Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter thirty-two

sebastian

Saanvi lets me cry for as long as I need to. Which, for me, was only a minute. I'm not a very long crier, which is probably a good thing, although I'm a very ugly crier, so it kind of balances out. On the plus side, I also got to cuddle with her cat, Honeydew, so at least there was that.

My parents have yet another book club, so we decide to head over to my place, before Saanvi's parents get home. We like her parents, but I don't need them to see me like this. Saanvi offers to drive, but I tell her it's fine, that I'm fine, even though I feel like there's broken glass laced around my stomach lining. She's being oddly silent, which is unlike her. Usually, if something goes wrong—anything, anywhere, ever—Saanvi is ready to go out like fucking Rambo, guns a-blaze. But ... she's quiet.

It's so weird.

"Hey, Saanvi, is everything okay?" I ask, turning onto my street. Fresh lawn clippings cover our sidewalk; I know I'll be forced to rake that up later. But, as expected, Mom's Honda Pilot is gone, likely parked in front of one of two coffee shops on main street. I don't think today is wine slushie day, but I don't even know. I'm on Summer Brain right now. Summer Brain Seb doesn't have to know anything.

Saanvi is typing away on her phone, her thumbs angled slightly different than usual now that she's finally been able to grow out her nails. In high school, we both always had to keep them short for orchestra. Her hair dangles in front of her face, shielding her expression from me. For the first time in years, it's like I don't know what she's thinking.

"Saanvi?" I try again.

She sighs, smoothing the half-curtain of dark waves back behind her ear. "Sorry," she says, offering a small smile. She's wearing her little thin librarian glasses today, the ones she usually only wears when we're taking an exam, or she has a headache. And, really, I feel bad. I've probably made her already-sucky day even shittier. Dragged her down into the bottomless pit of shitty despair alongside me.

"You're good. Well. Uh, are you good? You're just being really quiet."

"No, it's"—she sighs again, which, okay, so not great for my anxiety—"sorry, I'm just out of it today. But I wanna be there for you. So let's go eat ice cream and be anxious, sad bitches, okay?"

I manage a slight smile. My lips, so tender and swollen just this morning, are now dry and chapped. "Okay. Yeah. Yeah, cool. Ice cream it is."

She walks up ahead of me, stalking across the lawn-clipping-laden cement, and I'm a little surprised that she doesn't want to walk side by side. Oh well. It's fine. No big deal. At all. At least watching Saanvi walk so pissed-offishly towards the front door like that, all while dressed in bunny pajamas, is a little bemusing.

Saanvi leaves the door open for me, kicking her shoes off and immediately walking over to the couch. She flops down on it, grabbing a throw blanket and tossing it over her shoulders. Her hair is in front of her face gain, but she doesn't seem to give a single fuck whatsoever.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh my god, I will actually slap you around so vigorously that you shit your pants. Now get me some motherfuckin' ice cream, Krause."

"Headache, food cravings, melodrama? Spooning with Mr. Heating Pad?" I set my shoes on the mat, where shoes go. "Is this day two of your period?"

The glare she shoots me confirms that, yes, this is indeed the start of the much-dreaded Saanvi period. Saanvi has really rough periods—"leave school doubled over in pain" kind of periods—so I pull the shades shut and say, "I'll bring out the ice cream."