Page 38 of Saving Sparrow
“Let’s go find him.” Miguel’s text alert went off as soon as he’d spoken those words. He crawled over to his nightstand, grinning down at whatever he saw before holding the phone out to me. It was a photo of a goldfinch perched on a tree branch. Elliott had sent it.
“I know exactly where he is,” I said with excitement. We darted into the bathroom, doing the bare minimum before rushing out in search of our friend.
We raced through the woods, shoving low-hanging branches out of our way. I picked up speed, determined to beat Miguel, laughing as he let loose a bunch of words in Spanish. “Hey, that wasn’t nice,” I called back, knowing at least one of those words meant “bastard.”
Up ahead, Elliott waited under the curved oak tree from the photo, plucking the petals of a wildflower. He looked up as we barreled his way. Eyes widening, he tossed the stem aside in preparation for me lifting him into my arms and spinning with him.
Miguel slowed a few yards back, walking the rest of the way to us. “He can’t breathe, Quentin.”
“Oh.” I settled Elliott onto his feet, straightening his T-shirt. His face was flushed, but he smiled up at me.
“You texted,” Miguel said, pushing his glasses higher.
“I listened to your message. Twice. Ellie?” He gave Miguel a wry look.
“Yeah.” Miguel chuckled. “You like it?”
He kicked the dirt at his feet with a shy smile. “Yeah, I do.”
I was confused at first, but then remembered Miguel calling him Ellie while leaving the voicemail last night.
“It felt nice having someone worry about me.”
“If it were up to me, we would’ve broken in and gotten you the hell out of there,” I said. Miguel scowled at me. “What? You know you wanted to.”
He turned back to Elliott. “Are you alright? Did she make you go to therapy?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t say anything.”
We waited for more, but he didn’t say anything else. It was hard getting information from Elliott, and once he decided he’d said enough, getting more became impossible.
“You know you can say anything you want to us, right?” I realized how hypocritical that was, considering Miguel and I had our own secrets. “Is Cruella still home?” I glanced in the direction of his house.
“Who?” Elliott asked at the same time Miguel shoved my shoulder for saying it.
“Um, Amelia.”
“No, she left again.”
“How long will she be gone?” Miguel asked.
Elliott shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
“My dad came home last night, but he left again too.” He’d left a note on the patio door.
“Come on,” Miguel said. “I’ll read by the pool while you two play in the grass or whatever.” He said the last part as if he didn’t get the appeal before heading for the house. I made funny faces behind his back just to make Elliott smile. It worked, and when I held his hand, he let me.
“Will you show me some new plays?”
“Fuck yeah, I will.” We picked up our pace, catching up to Miguel.
Elliott and I dragged some equipment around back from the garage while Miguel changed into his trunks and curled up by the pool with a book.
“Let me do it.” I stepped in behind Elliott, braiding his long hair. I even had an elastic tie to twist around the end. I kept one on my wrist at all times now. I took in my handiwork. “I’m like a professional now.”
“You’re alright.” Elliott grinned before flipping me the ball. I caught it easily.
“Did Miguel warn you not to compliment me?”
