Read Underneath Everything for Free Online

thebottomofhissneaker,likehewasbyhimselfinsteadofataparty.Isatdownnexttohim.Wedidn’t talk at first. It wasn’t what either of us had gone in there for. But after a little while he looked at me (steady,studiously)forsolong,itstartedtofeellikehewastheonlypersonintheworldwho’dever seen me.I’dcaughthimlookingatmebefore,afewtimesinthehall,butithadneverfeltlikethis.
    When Hudson finally spoke (his thumb didn’t leave the sole of his sneaker), he asked me about loyalty,whetherornotIthoughtitexisted.Itookmytimeanswering,thewayIimaginedhedid,choosing eachword,andeachpersonwhoheardit,onlyaftercarefulscrutiny.IsaidIhopedloyaltydidexist.He saidhehopedsotoobutthatitwashardtobelieveinwhenyourmom—thepersonwhoissupposedtobe therenomatterwhat,theonewho’ssupposedtokeeppromises—justupandleaves,andallthat’sleftof herisboxes.Whatdoesthatdotoloyalty,hewantedtoknow.Promises?
    I shook my head, said I didn’t know. He said he didn’t know, either. Then he kept working on his sneaker.AndIkeptsittingwithhim.Andthesittingwasakindofspeaking,too.Justbeingtogether.We sat as music swelled and glasses spilled and words slurred in the other room, as kisses finished and doors opened and girls went in search of their best friends. We sat until the party began to feel far, foreign,aforgottenstar.WesatuntilHudsonwasn’tthedistantoneanymore;theywere.ThenIfelthis fingersrunlightlyacrossmyknuckles,drawcirclesontheinsideofmypalm,threadbetweenmine,and settleintothegrooves,likethey’dalwaysbeenthere.
    Wefliptheswitchandblink.
    “Sorry,”Isay.
    “Noworries.”Hetakeshishandoffmine.He’sstilllookingatme,though,waiting.Andittakesme one, two, three counts of staring back at him until I realize I’m leading. He doesn’t know where he’s going.
    “It’sdownhere,”Isay,turningonmyheel.Iclosemyfingersovermythumbsandfightthememoryas Iwalkdownthehallandswingopenthedoortothelavenderroom.
    “Interesting,”Hudsonsays,pausinginfrontoftheenormousbed.
    Iforgotaboutthebed.
    Hudsonshiftshisweightandbrushesanonexistenthairbehindhisear.
    Ibypassthelavendercanopyanddecorativepillowsonmywaytothereadingchairinthecorner.
    “What?”Iask,inalameattempttomakelightofthemassivemattress.“Yourroom’snotlikethis?”I tryforasmile,butthecornersofmymouthsinkassoonasIliftthem.HudsonandInevermadeittohis room.Wemetonstoopsandsidewalksanddriveways.Wetalkedaboutfamilyandfear.Loyalty.Fora fewmonthswesharedthingsthatfeltmoreintimatethankissing(whichwedid)andmoresacredthansex (whichwedidn’t).
    Andforfifteenmonthswehaven’ttalkedatall.
    Islipoffmyshoes,sitdown,andfoldmylegsunderme,asifbymakingmyselfsmallsomehowIcan shrinktheroomandtransformthebedintothecouchoffCal’slivingroom,whereitwassmallanddark enoughforustobehonest.
    “Notquite.”Hudsonrunshisfingeralongthemetalbedframeashewalksacrosstheroom.Hesits downonthewide,whitecushionedchairoppositeme.
    We listen to the tread of feet above us, a smattering of dull thumps on the ceiling. As the silence grows, my heart joins in, thudding for each second I don’t say the words swelling in my chest and screaming in my head. But after nearly a year and a half of being ignored by him, and ignoring almost everyonemyself,I’mgoodatholdingmytongue.
    HudsonstaresatthelooselacesofhisVans,runshisfingersinsidetheloops.Isinkfartherintomy chair.Voicesdriftinfromthehallway.Ahighgiggle.Adeepmurmur.
    Adoorshuts.
    Thelongerwesit,themoreIgetusedtoit.
    The silence stretches, tethers us together. And as I sit there, with the hum of the bass above me, in Hudson’scompany,myangerwearsaway.Beingwithhimstopsfeelingstrange.
    “Whyareyouhere?”Hudsonasksfinally.
    Isitupinthechair.“YouaskedifIwantedtogetoutofthere.”
    “No,notinthisroom.Whyareyouhere?Tonight?”Hudsonslingshissneakeroverthewornkneeof hisjeansandleansthefullweightofhisgazeonme.Asiftheblueofhiseyes,orthewaytheycrinkleat thesides,willactlikesomesortoftruthserum.
    “Thebonfire,”Itellhim.“Didn’twanttomissit.”
    “You didn’t want to miss a bunch of people you don’t