Page 61 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
I eye him over the cheese. “You don’t like him.”
“When did I say that?”
“You didn’t. But I can tell anyway.”
Manuel sighs, rubbing a hand through his short dark curls. “It’s not that I don’tlikehim, Beck. It’s just…”
“Just what?” I prompt.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“Nuh-uh.” I wave my pizza slice at him. “No way. You don’t get to do that.”
“I just…” He sighs again, eyes on the buildings across the street. Then, all at once, he turns and looks directly at me. His face is serious, almost grave. “Are you happy with him?”
“What?” I ask. “Of course I am.”
“Your honest answer,” he says. “No stock bullshit.”
“Thatismy honest answer.”
“Is it, though?” He leans closer. “Is it?”
I shake my head, taken aback. “Where is this coming from, Manuel?”
“I just…Maybe it sounds ridiculous, but I just get this…bad feeling whenever the two of you are together.”
I bunch my eyebrows. “A bad feeling?”
“Yes. It’s…it’s something in my chest. This…tightness. Like the way I feel whenever you do something foolish and dangerous. When you jump off a cliff into Lake Huron or climb out onto the roof at your house. It’s like…like fear, almost.”
“Fear,” I repeat.
He shakes his head, frustrated. “Not quite that. But similar.”
“So, you’re…afraid when I’m with Leo? But of what?”
Manuel blinks at me once, long and slow. Then, he turns away. Looks back at the buildings. “Just forget it.”
“Manuel—”
“Drop it, okay? I don’t even know why I said anything in the first place.”
I look down at my slice. Go quiet. I hate moments like this. When Manuel is angry, he doesn’t shout. I wish he would. I always prefer his words to his silence, even when those words carry the weight of fury.
For several minutes, I stay silent, too. Then: “Do you think,” I say, peeling off a pepperoni with two fingers, “that in life, you need true love to be happy?”
Manuel looks back at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…do you need romantic love?” I place the pepperoni inside my mouth. Salty pork tingles atop my tongue. “Or do you think you just need a Person?”
“A person? Like…a body?”
“No, no. A Person. A go-to. For example: You, Manuel, are my Person. For better or for worse. If I need advice, I go to you. If I’m sad, I call you and cry like a little baby. I tell you everything. You know all my secrets.”
His lips twitch. “Yeah. That’s definitely for worse.”
I elbow his arm, but not forcefully enough to tip him off-balance. “You know what I mean. You’re my Person. I could spend a thousand hours with you and never get bored. And I flatter myself to think I’m the same, that I’m your Person, too.”
