So Much Closer (14 page)

“There’s Danny!” Sadie yells. “I love that kid.” She points to a boy about our age who’s just tacked himself to the cluster of guitar players. Danny doesn’t look as comfortable with his guitar as they do.

I lean over Scott’s lap. “Who is he?” I ask Sadie.

“We met last time I was here. He was just learning guitar and that was, like, right before summer. I can’t believe how good he is already.”

We all watch Danny. He drops his pick.

“Is this a love connection?” John wonders.

“What? No! He has a girlfriend. Anyway, he’s not my type.” Sadie throws me a sidelong glance.

I wish I could drag her into Rite Aid, shove her in front of Carlos, and force her to ask him out. As if I can talk. Here I am pressing up against Scott and whispering in his ear and he doesn’t even know how I feel about him. I’m even more frustrating than she is. But only until I get Scott alone later.

When we leave, I strategize a way for me and Scott to walk home together.

“You guys going home?” I ask on our way to the subway.

“Unfortunately,” Sadie says, “I still have to deal with calc. Can you believe our homework?”

I finished that homework really quickly. So I just make a face like,
Could Ms. Jacobs
be
any more of a sadist?

John pokes my arm. “It’s a nice night for the High Line,” he says. “Wanna go?”

I peek at Scott. I hope he didn’t notice John poking me.

“Um ...”

“No pressure, it’s just that I’m going anyway—I mean, duh, I live there, but I’m staying out for a while.”

“I would, but Sadie’s right about our homework. It’s impossible.”

Both John and Sadie give me looks.

“What?” I go. “It is.” That was stupid. I’m sure they know by now that I never think homework is impossible.

“Your loss,” John taunts. “Let the record show that you are severely missing out.”

On the subway ride downtown, I’m only half listening to the conversation, which is mostly between Sadie and John. Scott’s been kind of quiet all night. I’m trembling with anticipation over my perfectly executed escape from all of us walking the same way when we get to our stop. John even gets out early at 23rd Street instead of 14th Street. After he steps off the train he tilts back in, blocking the doorway.

“Last chance!” he yells.

Out of everyone in the subway car who just heard John yell, only one person looks over.

“Rain check,” I tell him.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The closing-door signal dings. John flings himself away before the doors can crush him.

The walk to Scott’s is a blur. I’m still trembling. I’m so nervous about what I’m going to say and how I’m going to say it. My mouth is all dry. I knew I should have gotten some water when we were leaving the park.

“Are you cold?” Scott asks.

“No, I’m okay.” I could branch off and walk home a shorter way, but I told Scott I felt like walking some more.

When we get to his building, I have no idea how I’ll even begin explaining myself.

“So ... that was cool,” I say. “Did you like it?”

“I really did. Sorry if I seemed out of it.”

“No, you weren’t ...”

We’re just hovering there on his stoop with Scott standing a step above me and me leaning against the railing. I try to picture us as if this were a scene from a movie, one where the perfect romantic ending is just about to be filmed. This is the part where the girl tells the boy she’s in love with him and the boy says something like, “What took you so long?” And then they have their first kiss, the one you’ve been waiting for the whole time, and it’s just as perfect as you hoped it would be.

I take a breath to let the scene begin.

“It’s just that ... we have some issues,” Scott goes. “Family stuff. Something happened right before I met up with you guys.”

“Oh.”

“It’s my brother. Ross. He’s ... an alcoholic.”

Holy crap. Is Scott Abrams actually telling me this?

“He’s away at college. Or he was. He dropped out. Stopped going to class, that sort of thing. He tries to hold down random jobs, but he always loses them. Goes on these heavy benders. Stops showing up.” Scott scuffs his shoe against the stair. “Then he calls my mom for money. She used to send him some, but now my dad is done. He totally cut Ross off, told him not to call us anymore.”

“That’s ... oh my god.”

