A/N: Is it just me, or are these chapters getting longer and longer? Hm. Weird.
Oh, and also, there are several references to stuff I don't own in here. Like Lion's Choice, or the movie 1776, or McDonald'sTo reiterate, I don't own any of that. Not even kind of. If I did, I would so let you know. And then I'd probably go...buy more stuff or something.
Oh, and Also Part II, thanks for the reviews, reviewers! Much love abounds.
Riley
So…the couch was worn out and lumpy, the TV could only pick up PBS, so it was pretty much Sesame Street or…Sesame Street, the space was cramped and had no windows, and it was in the basement, so every time anybody moved a box or a table or whatever the heck they were doing up there, I could hear it in the worst way. Basically all in all it was…the best day I'd had in a long, long time. Melanie brought me soup as promised. It was chicken and dumpling soup. I'd never heard of something like that. I mean, you've got your chicken and dumplings, and then you've got your chicken soup. But, wow. Put them together and it's like...beyond good. And then she kept coming in to make sure I was warm enough or cool enough or pain free enough. And I kept telling her I was fine, but she kept coming in anyway, and I asked her why, and she just sort of looked at me and said, "Because I want to, sweetie." And…again, I asked why. And she almost looked sad for a second, but then she smiled and tapped me on the nose with a "'Cause you're cute," and I chalked it up to a girly thing.
And then there was Benjamin Gates. He was there a lot. Always with a really practical, logical-type reason. The thermostat needed adjusting, or someone spilled something upstairs and he wanted to make sure the basement ceiling wasn't leaking, or he needed to see if his cell phone network provided service even in a basement because the network people claimed it probably could. And it did, by the way. But even though he was busy, the guy would stick around for a few minutes. At one point in the day he sat through a whole episode of Arthur with me, and we discussed the unfairness of the school society's "mean teacher" tag on Mr. Ratburn, and I don't remember how, but he somehow managed to connect it in a comparison with William Daniels' performance in 1776. It was…a really weird conversation.
I think I was unconscious between two and four o'clock, which probably wouldn't have happened if I'd gone back to school, and it felt really nice because, if I was honest, I felt like…I had pneumonia. When I woke up, the blanket was pulled up to my chin, which was weird because I was pretty sure I'd gone to sleep without it. But in any case, Ben and Melanie were nowhere in sight. I stared up at the ceiling for a minute, listening to all the activity going on over my head. From what I'd been told, the food pantry people had a bunch of families lined up to receive all this food. The ones who couldn't make it out of their houses or whatever had the stuff brought to them, but otherwise, the people just came and picked it up.
So I pretty much started feeling really bad. They were all up there working, feeding people and helping and all that, and I was in their building on their couch, watching their TV. Seemed to be my curse.
But what they were doing didn't sound too hard. And I'd just slept for like two hours. Pretty sure I could handle it. I'd just make sure I stayed away from people, kept my germs to myself, and all that. Nodding, I pushed the blanket back and stood. I had to wait a second for a wave of vertigo to pass. Stood up too quick, I guess. I also realized I had a headache. Gross.
But I was a man on a mission. So I took a bite of the now-cold soup still sitting on one of those old fold-out tables and headed up the stairs. I was met by a whole bunch of activity. People were coming in and out, hauling boxes of food out the door where cars were parked in the lot waiting to be loaded up. There were also a few families there. They had a little table set up with coffee and doughnuts so the families could take it easy while the volunteers loaded their vehicles with Thanksgiving dinner type stuff: boxes of stuffing and mashed potatoes, cans of cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie filling, pie crusts, frozen turkeys. You name it, they were probably hauling it. It was really a cool thing to do.
So on with the helping. I looked around. Everybody pretty much seemed to know what they were doing. Which would've been great if it weren't for the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. They probably had some sort of a system to make sure everybody got what it was they needed. I stood there for a minute, watching, seeing if I could figure it out or maybe just start with the nearest box and take it outside where hopefully somebody would tell me what to do with it. That sounded like a pretty decent plan, so I grabbed the box that seemed to be next in line and hefted it up. It was pretty light. Boxed foods. Sweet.
