Page 46 of The Fix-Up

—OLIVER M., AGE 11

“This is the clown room.” I opened the door to the bedroom across from my room and flipped on the light.

Gil set the backpack and pillow he’d brought with him from the tent and surveyed the room. There was a lot to take in. The usual—a full-size bed, a small nightstand and chest of drawers—but it was the other things that were less…usual.

“Are those dress mannequins?” He stared at the thirteen forms lined up against the wall like a headless army.

“Someone in Ollie’s family…” I paused “…yourfamily was a seamstress and owned their own shop. Or so I’ve heard. I guess this is where everything ended up when it closed. I wasn’t sure where else to put them.”

“And the walls?”

“There’s a lot of wallpaper in this house.” Although the wallpaper in this room was borderline terrifying. It was white with brightly colored circles intermixed with the faces oflaughing clowns. Their eyes followed you around the room. I cleared my throat. “The clowns aren’t so bad.”

They were; they were so, so bad.

He slowly unzipped his coat and peeled it off, eyes still darting around the room, not sure where to land. Fair.

Not only were there clowns on the wallpaper, they were also on the curtains, the decorative pillows—and the entire wall of floating shelves was filled with more. There was even a handful behind a fancy display case. Dolls, figurines, a few masks. Some smiling, some with tears, most with a maniacal look in their eyes. I shivered, more than a little relieved I wouldn’t be sleeping in this room.

I waved a hand toward the collection. “I tried to talk Ollie into getting rid of them, but he refused. Kept saying his mother had collected them and they might be worth something one day. Personally, I think we might have to pay someone to take them.”

His gaze swung back to me, looking a bit ragged, to be honest. His hair was tousled, a piece in the back sticking up in rebellion. “Great. Yeah, great. I guess I can’t see them when the lights are off.”

“That’s the spirit.” I wouldn’t mention the glow-in-the-dark ones right now. “You can move the rest of your stuff in tomorrow, I guess.”

His gaze swung once more to the wall of horror. He scratched the back of his neck, shifting the collar on his shirt. For a nanosecond, I swore I saw the smallest bit of a dark swirling line, like a tattoo. I blinked and it was gone. Must be seeing things. If I’d ever met a person least likely to have a tattoo, it was this guy.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and met my eyes with sincerity. “Thanks for the room.”

“No big deal. Thanks for sleeping outside.” My smile was very small. “For understanding.”

We both stood suspended in an awkward silence. Finally, I couldn’t take the weird tension and hustled to the door.

“If you need anything tonight, I’m across the hall.” I paused in the doorway and took the hat off. “Here. Your hat. Don’t want you to lose that.”

Gil strode to the door and took the hat from me, his fingers brushing mine. Only a foot of space stretched between us. I frowned as again I felt that crackling air around us. Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed a piece of hair from my face. “Night, Eleanor.”

Then he closed the door softly in my face.

SEVENTEEN

Love is where you can basically show how you feel like if you like somebody.

—GABRIEL E., AGE 9

From the text correspondence of Mae, Ali, and Ellie:

ALI: Ellie, there’s a rumor.

ELLIE: What now?

ALI: That you have a man living in your house.

ELLIE: I mean, Oliver is only six so I’m not sure I’d say man.

MAE: You’re stalling. Just spill it.

ELLIE: Gil moved into the spare room. It’s not a big deal.

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