Aislin shrugs. “Yeah, but this isn’t a regular hospital, right?”
“No, you’re right, it isn’t,” I say. “My mother was completely freaked about getting me out of San Fran and into this place. I guess she was onto something.”
While I contemplate my reflection, Aislin pokes around the room. “Giant flat-screen, nice sound system. Maybe I should get run over.”
“I had stitches here,” I murmur, peeling back a strip of surgical tape. “Right here on my cheek. Now there’s nothing.”
“Lucky,” Aislin says. “Would’ve been hard to cover with makeup.” She slides open my closet doors. “Whoa. Primo robes. Can I steal one?”
I glance at the closet. My sketchbook is on the top shelf, barely visible. “Hey, can you get that down for me? My mother probably had someone stash it there.”
“Have I mentioned that your mother’s an ice-cold bitch?”
“I believe you may have mentioned that in passing, yes.” I hold up my cell phone. “At least she finally let me have my phone back. Charged and everything.”
Aislin stands on tiptoe and retrieves the sketchbook. She browses through the pages, holds one up for me to see.
“I love this guy. You’ve been working on him forever.”
“He’s a cartoon. He has no depth. No soul.”
“Screw depth.”
“I can’t get the eyes right.”
“Hmm. Maybe. But he’s got great lips.” She taps her chin with her index finger. “You know, he reminds me a little of what’s-his-name. So-hot.”
“Solo.”
“Needs a body, though. Your drawing, I mean. So-hot’s doing just fine in that department.” She smirks. “If you need suggestions, I can help you finish him. If you know what I mean.”
I ignore her. “Must be genetic. My dad never could do faces, either.”
“But he was a sculptor.”
“Sculpting, drawing. Same problems.” I stare out the window at the undulating hills wreathed in fog. “I remember once he tried to draw my mother. He was using oil pastels, I think. He gave up after a couple tries.”
“Must’ve been tough, capturing Satan on canvas.” Aislin places the sketchbook on my bedside table. “Hey, can you draw, anyway? With your arm all mummied up like that?”
“Nah.” I consider my crushed hand. “Although the way things are going, who knows?”
“So where’s the minibar?”
“There’s a fridge in that cabinet with sodas in it.”
Aislin pulls a flask from the back waistband of her shorts. Naturally, security only found the one in her purse: who carries more than one?
She takes a swig and holds the flask out to me. “Cough syrup?”
“You mean vodka?” I ask. I don’t want to show disapproval, I really don’t, because it bothers her when I do and it creates a barrier between us.
“Lemon vodka, cough syrup, who can tell the difference, really?” Aislin asks.
“I’m actually tempted,” I say. “But, no.”
“You’re on meds.”
“Plus I don’t really drink.”
“You’ve had beer.”
“Don’t get caught or my mother will ban you. And listen to me, Aislin: I’m all alone in here. I need you.”
She acts tough. But she gets tears in her eyes and gives me a hug. “Don’t worry, no one will keep me away from you,” she says. “Now, let’s go find Mr. Bashful. I’ll tell him you like him.”
“I will kill you if you say any such thing!”
“Yeah, right: You’re in a wheelchair. You’re not that scary.”
“There’s something else I want to show you first.”
Aislin steers me toward the door. “What is it?”
“I’m making my own male.”
She frowns. “Mail, like e-mail?”
“Male, like m-a-l-e.”
“You have my full attention, girl.”
– 13 –
SOLO
So. She has a friend. Not at all the kind of friend I would have expected.
Interesting.
I watch from the end of the hallway as Eve and Aislin head toward the elevator. Aislin’s pushing the wheelchair at full throttle. Eve is cracking up.
Man, she has a great laugh.
How to do this without being obvious? She’s not dumb, Eve, she’ll know I’m trying to get to know her if I just keep accidentally running into her.
I do need to know her, at least a little. Not as a girl, of course—although she is definitely, well, that. But that’s not really the point.
You’re so full of it, Solo. Of course that’s part of it. Why not be honest with yourself and admit that’s part of it?
Yes, okay, yes, you need to get to know her in order to decide whether she’s useful. But dude. Solo. Dude: That’s not all of it.
I decide to let it go. Let Eve and her friend have some time. I don’t need to push it right now. Plus I have work to do.
I watch them rolling away.
Damn.
I don’t like them being here. I’ve gotten along so far in life without so-called peers. I have some people I talk to online. Actual humans my own age, really not important.
And yet I almost can’t resist the magnetic pull as they head into the elevator.
The elevator doors slide shut. “Damn,” I say, resisting my desire to punch something.