So I headed outside, thankful for the oversized Georgetown hoodie Ben made me borrow. Sure enough, once I got out there a lady with a clipboard and too much extra-hold hair spray directed me to a car where I could unload. That was easy. I smiled to myself. I was being useful. This was good. My head felt kind of light and throbby, and my chest was still thick and heavy, but that didn't matter because I was no longer a freeloader. I was slowly earning my keep, and it felt good.
I headed back inside for round two. Next box. I hauled the thing up into my arms. It was annoyingly heavy. Canned goods. Nice. But I could make it. The parking lot wasn't that exceptionally far. I shifted my weight to better accommodate the bulky cardboard box and headed for the door. About halfway there, though, the box started slipping, so I sort of had to bounce it back up with my knee. And that's when I made the decision to sue the box tape company.
Apparently, the bottom of the box hadn't been taped right or something because the bottom fell out and thanks to this little thing I like to call gravity, which had already been unfair enough, the cans in the box all came spilling out, hitting the tiled floor with enough noise to attract every pair of eyes within a thirty foot radius. As the cans bounced and rolled every which way, I just sort of stood there, holding onto the broken box like it was my last bit of dignity. But alas, like the box, my dignity was so shredded.
Oh, crap. Nobody moved for a second. I looked around, wincing. Yep. Lots and lots of eyes. "Um. Sorry. I…I've got it." I laughed nervously. "Good thing it wasn't the turkeys." A couple people smiled sympathetically. "Uh…yeah." I bent down to start picking up the cans, but then this guy came over. I recognized him from when we first got there. He was the head honcho. Ben had introduced us briefly. I think his name was, like, Paul or something.
"Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Really sorry. You guys have more boxes around here? I can go get one…"
"Don't worry about it. You're Ben's friend, aren't you?"
I glanced up. "I am?" I didn't mean to say that out loud, and I kind of felt like an idiot. The question just sort of caught me off-guard. Oh, well, it was a logical thing to assume, I guess, since the guy didn't know the circumstances. And explaining the whole story would've been pointless and time consuming. "I mean, yeah. I am." I felt kind of bad for lying, but I was saving the guy time.
"You're sick," he stated blankly.
"Hey, look, it was an accident…"
"No, I mean, Ben said you've got pneumonia or something. What are you doing up here?"
Oh. I winced down at the mess of cans and the broken box. "Helping?"
He smiled and shook his head. It was the same kind of look Melanie had given me when I'd told her I didn't really need her to go pick up some Tylenol for me. She'd shown up half an hour later with the Tylenol and a Batman PEZ dispenser. I had no idea why. But I found out grape flavored candy somehow tastes better when it comes out of Batman's head. "Look, kid, why don't you go have a seat over there? I'll take care of this."
"But it was my fault…"
"Go. I'm going to go grab Ben, too. No offense, kid, but you don't look so hot."
That didn't make any sense because I realized that I felt really hot. But whatever. "You really don't need to do that, sir. I'm fine. Little head cold. Nothing to worry…"
"Hey. Go sit down. I was on the debate team for all four years of high school. I could talk circles around you. You're not going to win this one. Go sit."
I raised an eyebrow, wondering how long it had been since he'd been in high school. "Were you really?"
"No. But I was on the wrestling team."
That I didn't doubt. "I'm going."
He grinned and called for somebody to bring a new box as he took the cans I'd gathered and started cleaning up the rest. There were a few metal folding chairs, and I sank down on one of them, feeling slightly like I'd just failed at life. There was a little girl with earmuffs hanging around her neck sitting a couple feet away from me, watching me with a seriously curious expression. I crossed my arms and watched her right back.
Finally, she said, "Are you in trouble?"
I opened my mouth, shut it, then decided, "Probably."
"What happened to your eye?"
"I hit it on something."
"I think you got in a fight."
"You're a very perceptive small child."
She nodded like she knew what perceptive meant. Maybe she did. It was hard to tell. "Thank you." She paused for a moment. "I'm in trouble, too."
