Boston Public Garden isn’t too far from my house, but then again, nothing in the Boston metro-area is. Everything seems to be highly walkable, which is a nice change from the vastness of Stockbridge.
The park is nestled on the edge of the Charles River, but on the opposite side from my house. As I walk to the entrance, I’m awed by the garden, basked in a glow of soft, afternoon light and surrounding a glittering pond topped with ducks. The colorful green, orange, and yellow trees sprinkled throughout the grass sway in the crisp wind.
I look around, trying to determine if it would be best to sit at one of the picnic tables to rehearse or find a spot under a tree when I hear my name.
“Over here, Dot.”
I follow the voice and spot Zayne sitting on the grass by the shallow pond at the center of the park.
“Great,” I mutter. “Of course, he would get here before Carlton.” I’d been secretly hoping Zayne would arrive last so I’d have a moment to talk to Carlton alone, but that’s out of the question now.
“Hey.” I set my bag down beside him and take a seat on the blanket he’s provided, sprawled out beneath us. “You made it.”
“No need to sound so excited.” The corner of his mouth lifts.
I toss my braids. “Yeah, well, it’s not like homework is exciting.”
“Homework?” The way he says it makes it sound stupid. “You know, for some of us, running lines is fun.”
I take my script out of my bag. There’s no way I’m going to tell him how fun it’s becoming for me, too. Admitting it would feel like straying from the plan my parents are working so hard to help me accomplish.
“Not for me,” I lie, and then add a small truth to my statement. “So far, this play has done nothing but cause me trouble.” I flip through the pages, pretending to read, when really I’m just trying not to retreat back into despair. I need to stay positive. This outingwillsomehow be my ticket to winning a spot back into Carlton’s good graces. After all, this was for him. I’m doing all this—the play, rehearsal, and being mean to Zayne—for him. I am.
“Cake?”
I blink away my thoughts. “Excuse me?”
“Do you want some cake?” Zayne holds out a slice of baked goodness wrapped in paper.
I take it gingerly and peel back the parchment paper, salivating as soon as I smell it.
Strawberry.
My favorite.
I hold the base of it by the plastic and take a bite. Zayne studies me, his head tilted sideways. “Why didn’t you and your boyfriend come together?”
“Again, he’s not my boyfriend,” I say around a mouthful. “And he had to run an errand first, so he told me to meet him here.”
“Anerrand?” He grins, like the concept is ridiculous. “What is he, forty? What kind of errand?”
Irritation bites me like a bug. “I don’t know. An errand. What does it matter?”
He shrugs and looks away. I watch him while he’s not looking, study the sharp angles of his face, the fullness of his smooth lips. The graceful way his dreads fall around his forehead.
He glances at me and my gaze jumps back to my cake. I scramble for a way to fill the silence that begins to stretch out. “This is delicious, by the way.”
“Thanks.” He half-grins. “It’s from my family’s restaurant. My grandma, Mimi does all the cooking, and Mom does everything else.”
“Do you like working there?”
“No. I really don’t. And once I get into Underwood Academy, I’ll get to move out and never work there again. Lenny on the other hand is stuck till he’s a senior.”
“How old is Lenny exactly?” It’s something I’ve been wondering since I met him.
“He’s fourteen. Young for a sophomore, I know. He skipped first grade around the same time my mom realized he was on the spectrum.”
“Oh.” I blink. “He’s autistic?”
