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“Maddy—”
“I’ll explain everything.”
My entire plan hangs on him helping me. I didn’t really consider what would happen if
he refused.
We are quiet for one breath. And then two. And then three.
He takes my hand and guides me around to the side of his house farthest from mine.
There’s a tall ladder leading to the roof.
“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I start climbing.
I duck down as soon as we get to the roof, but Olly says there’s no need.
“Most people don’t look up anyway,” he says.
It takes a few minutes for my heart to return to normal.
Olly folds himself down with his usual unusual grace. I’m happy to watch him move.
“So, what now?” he asks after a time.
I look around. I’d always wanted to know what he did up here. The roof is gabled in
parts, but we’re sitting on a flat section toward the back. I make out shapes: a small
wooden table with a mug, a lamp, and some crumpled papers. Maybe he writes up here,
composes bad poetry. Limericks.
“Does that lamp work?” I ask.
He wordlessly turns it on, and it casts a diffuse circle of light around us. I’m almost
afraid to look at him.
The crumpled papers on the table are fast-food wrappers. Not a secret poet, then. Next
to the table there’s a dusty gray tarp covering something, or somethings. The ground is
littered with tools—wrenches, wire cutters in various sizes, hammers, and a few others
that I don’t recognize. There’s even a blowtorch.
I finally look over at him.
His elbows are on his knees and he’s staring out at the slowly brightening sky.
“What do you do up here?” I ask.
“That can’t possibly matter right now.” His voice is hard and he doesn’t look at me.
There’s no trace of the boy who kissed me so desperately a few minutes ago. His fear for
me has crowded everything else out.
Sometimes you do things for the right reasons and sometimes for the wrong ones and
sometimes it’s impossible to tell the difference.
“I have pills,” I say.
He’s barely moving as it is, but now he grows completely still. “What pills?”
“They’re experimental, not FDA-approved. I ordered them online. From Canada.” The
lie is easy, effortless.
“Online? How do you know they’re even safe?”
“I did a lot of research.”