I realized right then that I was in time out sitting in the naughty corner with a sixish year old. I took out my PEZ dispenser and offered her some. She accepted. "What'd you do?" I asked.
"Running indoors is against the rules, and I knew that and did it anyway. That's called rebellion," she recited dutifully, pronouncing it more like "webellion," though the look on her face said she thought it was a seriously dumb rule.
"I dropped everybody's food all over the place. That's called stupidity."
She nodded seriously. "Oh. That's pwobably worse."
I nodded back. "Pwobably. So what's your name?"
"MacKayla."
"Riley. It's a pleasure." We shook hands.
"It is," she agreed. "Are you here to get Thanksgiving food?"
"No, I'm here to help get you Thanksgiving food. Well, kinda….Almost. Where are your parents?"
"Over there." She pointed to a man and a woman talking to one of the volunteers a few yards away. They kept shooting me looks. I smiled and waved.
"Where's your parents?" she asked.
I blinked and had to give myself a quick reminder to keep breathing. I so hate that question. "I'm too old for parents." The look she gave me had me sighing and amending my statement. "They're not here."
"Are they waiting for you?"
I paused for a bit. "No. Well, I guess…maybe kind of."
She tilted her head to the side. "Where?"
"Heaven."
"Oh." She nodded and looked down for a moment before her head popped up and she looked at me again. I think I knew more or less what she was going to say before she said it. It was all in her eyes. "My Gigi's in heaven. She always made us turkey for Thanksgiving and she put cheese in the mashed potatoes, but even though she couldn't have cheese because she was lactic tolerance." I translated that to mean lactose intolerant. "But she did it 'cause she said she liked it that that was my favorite 'cause it was her favorite too, when she was like me."
"That sounds pretty good."
She nodded and pulled her knees up to her chin. "Mommy said she could make them that way for me. But I don't think it's gonna be the same."
I shook my head. I wasn't going to lie to her. She was right. No way would it be the same. "No. My dad used to make this baked spaghetti casserole thing. That's what I always wanted for my birthday and stuff. It was pretty much the best ever. I couldn't ever make it quite like him."
"Can everybody eat cheese in heaven?"
I scratched my head. "I think so."
"Then maybe Gigi can make her mashed potatoes with cheese like she liked for Thanksgiving. And if there's enough, your mommy and daddy can have some, too."
"I bet your grandma would love my dad's spaghetti casserole."
She smiled. It was a slightly teary smile, but she was one brave kid. "Good. Gigi was always with us for Thanksgiving. I didn't want her to be lonely or anything."
Yeah. Alone for Thanksgiving. That would suck. My chest was hurting. Luckily I could blame it on the pneumonia. Which I stubbornly did. "Yep."
"Is your mom and daddy nice?"
I nodded. "The nicest."
Her parents called to her just then. She looked up at them then back at me as she slid off her chair. "You're nice, too, Riley." It came out Wiley. Like the coyote.
I smiled. "So are you." She surprised me with a hug around my neck. Yeesh. I forked over the PEZ dispenser complete with refills. "Happy Thanksgiving, MacKayla."
She grinned and popped a candy in her mouth. "Happy Thanksgiving." With that, she rushed off toward her parents. I watched her dad slip her earmuffs back up around her ears while her mom took her hand. I found myself taking a couple of quick, deep breaths.
Then I felt someone nudge my shoulder from behind me. I tilted my head backwards to see an upside down Ben standing there. I think my eyes got bigger, and I lifted my head back up and turned around. I wondered how much he'd heard. "Hey."
"Hey." Oi. Pretty sure at least some of it. Crap. Well maybe not. I don't know. He was looking pretty sympathetic, but he always kind of looked like that.
"Um…I'm really sorry about the thing…with the box and the…stuff."
He smiled. It was an exasperated smile, though. "And what were you doing up here in the first place?"
"Gettin' into trouble?" It was a lame commercial reference, but it was all I could come up with for such an awkward moment.
He grinned, much to my relief. Maybe he hadn't heard any of it. Or if he had, he wasn't making it an issue. Good. He pointed at me. "You. Downstairs. Now."
