Page 32 of Don't Let Me Go
If that’s not a good friend, I don’t know what is.
Riley, though, must mistake my silence for annoyance. He flushes, and his cheeks burn so pink, they’re almost crimson.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he mumbles. “This is so fucking stupid. Forget I said anything.”
He turns to get into his car, but he’s so rattled, he drops his keys.
“Dude, where are you going?” I ask, forcing a laugh and putting a hopefully not too whiffy arm around his shoulder. “Come on inside. We’ll have some breakfast.”
“No, I need to get home.”
“You don’t need to go anywhere,” I insist. I don’t want him driving when he’s this upset. Especially when the reason he’s so upset is because he was worried about me. “My aunt started teaching summer classes at her community college today, so no one’s here, and I’ve got nothing to do. Let’s hang out. You came all this way to save me from a volcano, right? Well, now you can save me from a boring Monday.”
Before he can protest, I steer Riley inside and lead him to the kitchen, savoring the refreshing chill of the AC along the way. At the sink, I fill up two glasses of water and hand one to Riley, who still looks skittish. Like any second he might dash out of the house.
“So,” I begin after a satisfying gulp that empties half my glass, “tell me more about this dream.”
I want to be supportive and show him that I’m taking his feelings seriously. If his nightmare upset him, we should talk about it. But Riley gives me a dismissive shrug. “There’s really nothing more to tell,” he says before sipping at his glass.
“Sure there is. Give me some context. What were we doing in the dream before we died?”
Riley chokes on his water, and a second later, he’s fighting off a full-on coughing fit.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Water just went down the wrong pipe,” he wheezes, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look fine. He looks like he wants to run and hide orbe anywhere other than here with me. I’m guessing he’s embarrassed about almost being killed by a glass of water, so I try to take his mind off it by asking him again about his dream. For some reason, though, my question seems to make him even more uncomfortable.
“We were just friends,” he mumbles. “In the dream. We were just?.?.?.?hanging out.”
“Just hanging out? In ancient Rome?”
“Pompeii, actually. It’s a coastal city on the Bay of Naples that got wiped off the map when Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79.”
“Okay, Google.”
Riley blushes. “I did a paper on it for my world history class last year.”
“Okay, well,thatexplains why you dreamed about Italy.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Riley agrees, though the skepticism in his voice doesn’t match his words.
“So what were you and I doing in Pompeii? You know,beforethe volcano erupted?”
Riley hesitates and again I’d swear his cheeks color. “You were?.?.?. getting ready to meet your fiancée.”
“My fiancée? Nice. Was she hot?”
Riley scowls. “Does it matter?”
“Hey,” I say, unable to keep from laughing. “I’m just curious what kind of love life you’ve concocted for Dream Jackson.”
“Dream Jackson’s love life isfine. Trust me. He has no complaints about—”
Riley stops himself and stares at the floor. Nervously, he grabs his glass and drains what’s left of his water. I’m afraid he might choke again. But when he sets down the empty glass, he seems to have pulled himself together.
“It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”
