Read Remember My Name for Free Online Page B

can’t tell if he means for me to read
into it or not. We’re still standing in the entryway. “Um,” he says, “want to
see my room?”
    Yeah, I definitely do.
“Sure.”
    He leads me up the stairs.
They’re kind of steep, but that’s not why I’m steadying myself on the banister.
Pushing open a door at the top of stairs that has a black and yellow “Fallout
Shelter” sign hung on it, he stands to the side to let me by him, sharing the
light scent of his cologne as I pass. His bedroom is small and the ceiling at
the outside wall is vaulted for about a foot. The window must be original
because sash weight ropes disappear into the walls.
    Every inch of the room is
covered in posters, the largest of which is spread across the wall above the
bed. It’s the photo of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road. I think that was the
album cover art too, but I’m not sure. Across from Abbey Road, a computer with
a giant screen is perched on his desk. I wish I had one like that in my room.
    Matt is just sitting on the
bed, letting me take my time. “What do you think?”
    I shrug, trying to sound
nonchalant. “Pretty cool.”
    “So I uh, invited you over
for a movie, so I guess we should watch one.” He sounds nervous, almost like
he’s expecting me to turn him down.
    I shrug again. I’m not
thrilled about hanging out downstairs, even though his parents aren’t home. I
make to leave the room, but he hops up and catches my arm. “We can watch it up
here if you want.” His hand is warm, a hint of moisture across his palm. His
eyes lock onto mine for a fraction of second before he lets go.
    “Okay,” I breathe. Only a
swivel chair is at his computer, but if we both sat on the bed, the screen
would definitely be big enough. A shiver of anticipation makes the hairs on my
arm stand at attention.
    Giving the mouse a shake, he
opens up the DVD drive. “What do you want to watch?”
    I take a seat on his bed,
stretching my legs toward the screen. My mouth feels dry, but I still manage to
make words. “Anything is fine.”
    “We’re watching Transformers
then.” Popping in a disk, he joins me on the bed, except he only leaves about
half the distance between us that I expected. Not more than a few inches of
space remain there. Stretching across me, he grabs a pillow from the head of
the bed. Besides his cologne, he smells like the outdoors. Fresh and clean with
a vague spiciness, almost like cedar. He stuffs the pillow behind his back.
    The movie starts but the
volume is quiet. Beside me, Matt’s khaki shorts are riding up above his knees.
He kicks off his shoes, letting them fall to the floor. His socks are white
except for a red band just below the ankle. For some reason, I can’t seem to
stop my mind from focusing on the most irrelevant details right now.
    “What’s that from?”
    I drag my eyes upward.
“Huh?”
    He’s pointing to the back of
my hand. The scar stretches diagonally from the side of my wrist almost to my
pinky knuckle. “It was a bucksaw.”
    He looks up from my hand, a
subtle tenderness filtering into his voice. “What happened?”
    “I was holding a tree branch
last summer while sawing. The wood was green and caught the blade, but I was
stupid and kept pushing. The blade jumped and dragged across my hand.” I speak
the untruth with just enough conviction that it’s perfectly believable.
Anything to avoid telling him what actually happened with my dad.
    Reaching out, he runs a
finger slowly over the smooth pale line of healed skin. “Looks like it hurt.”
His touch feels different than any other touch. It’s almost like the day I got
the scar, except instead of cutting with pain, he’s splitting my hand with the
heady rush of anticipation.
    On the screen, the giant
transforming machine is obliterating a military base. “It bled really bad. I
had to run in from the woods to get Dad.”
    “I wish I’d been there to
help.” His breath is close, sweet like mint and vanilla, and his hand is