I stood and gave a smart salute. "Roger that, sir." I kinda wavered for a second, and just like that, his hand was going toward my face. I tensed, only just managing to stop myself from flinching as it landed on my forehead with approximately zero force behind it. Don't be an idiot, Riley. Right. His hand was really cold, though. But I did not flinch. I just sort of backed my head away from his hand. Couldn't have people covering up the "Don't touch me" sign I liked to keep scribbled across my forehead.
…That's a metaphor.
"Your fever's way up." He looked seriously disappointed.
"Your hand's probably just cold."
He raised an eyebrow. "Trust me. Your fever's way up. Come on. Wishbone's on now." I…found I really couldn't argue with that.
Ben
I'd been in the back loading boxes with food when Paul came in grinning. "Gates, your kid's in the foyer," he announced, grabbing an empty box from the shelf. "Trying to 'help,' bless his heart."
I shook my head. Crazy kid. "He wasn't outside was he?"
"He was headed there when I found him."
"You make him stop?"
"Of course."
"How?"
"Vague threats of bodily harm."
I chuckled. Paul's got one of those personalities of someone you'd expect to see dressed as a Santa Claus and ringing a bell. Which is totally contrasted by the fact that he's a former Marine and built like a tank. When he tells you to do something, you do it. And then he'll probably hug you. "Thanks."
"Yeah. He's looking pretty beat. Probably didn't help that the bottom of his box broke and he dropped a load of cans in front of the entire world."
I winced. "Ouch." Didn't make me feel better that I'd been the one taping up boxes. "I'm going to go get him."
"You're due for a break, anyway. You weren't even supposed to be here all day." He shot me a look like he knew what I was doing. But he always thinks he knows what everybody's doing. The fact that he's usually right is completely immaterial to my point.
"All right. I'll be back in a few."
"Take your time. We're fine here."
"You always make me feel needed, Paul," I tossed over my shoulder as I left the room. I was a little miffed. Why in the world would Riley think it would be okay for him to haul boxes around? For most people the word "pneumonia" would be all the excuse they need to retreat to their bed for a few days. Not Riley. Riley needed to be useful. It seemed to be as simple as that. It was just whatever the reasons were behind it that seemed to be so frustratingly complex.
I spotted the back of his head. He was slouched in a metal chair talking to a little girl. I was about to interrupt, but then I caught a piece of their conversation, and I froze, the lecture I'd been silently planning forgotten. I stood there, listening, hearing the raw wistfulness in his voice and found myself having to take a series of deep breaths. I guess I'd known he didn't have parents. It was painfully obvious once you sat down and talked with him for awhile. But to hear him talk about them…to hear the grief so clear in his voice…it somehow made it more real, more painful.
After the little girl left, it took me a minute to be absolutely sure I could talk to him without my voice sounding strange or rough. I was relatively certain he'd be mortified if he knew I'd heard what I'd just heard. So I just nudged him and convinced him to come watch Wishbone with me.
It was that one where the dog did Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. I was sitting on the left side of the couch; he was sprawled out on the other. I went through the checklist on commercials.
"How's your hand?"
"Fine."
"Your eye?"
"Fine."
"Your various other bruises I'm not supposed to know about?"
"Fine."
"Your lungs?"
"You know, if you could grab me a Sharpie and a poster board, I'll make a sign I can hold up. It would probably save us both some time."
"Here, take this pill."
"Mm'kay."
And that's more or less how the checklist went. The show was entertaining enough as far as children's shows go, but it did what it was supposed to and kept him quiet long enough for his eyelids to start to droop. The fact that I leaned over and mentioned in detail certain historical facts about the places and time period in the book may have had something to do with that. And yes, sometimes I do, in fact, do it on purpose.
As the show ended, I switched off the TV set and waited for him to fall asleep. His head was lying on the armrest of the sofa, his feet next to me. Just when I thought it was safe and started to stand, he spoke up, "You know, that story doesn't make much sense."
I sat. "How so?"
