Page 181 of Invisible String
I scoff. Boys are so dumb. “It’s called lip gloss. And your hair looks like a mop.” I regret the second I say that. Mrs. Sara hasn’t taken him for a haircut.
He tries to fix his hair, and his face goes sad.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
I shouldn’t be mean to my best friend slash future husband. The thought of a husband makes me want to throw up. Then we would have to kiss like Drake and his girlfriend. Max and I spy on them.
“I’m sorry. I upset you. The lip gloss is fine,” he says, but he moves to open the door to climb down the tree. “I’m going to listen to music.” He gets teased at school when his hair gets too long. They call him a shaggy dog. I shouldn’t have said that to him. Mrs. Sara needs to take him for a cut. Or maybe I can cut it.
Once I’m done cleaning up the board pieces, I climb down. My heart races with anxiety when I see Jason raking leaves.
“Hey, Sol,” he says.
“Hi.” I wave, and my feet move faster.
“Come help with these leaves.”
I shake my head.
“Sol,” he yells.
Max runs out. “Come on, Sol. Let’s eat,” he says, reaching for me. He’s always been my golden knight. He knows Jason gives the ick vibe.
“You’re going to get it, boy!” Jason yells.
I know what that means. He hits him with a belt when Mrs. Sara isn’t home. He had marks before I noticed once, on his back.When I asked, he said one was from his dad. Only one. But the rest were from Jason. That meant every time Max defended me, he would get hit. Every time he would tell me to go to the room when Jason was drinking, he would get hit. Then Drake would defend Max. Drake would get hit, too.
Tears fill my eyes while sitting on my bed holding my stuffy, Daisy, that Max gave me. I miss Mom and Dad. I’d do anything to be with them. Max saunters in, his feet shuffling.
“Are you o…okay?” Dumb question. He’s not.
His smile is faint. “Fine. Are you okay?”
“I miss them,” I whisper.
“Me too.” He lets me cry on his shoulder because I’m his best friend. And best friends stick together. Max never cries.
When we’re all alone, all we have is each other.
Beeping.I hear it again. The voices around me are distant.
“What’s happening?” a man shouts.
I can’t make it out, the voice is as if I were miles away. “She’s crying.” His voice sounds frantic.
“Yes, it can happen. It’s a reflexive or involuntary response,” another man responds.
“Something is making her react this way. It has nothing to do with reflexes,” he shouts.
“Mr. Cano, you need to relax. We are trying to calm her down.”
I’m trapped, and I can’t get out. I can’t wake up. I want to scream.
Max. Oh, Max.
A flood of memories of Max and me crashes over me, overwhelmingly. I’m torn between gratitude and guilt, as I recall how many times he risked everything to save me. Yet, the scars, like road maps, are etched into his toughened skin, a constant reminder of the price he paid. Every time I kissed his scars, he never resented me.
I don’t deserve a man like Max. He says I saved him, but he saved me. He fucking saved me. A small boy who was barely hanging on saved me—my guardian angel.
