Page 107

“Oh,” Wendy says, like this isn’t even a surprise. “Tink.”

“It’s—hey, what?” I frown. “How did you⁠—”

“Oh, come on, Fox,” Wendy says with a laugh. “She’s, like, the only girl you spend time with, and I know you like her, at least like a friend. Plus, there was that whole time I saw you kissing in the garage⁠—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, waving my hands to cut her off. I look around the library on the off chance that anyone we know might be lurking around the children’s section of the worst library in all of London Valley. “Yeah, it’s Tink. Congratulations for guessing.”

I stare down at the fuzzy, big-eyed raccoon on the magazine.

“Well, Tink’s great,” Wendy says. “What’s the problem, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully, tucking my arms between my legs. “I guess I don’t know how to tell her, and I’m not sure if I should.” I look up. “I don’t know. I’m not the best with words and, like, sounding cool or whatever. I feel like I’d just embarrass myself.”

Wendy nods, thinking. “Maybe you could write her a letter,” she says. “I mean, not like a big mushy love letter or something, but just, you know.” She shrugs. “Might be easier than saying it in front of her.”

“Yeah.” I can hear how wooden my voice goes. “Yeah, I⁠—”

My eyes fall back on the table, like I’m trying to laser through the baby animal magazine. Suddenly my throat is all thick, and it hurts to swallow. And when I blink, there’s water at the corner of my eyes.

“Fox?” I hear Wendy’s voice, gentle and almost a little worried.

“Yeah,” I say, and give a cough. I gulp and look up. “No, it’s a good idea. It’s just…I can’t.” I breathe out hard and look away, then look back. “I can’t write her a letter, Wendy,” I say softly. “I can’t write anything, really. Besides, like, my name. Or read. I mean, I get by, but…” My throat hitches. “Fuck. Shit,” I add, because I shouldn’t be swearing in front of a kid, or probably in a library, for that matter. I cough, drag my fingers across my eyelids and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Shoot.”

“Oh.” Wendy’s tone is strangely calm. She’s not laughing at me, even, or really reacting at all.

I open my eyes, and when I do, it’s just Wendy and the painted wall animals and her big stack of books, and she’s looking at me not with pity or like she’s embarrassed for me, but almost like…like this is barely even a problem. Like I just admitted to having my shoe untied, or losing my house key, or something.

“That’s all?” she says.

The hell do you mean, that’s all? I think. But more bewildered than mad. “Uh, yeah,” I say. “That’s all.”

“Okay.” Wendy shrugs. “So I’ll teach you. I mean, I taught myself to read.” She pats her stack of books. “And look at me now.”

“No kidding,” I say. “Honestly, you probably read more books than anyone I know, or maybe anyone I’ve ever met.”

Wendy looks proud. “I know,” she says. “Next year, I think there’s going to be a summer reading program here, and if I do all the books on time, the librarian said I could—” She cuts herself off abruptly. “Um. But that’s—never mind. Anyway, yeah, I could do that. We can do that,” she amends.

Damn. This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to do for me. Ever.

“You don’t think it’s, like, kinda shameful?” I say after a minute. “I mean, I’m twenty-four years old.”

Wendy pauses, chewing her lip. “No, not really. It’s not like you’re hurting anybody or doing something, you know, bad. That’s shameful. This is just…not knowing how to do something. Like, remember how I didn’t know how to ride the bike until you showed me?”

“Sure,” I say, “but that’s different.”

“I don’t really think it is,” Wendy says pointedly. She tilts her head at me. “So does that make you feel less depressed?”

“Uh…” I think about it. Really think about it. “Not exactly,” I say. “I mean, it definitely helps. Especially, you know, that you said you’d help me, but…”

God, how do I put this in a way that she can understand? Or no, Wendy understands everything. She’s, like, smarter than I am, as she just pointed out. It’s more, how do I not make her understand it too well?

I blow out a breath.

“Well, there’s three other guys in the house, right?”

Wendy nods. “Sure. And me and Nana.”

I laugh a little. “Right. But for purposes of this, three guys. So you know, what if—” I suck in some air and then let all the words come out in a big pile like Jenga bricks. “What if she doesn’t like me because likes another one of us better, or maybe likes me but doesn’t like the idea of picking just one of us because it’ll make someone else feel bad, or…or…yeah,” I finish lamely. “That.”