"Well, if you were toying with the idea of bringing something to life, why would you make a scary monster? Wouldn't you just work your magic on someone you'd known? You know, someone you liked?"
I raised my eyebrows. "That's a good point. I suppose…Mary Shelley didn't think that story would've been as exciting."
"I think it would be. Bringing somebody you love back to life would be way more exciting than reading your way through a whole book just to find out everybody dies." He waited a beat, then shrugged. "I read the book in high school. I was disappointed. I just figured, if I could bring somebody to life, I wouldn't put together someone new. I'd pick someone I already knew I liked."
I really wanted to ask him about his parents then. I really did. But it didn't feel right. Maybe someday he'd tell me. I hoped so. But this wasn't something I was going to pry out of him. I wouldn't let him think it was about satisfying my curiosity or something. "I think you're right," I concluded. "That would've made a way better story."
He nodded and was once again silent just long enough for me to think he'd gone to sleep. I'd half-risen out of my seat when he spoke again. "Where's Melanie? Did she go home?"
I sat back down and grinned. That was a surprise for later. At least, I hoped it was. "Nope. She's off on a mission."
Strangely enough, that seemed to satisfy him. Though he did sound really tired. "I gave away the PEZ dispenser she gave me."
"I don't think she'll mind."
"She's really nice."
"Yes, she is."
"What time are we going back to school?"
"Later."
A sigh and a half-hearted eye-roll. "Fine."
"Take a nap," I finally ordered.
"I'm trying," he nearly whined. "You keep talking to me."
I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes, resisting the sudden, overwhelming urge to smack him upside the head. I settled for grabbing the blanket off the floor and throwing it over his head. "You know me. I'm a talker. I'll bring you dinner later, okay? Any preferences?"
"Not hungry. Thanks, though," came the reply, muffled under the blanket.
"I'll pick you up a Happy Meal. I think they've got those Ty beanie things again."
"You're funny."
"That's true." I stood so he could stretch his legs out. I went and gathered the trash from lunch, stuffing the Styrofoam bowls and sandwich wrappers in the Lion's Choice bag.
"Hey, Ben?"
That got my attention. I was still mostly "You" or "Man." He seemed to only call me Ben when he was really tired or really…happy. I didn't want to miss either, so I turned around. "Yes, Riley?"
He pulled the blanket down so I could see his face, but his eyes weren't on mine. "Do you…need something?"
My eyebrows went up. "What do you mean?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly seemed to change his mind. "I…nothing. Nothing. Chicken McNuggets."
"What?"
"In my Happy Meal. Chicken McNuggets." He bit his lip, his eyes on his hand that was picking an imaginary something off the couch. "Please."
I smiled slightly, knitting my brow in confusion. "You got it." I chalked the "Ben" moment up to him being tired. "Go to sleep."
"I'm going," he muttered. I watched his eyes close and pretended to putter around cleaning stuff until I was sure he was asleep. Then I dumped the food bag in the trash and headed up the stairs. I couldn't help but run his question around in my mind, though. What did he think I needed?
NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT
It was half past nine when Melanie finally showed up. I was helping clean up. Riley was with Paul cleaning up the coffee station while Paul explained the difference between a regular pushup and a Marine pushup.
She came in smiling, giving me a thumbs up. "You got it?" I asked.
"I got it! Where is he?"
"Shh. He's over there."
She grinned and lowered her voice. "Took me a few hours, but I found it." We both looked over to see Riley staring at us, looking perplexed. Melanie giggled. "How hard is he going to freak?"
"Um…hard?"
"Yeah. How'd he do today?"
"Tried to help. Sharon said she saw him outside."
Her eyes bugged out a bit, and she konked herself on the head in a what-was-he-thinking? gesture. "Why would he do that?"
"I couldn't tell you. I guess he needed to feel useful."