“None of us knows what to do. Ross won’t go to rehab. He’s never lasted more than a few weeks in AA. I’m the only one who still talks to him. I don’t want to, I just ... feel like I have to. You know?”

I nod.

“So that’s how I know what’s going on with him. He just lost another job.”

“Is that why you get ... like, sometimes you get kind of sad and quiet at school. Is that why?”

“Yeah. I can’t really deal with anything after I talk to him.” Scott rakes his fingers through his hair, looking down the street. “Okay, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. You must be like—”

“No! Are you kidding? I’m the one who asked you what was wrong, remember?”

“Thanks for listening and ... everything. I’ve never told anyone about Ross. I guess I really needed to vent.”

“Totally. You can vent to me anytime.”

He smiles sadly. “I know I can trust you with this.”

“Everything stays between us.”

We sit in silence on his stoop, watching people go by and lights blinking on behind windows. I think we both feel like it would seem weird for me to walk away after everything he said. So I sit next to him, letting him know I’ll always be there for him, without having to say a word.

It’s getting cold.
I knew I should have put a scarf in my bag before I left for school this morning. That’s what Sadie would have done. She always says how I should check the forecast every morning, but I really can’t be bothered.

“So how’d your homework go?” John says.

“Hm?” I take a few books and a notebook out of my bag, stacking them on the big lounge bench we always try to get whenever we come out to the High Line. I might have a cardigan shoved in here somewhere.

“That calc homework you had to do instead of hanging out with me?”

“I finished it.”

“I’m sure you did.”

There’s no cardigan anywhere in my bag. It’s freaking cold.

Note to self: always bring a cardigan.

“Did you get your trig test back?” I ask.

“We were supposed to, but Richards still hasn’t graded them. You are so lucky you don’t have to deal with remedial mathematics.”

“Oh, it’s bad all over. Trust me.”

“Why do you hate school so much?”

Even though my hatred for school isn’t exactly a secret, no one’s ever asked me where it came from before. It’s always just been a given because everyone else hates school, too.

“Doesn’t everybody?” I go.

“Pretty much, but that’s because they struggle with it. You don’t.”

“We all do.”

“Not you. Seriously, has any class ever been hard for you?”

I rub my arms, trying to generate some heat. “Where’s all this coming from?”

John looks at me. He looks at me for so long that I start to get uncomfortable.

“Nowhere,” he says. “Forget it.”

“Do you have a problem with me tutoring you because I don’t get better grades?”

“Hardly. You’re the first tutor I’ve had where I feel like I’m actually getting the help I need. And if anyone’s had way too many tutors, it’s me. Do you know how lucky I am that I found you?”

Old Me would have played it off like what he just said was nothing. But New Me thinks what John said is sweet.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

We work for a while so I can tell Mr. Peterson that we’re not slacking when we’re out here. I want to find a way to explain John’s homework so he really understands it. Sometimes he says he gets it, but then he forgets everything at home.

John always asks a million questions. At first, this was extremely annoying. But now I admire him. He’s so motivated. Despite his problems concentrating and how hard writing is for him, he never gives up. His career goal is so important to him that nothing can stand in his way.

“You’re going to be a really good social worker,” I say.

John looks up from his worksheet. He smiles at me. I smile back, shivering.

“Here,” he says. He takes off his black hoodie and gives it to me. “Put this on.” He’s wearing a plain gray T-shirt over a white thermal. I didn’t know he had any plain T-shirts.

“Won’t you be cold?”

“Dude. I live right over there. If I’m cold, I’ll just go get another one.”

He’s not kidding. John has an extensive hoodie collection.

I put the hoodie on. It’s really soft inside.

“Better?” John asks.

“Much.”

“Can you believe we’ve been here, like, five times and we’ve never noticed the best water tower?”

“I noticed it. I told you last time. Or the time before that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Remember how you were all, ‘The fat water tower rules!’ and I kept arguing that the skinny one was better?”

“And then you agreed with me about the fat one? Yeah, I remember.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Oh, I think you did.”

