I sat on my stiff narrow twin bed, over my worn blue blanket.
Meanwhile, Nick walked around my room, touching my belongings. Every object, trinket, or book, his long fingers grazed, I loved a little more. Minutes ago, we’d crept into the dark apartment and down the stairs without waking my mother. Nick was being quiet, almost contemplative. He went around my bedroom as though he was visiting a historical monument.
There wasn’t much to see here. A bed. A bookcase filled with books. My desk, the one my father had found after they’d renovated the school five years ago and left some furniture at the side of the road. It was meant for an elementary student and when I sat at it, I always felt like a giant. Someone had scratched Mr. Langelier eats his buggers into the old wooden top.
The Aquav
