اولی میگوید

OLLY SAYS

HE’S NOT ON the wall when I see him again the next day. Instead he’s in what I’ve begun to think of as his resting position: bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hi,” I say from the door, waiting for my stomach to complete its crazy Olly dance.

“Hey yourself.” His voice is low and a little rough, sleep deprived.

“Thanks for chatting last night,” he says, eyes tracking me all the way to the couch.

“Anytime.” My own voice is husky and low as well. He looks paler than usual today and his shoulders are slumped forward a little, but still he’s moving.

“Sometimes I wish I could just disappear and leave them,” he confesses, ashamed.

I want to say something, not just something, but the perfect thing to comfort him, to make him forget his family for a few minutes, but I can’t think of it. This is why people touch. Sometimes words are just not enough.

Our eyes meet and, since I can’t hug him, I wrap my arms around my own waist, holding on tight.

His eyes drift across my face as if he’s trying to remember something. “Why do I feel like I’ve always known you?” he asks.

I don’t know but I feel it, too. He stops moving, having come to whatever decision he needed to.

He says your world can change in a single moment.

He says no one is innocent, except maybe you, Madeline Whittier.

He says that his dad wasn’t always this way.