Page 48 of Play the Part

22

HUXLEY

It’s the end of another woodworking class, and I’m packing up my bag when Whit walks up to me, his typical crooked smile fixed on his face.

“That’s a really cool idea you got there,” he says as he points to my workstation. “And your execution is flawless.” His smile widens and with a proud laugh he adds, “You’re a natural.”

I’ve been attending his classes for two months now, and Whit has beenincessantlyencouraging me with every little thing. I haven’t gotten used to it. I don’t think I ever will. His words prickle against my skin anytime he opens his mouth.

At least, I’ve gotten used to simply nodding and smiling.

In a way, he reminds me of Ozzy.

They’re both trying too hard.

I look over to the project I’ve been working on and feel embarrassed. I don’t even know why I had the idea in the first place.

Waste of fucking time.

I look back to Whit.

“Thanks,” I grunt as I swing my bag over my shoulder, getting ready to leave.

“Have time for a beer?” Whit asks.

I stop in my tracks and narrow my eyes. “With you?”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah, with me.” He points behind him with his thumb. “There’s a bar just around the corner from here. The place sucks but the beer is cold.”

His invitation smells like pity. Like I’m a charity case that needs his attention. Why else would he invite me out for a beer? I almost say no, but something stops me.

Maybe it’s loneliness that has me nodding my head and agreeing. Or maybe it’s the fact that I lost all my friends when I went to prison. And that my only friend now is not even a friend at all but my sister Sophia.

Pathetic.

Whit’s face brightens at the sight of my half-hearted nod.

“Great! I’ll grab my coat.”

Whit was right,Stanley’s is a dive bar. It’s dark and dingy with a couple of pool tables in the back and a jukebox near the bathrooms. The bartender looks like he would rather die than be here serving us.

It’s perfect and exactly what I like.

We sit at the sticky bar, and Whit orders us a round of beers. After a quick clink of our bottles, we fall silent as we take our first sip.

I don’t know what to say so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “My brother used to work around here.”

“Yeah? Where?”

I feel stupid even to have brought it up but answer his question anyway. “Orso — it’s a restaurant on Miller.”

Whit gives me a toothy smile. “Oh yeah, I know that place.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Fancy.”

I wordlessly agree and suddenly feel awkward as if I’vecompletely lost the art of small talk. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever known how.

“Older brother?”

I nod, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “Younger brother and sister too.”

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