the taller awards, a towering gold figurine of Michael Jordan landing a slam dunk. Well, at least, it might have been Michael Jordan. It was hard to tell because it was faceless and a little misshapen. “So, do you want to try to go pro?”

The creaking of bedsprings told me Will had sat down. “That’s what everyone wants me to do.”

“Okay. But is that what you want to do?”

I turned around to find Will shrugging at the ground. “Basketball is fun, but I can’t help feeling like I should be more passionate about it if I were gonna try to go pro. Can’t something you do as a hobby just be that? A hobby? Does it have to be your entire life?”

Why did I get the feeling he wasn’t aiming that last part at me?

“It can,” I said. “What doyouwant?”

When he finally replied, his voice was small. “Honestly? I’ve always really wanted to be a nurse.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought about being a doctor, but the grades to get in are ridiculous, and what I really like is the hands-on stuff. Like, being able to comfort people, and to be the first person there when they’re in pain or if they need something. I wanna bethatperson.”

I sat down next to him, the mattress sinking. Our shoulders bumped. “You’d be so great at that.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

---