“Well, you’re thinking wrong.”

“Way to be a supportive tutor. How much are they paying you again?”

“Hilarious.”

“Seriously, though. Look up.”

If I don’t look up, John will keep yammering about this forever. I look up. “What, that little one? He’s cute, but kind of average.”

“Not him.” John leans over behind me and points so I can see exactly where he means. “Him.” He appears to be pointing at a massive water tower, all hunkered down overlooking the river.

“That’s an old one.” It’s this ancient, dark metal thing. It looks like a shadow of itself.

“Wait for it,” John says.

“For what?”

“It.”

A few minutes later, the sun slips behind the water tower. The effect is like a total solar eclipse, with the water tower blocking the sun. Light radiates outward in rays of bright red and orange.

“Whoa.”

“Thanks, I arranged that myself.”

“How did you know that was going to happen?”

“When you’ve spent as much time looking out your window as I have, you notice everything.” John checks his watch. “Four thirty-seven. Right on time for October tenth.”

The things John puts up with at school must be seriously hard to handle. I know how harsh kids can be around someone they think is “slow.” I’ve heard the comments in class when teachers call on a kid who never gets it. And we’ve all seen kids who are different being tormented. John’s never said anything to me, but I can tell he endures way more than he reveals. It bothers me that people judge him. But what I hate the most is that I used to be one of them. I saw the way he struggled to do even the easiest worksheets and I assumed he wasn’t smart. But that’s so not true. John is smarter than most people I know.

“We can get up there,” John says, “if you want.”

“Where?”

“That roof. Then you could see the water tower up close. It’s amazing—it even has a ladder you can climb up.”

“I love rooftops.”

“Of course you do. So ... you ready?”

We go. John navigates the way down some zigzag streets, pointing out polished wooden garage doors that used to be stable entrances and buildings that once had fallout shelters. Then he says, “This is it.”

This can’t be it. I was expecting some run-down tenement with an unlocked back door we could sneak in. The building we’re in front of is totally renovated. It’s all glass and wood with a fancy lobby and doorman. There’s no way they’ll let us in.

John rings one of the doorbells, waving to the doorman. The doorman waves back.

“You know the doorman?” I ask.

“I have connections.”

Someone who’s not the doorman comes out. He’s an older guy wearing a brown work shirt and jeans. A ratty blue cloth is sticking out of his back pocket. There’s a huge ring of keys clamped to his belt loop.

“How’s it going, John?” he says.

“It’s all good. Elias, this is Brooke. Brooke, this is my friend Elias.”

“Hi,” I say.

“Nice to meet you,” Elias says, holding the door open for us. Then he puts us in the elevator. We’re allowed to take it up to the roof.

“How do you know Elias?”

“He used to be our super. I think this is a better gig for him. He gets his own apartment here, rent free.”

One cool thing about John is that his friends are mostly older people from around the neighborhood. It took me a while to figure out who his friends were because I usually don’t see him with anyone at school. I think having grownups for friends gives you this worldly aura. When we have tutoring, John usually tells me about some fascinating thing one of his friends did. I really look forward to his stories.

The roof is beyond incredible. I can’t even believe it. There are enormous trees up here. And tables and chairs and flowers and even sections of grass designed to look like an upscale yard or something. But this is way better than a yard. From up here, you can see everything. Streetlights and sidewalks and people and tons of other buildings. I could stay up here forever watching the city breathe below us, watching night turn into day and back into night again.

“This is amazing,” I gape.

“Thank you, thank you, no autographs, please.” John grabs my hand. “Come here.”

We go over to the edge of the roof, which is bordered by a cement wall. The wall is the perfect height to lean against without feeling like you’re going to fall over. So I lean against it, looking down at the streets. Distant traffic noises float up. I look out over the river to the place I’m from, feeling this nostalgic tug. Not that I want to move back or anything. It’s just that part of me will always be there.