Her eyes drifted back over to Riley, who was watching Paul down on the floor demonstrating his pushups. Riley lifted his eyes to look at us with a helpless expression and sort of shrugged. Melanie smiled softly. "He really doesn't know why we brought him here," she said quietly. "You get that, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah." His earlier question suddenly came to mind. Do you…need something? I froze for a moment as it hit me. I think I understood then. He was still waiting. Still waiting for me to come out and tell him why I was doing what I was doing. Because it had to be that I needed something from him. But then he'd shut down. Like he almost didn't want to know. Because…once I'd asked him for whatever it was I needed…I wouldn't…need him anymore? Oh my. I hoped I was wrong, but it struck me then that Riley was beyond caring that I was using him. He wanted somebody that badly. In that moment, it seemed excruciatingly clear. He seriously didn't think I had any interest in being his friend. I wondered if the thought had even occurred to him. "Yeah," I said softly.
Melanie looked concerned. Apparently she'd caught my zone-out. "Are you okay?"
"Mm-hm." I turned toward the snack table. Paul was currently showing the kid the proper technique for boxing. Marine-style. Yeesh.
"And I want you to keep you fists up like this. All right? Good. Tuck your elbows in. Okay, and when you swing, I want you to swing from the shoulder and keep your wrist stiff. Follow all the way through. Like that. Yeah. Good job, kid. And you're going to aim for right here. You break a guy's nose right off the bat, he's probably going to respect you."
"Or at least have a harder time finding me to kill me?"
"Exactly."
"Hey, Paul," I called. They both looked up. "I think we're done here for the night. Ready to lock up?"
"Ready. Thanks for all your help today, Ben. Riley, it was good to meet you." When Riley stuck his hand out to shake, the guy surprised him by pulling him into a Paul-style bear hug.
When he let him go, Riley wobbled a bit and offered an uncertain smile. "Right. Um. Semper fi." I was about eighty-five percent sure the kid had no idea what that meant.
We waved goodbye and headed out to the parking lot. Melanie playfully slipped Riley's hood up over his head. We dropped her off at her car. She hugged Riley. "It was so good to meet you, Riley. I hope you feel better soon."
All three of us said, "I feel fine," at the same time, which made Riley's cheeks turn the kind of red that had nothing to do with a fever. "But thanks," he finished.
Then she turned to me. "Today was good, friend."
"It was. And I owe you."
"Just get a picture of his face."
I grinned. "You got it." She hugged me, too. Over her head, I mouthed to Riley, "Open her door." Ever the bright one, he quickly obeyed, opening Mel's car door for her. She turned around.
"What a gentleman. You boys have a good night."
"Bye."
"See you, Mel."
As we walked back to my car, Riley said, "So you and her broke up?"
"Mmhm."
"Yeah. I think she's really great, but she's not right for you. Like…guy/girl-wise."
I glanced at him, amused. "Really? And what makes you think that?"
"I asked her if she could name all the first ladies," he said logically. "She said she couldn't. I figure whoever you end up with will know that kind of stuff."
I grinned. "Well, next time I'm thinking about dating someone, I'll let you screen her first and tell me these things beforehand."
He gave me a look. "That's a joke, right?"
"Almost."
He sighed. "I swear half the time I have no idea what you're talking about."
"We'll work on that, later."
We slid into my old Toyota, and I started the engine. He was turned toward the window, suddenly still and quiet. We drove a couple miles in silence before I couldn't take it anymore. Time to implement the plan. I yawned loudly. "Listen, I'm pretty tired. Would you hate it totally if I didn't drive you back tonight?"
He sort of did this double take. "Wh…ah, no. The buses don't run this late, do they?"
"No." Well, I didn't think they did.
"Oh. So…"
"So it would mean another night on my couch. Can you handle another night on the couch? It would help me out…"
"Yeah. It's fine. Doesn't really matter to me either way."
I smiled at the road, not missing the way his voice sort of perked up. "Thanks," I told him.
"Sure."
I glanced over in time to catch a tiny grin before his face morphed back into its apathetic mask. "What'd you get in your Happy Meal?" I asked.
He pulled the little animal out of his pocket and shot me a look as he read the tag. "Schweetheart the Orangutan."
