I felt so bad for the kid. “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he’s just waiting until it’s safe.”
“Right,” Noah said. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks.” I was starting to stand up when he said, “But couldn’t he have sent an email?
They can’t trace that stuff if you just use public Wi-Fi. Couldn’t he have texted us from a phone he picked up somewhere?”
“Maybe he’s scared,” I said. I was trying to help, but maybe there was no helping.
“Will you keep looking, though?” “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, sure, Noah.”
He reached over to pick up his video game controller, my sign to go back downstairs.
Davis had paused the movie in the midst of a starfighter battle,
and the bright light from a suspended explosion was reflected in his glasses as he turned to me.
I sat down next to him, and he asked, “You all right?” “I’m really sorry,” I said.
“Is there something I should do differen—” “No, it has nothing to do with you. It’s just, like, I just . . I can’t talk about it right now.”
My head was spinning, and I was trying to keep my mouth turned away from him so he wouldn’t smell the hand sanitizer on my breath.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I like us. I like that we’ve got our own way of doing things.”
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