Page 155 of Invisible String
“She’s your age. Go talk to her. Help her feel welcome. She looks frightened.”
I shake my head. I have never had a conversation with a girl. At school, only when I have to, and that’s about school stuff. “I’m afraid of girls. Especially since she’s going to be in my room, maybe I can sleep in your room,” I suggest in a whisper.
Drake snorts. “Afraid? Just wait until you start crushing on girls. You’ll want to get your dick wet.”
“Gross,” I whisper, glancing back to see Sol.
She’s now standing by the sofa, rocking back and forth. She knocks the air out of me with how pretty she is—but her eyes are sad and red like she's been crying. A lasso wraps around my heart into a tight squeeze. Who hurt her?
Mrs. Sara peers up, spotting us. “Boys, come greet Sol.”
Our feet shuffle toward them. Sol lifts her head along with the other lady next to them. “Hi, I’m Drake.”
I feel like I’m walking up to a wounded animal. “H-hi, I’m Max.” My voice comes out like it was dragged on gravel. Her big brown eyes pierce through mine. I think I might faint.
“Hi,” she says in a gentle voice.
“Welcome, Sol, we’re happy to have you. Boys, why don’t you show her to the room, and let’s be gentlemen and carry her luggage?” Mrs. Sara’s tone is cheerful.
Sol follows us. Drake rolls one luggage and I roll the other. Once we’re in the room, Drake tells Sol which one is her bed. Then he leaves me with her. Alone.
Her chin starts to tremble as she sits on the bed. Everything in me tells me I have to take care of her. My dad once said, when my mom was alive, that men should never hurt women. Maybe someone in her last home hurt her.
I fidget with the blanket on my bed.
How do I make her feel better? When I’m sad and miss home and my mom, I curl up in bed and cry at night so no one can hear me.
Candy makes people feel better. Taking out the pack of Twizzlers from under the pillow, I set it on her bed. She wipes a tear. Sol’s long eyelashes drip with water. “Want one?”
She nods. “I love Twizzlers. They’re my favorite.” The bed sinks when I sit next to her and pull out a red licorice, then pass one to her.
We sit in silence for a moment, then I ask, “Why were you crying?”
Her chin trembles again. “My momma died.”
A strong force sucks the air out of me. She lost her mom, like me.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
Her mom just died, and she’s here. My heart hurts. I know how she feels.
“My mom died too.”
Her head shoots up. Her hand covers mine, but I pull it away quickly.
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
“I’m sorry too. What happened to her?” I’m curious.
“She was sick. She died during surgery. My dad died two months ago. He was supposed to return from the military, but didn’t make it.” Hot tears run down her cheek. She sobs. I hand her a tissue from my nightstand.
Sol wipes her boogers.
To make her laugh, so she can stop crying, I make a mustache with the long Twizzlers. She giggles and tries it on herself, and we both giggle. My chest puffs with pride that I made her laugh and stop crying.
From then on,Sol and I talked every day. We play board games together and outside. I taught her how to play chess. She attends my school. We are in the same class. I learned she likes to dance. She took dance classes. Her mom and dad would dance in the kitchen. We talk about our moms and dads. I like talking to her. She’s my best friend. I’ve never had a best friend.
