So, instead, I painted a still life portrait of a bowl of fruit. After what seemed like a decade of aimless tangents and never-ending rants, the school day came to a close. When I finally made it home, I stared at the clock, counting down the minutes until Elliot arrived. As I waited, I couldn’t shake the feeling thattonight would be different from any other tutoring session we’d ever had.
And the anticipation was killing me.
I didn’t know what to do with myself. Eventually, I grew tired of watching the clock and decided to sift through an old box of books from the attic. It had been a while since I had donated any books to the local Summerville Library, and now seemed as good a time as any. Dust wafted through the room as I unpacked each novel. My lungs expelled the contaminated particles back into the air while I sorted the books into two piles—keep and donate. As I thumbed through the stack, I stumbled upon a book I hadn’t thought about in a long time:The Intelligence Trapby David Robson. My sister bought it for me after I made the horrible mistake of accidentally submitting an essay titled “The Rise and Fall of JFK” for our Black History Month assignment instead of the essay on Thurgood Marshall. The teacher refused to let me resubmit. I stayed in my room for a solid week straight, mortified at my own stupidity. I brushed off some of the dust that had settled on the jacket cover with my hands. Reading this book helped me realize that even smart people have dumb moments. Words can hold so much power, but even more so when those words paralleled with one’s own personal story. I moved it to the ‘keep’ pile and pulled out the next:The Catcher in the Ryeby J.D. Salinger. I smiled as I held the book in my hands.
An idea came to mind just as the ding of the doorbell rang out. Hopping off the floor, I raced down the stairs and greeted Elliot.
“Hey.” He waved with his elbow propped on the doorframe, backpack slung over his shoulder.
I grinned with a smug look on my face. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“The whole model thing you always got going on?”
“Model thing?”
“That pose.” I motioned at him with my hands.
“Only when it feels necessary.”
I shook my head at him and waved him inside.
Two steps into the foyer, Elliot stopped dead in his tracks as Cleo strutted up right next to him and sprawled out on the floor, stretching her legs.
“Uh, are you afraid of cats?”
“No!” he exclaimed defensively. “I’m…no. Why would I be afraid of a tiny cat?”
I huffed out a sigh and tugged at his arm, forcing his feet to move.
“I have something to show you.”
“Uh, okay?”
I pulled him into the library and instructed him to stay there as I quickly dashed out of the room, returning only a few minutes later. To my surprise, while I was gone, Elliot had arranged a few textbooks along with a printed version of the study guide Mrs. Hawthorne had given us. I temporarily shrugged off his sudden fascination with AP Lit as I held my hands behind my back.
“What’s behind your back? It’s not a weapon, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a gift. For you.”
“A gift? Why?”
“Just ‘cause. Think of it as an early Christmas present.”
“But, I didn’t get you anything.”
“Just shut up and close your eyes, Abercrombie.”
He let out a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut as I placed the book into his hands. When he opened his eyes, his face contorted in disbelief as he stared down at his palms.
“A book?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my forearm awkwardly. “It’s about this kid who gets expelled and tries to figure out his place in the world while protecting his sister. It just reminds me of you a little.”
“Oh.”
I bit my lip, the heat rising to my face. Reaching for the book, my fingertips grazed the cover as I spoke.
