One Lonely Degree by C. K. Kelly Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

next to him. One second I want to apologize for being awkward, and the very next I feel defensive. I have no idea how to be alone with guys. I’ve always been shitty at that, but now rooms become too small. Minutes are endless. On top of that, I can count on one hand the ones worth talking to.
    It’s all so exhausting and sad that I pull my legs up onto the couch with me, bury my face in them, and mumble, “I think my parents are about to split up.”
    Jersy’s head drops. The basement lighting is so bad that I can’tmake out the color of his eyes. They still look pretty, though. Some people don’t like to use that word for guys, but I swear that’s how they look. His body is lean but it looks strong. I’m sure he’s stronger than me, and I’m so confused, so full of wanting and bad feelings, that my eyes begin to leak.
    I stop myself quick but not quite fast enough to avoid Jersy’s detection. His hand grazes my shoulder as his head tilts towards mine. “I thought that about my parents last year. They fought so much I almost wanted them to split up.”
    “So it’s no big deal, right?” I smile bravely. “It happens all the time.”
    “Yeah,” Jersy says, nodding. “But not to you.” He leans into the pillows. “If they’re really going to do it, they’ll tell you.”
    He’s right, but I don’t want to be the last to know. If I can get used to it before it actually happens, maybe the reality won’t hurt so much. That’s too personal to say out loud, though. “So your parents are okay now?” I ask. “It stopped?”
    “Yeah, they still fight sometimes, but not like then. There was all this stress they were going through, all this shit.” Jersy’s cheeks hollow out. “Come on. I want to show you something.” He jumps off the couch and waits for me to follow.
    Seconds later we’re in his bedroom. It’s cluttered with packing boxes and smells like a warehouse. The walls are bare, but there’s a collection of photos stuck to his mirror—mostly of him and some other guys in a skateboard park. A Chinese girl with long raven hair stars in a row of photo booth snaps. Jersy’s in the very last one, with his lips pressed against her cheek. She’s beaming into the camera like she knows she’s special.
    I take all that in during the first few seconds—even before I see the tank. “His name’s Gizmo,” Jersy says fondly, bending down in front of the miniature habitat. With his leopard spots and orangeskin, Gizmo is definitely one of the better-looking reptiles I’ve seen, but I hope Jersy’s not planning on asking me to hold him.
    Jersy plucks the metal screen off the top of the tank, herds Gizmo into his hand, and holds him up in front of me. “Wow,” I say, looking into Gizmo’s blinking eyes. “It’s like he can really see us.”
    “Of course he can see us,” Jersy says.
    “How old is he?” I skim my fingers across Gizmo’s back. He doesn’t seem to mind.
    “Three.” Jersy deposits him carefully back in the tank. “They can live to twenty.”
    “Wow,” I say again. That’s longer than my dog. Somehow it doesn’t seem fair. I sit down on the bed before I realize what I’m doing. Jersy sits on the far end, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
    “So why’re you so tired all the time?” I ask. I’m glad that we’re not talking about my parents anymore. It feels okay to be up here with him, despite the weird smell and Gizmo’s beady eyes blinking at us like he knows exactly what’s going on.
    “I’m a bad sleeper.” Jersy touches his scar, slowly, like he’s smoothing away an eyelash. “I get into these phases where I’m wide-awake in the middle of the night. Nothing I can do about it. Just wired, you know? It’d be okay if I could sleep late, but I can’t—not during the week. That’s why I was late for art that day. Overslept.”
    “Insomnia,” I say.
    “Isn’t that when you can’t sleep at all?” Jersy sits up straighter. “It’s more like I have my timing