The Game of Boys and Monsters by Rachel M. Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

not to blink while you’re looking at Mom or else she might get cancer and die. Touch another person’s skin and Dad will never come home.
    The danger feels even bigger than that. Touch another person’s skin and Dad will evaporate. We’ll never see him again. Mom will die of a broken heart. I’ll have panic attacks, a complete and total breakdown, and get carted away to a hospital for crazy people. My brother will hate me forever and ever for failing him.
    And I will be alone.
    Every little thing in this world that has fallen apart will stay broken.
    It’s a lot, I know.
    Dad would tell me to stop catastrophizing. Mom would tell me to drink some herbal tea.
    There’s a name for these imaginings: magical thinking. It almost sounds nice, but it isn’t. The weirdest part is that I know my stupid games shouldn’t have an effect on real life. But when I try to stop, the doubt creeps in—what if it does matter?
    Dad left in June. I haven’t touched a single person since.
    â€œYou okay?” Mandy asks.
    â€œWhat? Yeah, I’m fine.” I force a smile.
    Mandy squints at the freshmen. “Let’s find someplace more private.”
    Birmingham Arts Academy sits on the long ridge of Red Mountain, overlooking the city. Mandy leads me across the drive, past a row of flowering hydrangeas to the sloping woods. We’re in the foothills of the Appalachians; I should be used to steep hills, but it makes me anxious to see the tops of trees angling downward so sharply.
    Luckily, there are steps, a small amphitheater built into the side of the hill. If we sit on the bottom round of seats, we can’t be seen from the courtyard.
    The woods seem to close around us, a tangle of light-dappled leaves, mossy bark, and climbing vines. It reminds me of how Mandy and I used to build hideouts in the woods behind my house.
    Mandy leaves space between us. My skin doesn’t feel so on edge if I have room to maneuver, but the way Mandy keeps her distance makes me sad, too.
    â€œI’m glad I got you,” I say.
    Mandy nods without looking at me. “Sorry I was late. Boy drama.”
    Always, with Mandy.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    She makes eye contact, so briefly, like she’s checking if it’s okay to share. Then, just as fast, she looks away, through the trees toward downtown.
    â€œNothing worth talking about.”
    We used to tell each other everything.
    Mandy lights a cigarette.
    â€œDoes your mom know you smoke?” I ask.
    â€œWhere do you think I got the cigarettes?” She absorbs my surprise with a flat smile and goes on, “She’s convinced that it helps with my weight.” She blows out a long stream of smoke, and I turn my head.
    The sound of a slamming car door makes me jump. Mandy holds the cigarette low between her legs in a practiced way and twists over her shoulder to check the tree line. Getting caught might make me the first person in the history of the academy to get expelled at orientation. I want to grab the cigarette, grind it out on the seat between us, and bury it under a mountain of leaves, but Mandy just waits. No one comes.
    â€œI was sorry to hear about your dad,” Mandy says, picking up a shiny yellow leaf from the amphitheater’s stage and twirling it by the stem. Her eyes stay on the leaf as if it holds more interest than my reaction, but I know better.
    My mom must have told hers, and that makes it more real somehow, that other people know. I pretend I don’t mind. I want Mandy to be my friend again. It’s supposed to be okay for your friends to know what’s going on with you.
    â€œThey’re just trying it out,” I say. “It’s not like they’re getting divorced.”
    Not yet.
    I feel like I have to defend Dad. “One of his mentors from the University of Virginia wants his input on a study. It’s a big honor. But, you know, it’s temporary.”
    Mandy nods, but she