Riley
As I walked through the door to his apartment, I knew I was being kind of an idiot. The more time I spent with the guy, the more it was going to bug me when he didn't want to be around anymore. But…man. It was like he noticed everything. Like, every time I coughed or winced or moved wrong, he was like, "Hey, are you okay?" No matter how many times I told him I was fine, he still noticed when I wasn't. And…it was kinda…nice. I guess. It wasn't something I was used to. I probably would've felt better if I hadn't totally chickened out when I was about to ask him what it was he wanted. I had my ideas. He probably needed a tech guy for an event or a website designer or maybe someone to run tracking models or computer simulations for his infamous treasure hunt, and I totally fit the profile. But geeze, all he had to do was ask. I already knew I'd say yes. But as soon as he finally came out and asked me and I said yes, there'd pretty much be no reason for him to…I don't know. To keep noticing stuff. So I guess I was…putting it off a little. Which I really didn't want to think about.
But instead of being smart and cutting it off quick before I could let myself get hurt, no, I was like, "Sure, I'll hang out. No problem." And I ended up back at his place, walking through his door, and…totally being blown away.
On the couch, there was a guitar case. No way. No freaking way. That was my case! "What…Oh my gosh!" There was a flash of light and a click. I looked up, and he was staring at the display of a digital camera.
He shrugged. "I promised Melanie."
"Is that mine?"
He was smiling. "Yep."
"Wh…how did you…"
"It was Melanie. I told her about it. She managed to track it down."
"How?"
"She's a journalist. It's what she does."
A girlfriend who's a reporter. Geeze, the guy really was Superman. I went over to the couch and opened the case. My bass. I'd saved forever to buy it. Really didn't figure on seeing it again. I ran my fingers over the smooth finish. Geeze, I could hardly talk. "You…win," I said. "At life. You pretty much just win. Seriously." I could feel the ridiculously huge grin splitting my face in two, but it was so…he got me my bass back!
"Thanks," he said. He was grinning about as much as I was, which I didn't get, but who cares, 'cause the guy seriously made a point of getting my guitar back.
"No. Thank you. Seriously, Ben, this is…" I tried to remember the last time I'd finished a whole sentence. I knew I was babbling a little, but I still didn't really care. I slid my case off the couch and set it on the floor by the wall, leaving it open so I could see my guitar was there and safe and not lost forever. I grinned up at him. "Thank you times, like, a billion."
"It was really Melanie. She's the one who found it."
"Where?"
"Your friend Josh. He picked it up on his way back to your dorm. Wanted to know where you disappeared to. Said you looked like crap."
Had to thank that guy later. And Melanie. I was going to, like, design a website or something dedicated completely to testifying exactly how cool she was for doing what she did.
"Oh, and she picked these up for you, too." He held up a familiar bottle of pills. My prescription. A thought suddenly dawned on me.
"Wait…so Melanie was at school today."
"Yep." He was already in the kitchen filling a glass with water.
"So…why didn't I just get a ride with her?"
"Huh," he said as he tipped a couple of pills into his hand. He brought them and the water over and handed them to me with a grin. "Wonder why we didn't think of that."
I watched kind of in awe as he disappeared into his bedroom and appeared a second later with a pair of sweats that he threw at me. "If you want to put your clothes in the wash," he said by way of explanation as he sat on the couch.
I shook my head. Then I slowly went into the bedroom and changed, throwing my stuff in the wash. When I was done, I went into the family room and sat next to him on the couch. He handed me the remote as he picked up a book from the coffee table, slipping a pair of reading glasses up on his nose. He didn't really look that tired. I switched on the TV and sat for a minute, chewing the inside of my lip and not really seeing whatever was on. I think it was the news.
"Ben?"
His eyes were immediately on mine. "Yep?"
I seriously have no idea what your deal is, but right now I don't care because no one but my parents has ever done anything close to this much for me, and there's probably no way I'll ever be able to repay you, and I don't get why you seem to be so okay with that. "Thanks."
He grinned and kinda punctuated each word when he said, "You are welcome."
A/N: Currently humming "I'll Be Home for Christmas" for a friend who made it home today. Merry Christmas!
