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368 pages, Hardcover
First published April 4, 2019
‘We’re stealing a house, because you know what we need?’
Avery shakes his head.
‘We are the kings of nowhere,’ Sammy says. ‘We only need us.’
He’s a very good liar.
Sam spends his life hitting the world and smoothing over the rusty corners so Avery won’t fall and hurt himself.
He can’t believe he’s still clawing for the impossible wish of having his own home. But he needs a dream as big as the moon or else he’s just an invisible boy with empty hands.
Footsteps pad upstairs and the De Lainey father’s voice trails down, softly warning.
‘Jack. If I have to pull up your language one more time tonight, you’re losing your phone.’
‘Child abuse,’ Jack mutters. ‘How is his hearing so good?’
Jeremy pats his shoulder. ‘Only for you and your swearing, buddy. If we’re asking to use the car, he can’t hear a thing.’
He walks next to Moxie, because the others’ wildness is equal parts fascinating and terrifying. Plus Moxie moves with a grim, no-nonsense look on her face, like getting to the beach is a mission and she’ll achieve it no matter what. It’s comforting to be near someone who knows how to get what they want.
⁀ ⊹ ₊ But there’s something intoxicatingly alluring about people who smile, who are caught up in salty air and jokes and everyday adventures, who don’t stop to look at him with shocked eyes that say, How could you do that, Sammy Lou? How could you?
⁀ ⊹ ₊ The world has always been a hot coal on Avery’s skin. He is made of raw nerves that touch and feel and see everything too hard and too fast, and if you burn him too much – you get this. Overload. Catastrophe. Drowning.
⁀ ⊹ ₊ Moxie folds her arms. ‘Oh, so this is a display of dominating male chauvinism, as if you have ownership of me and feel it’s your duty to “protect” me because I somehow “belong” to you.’
Sam’s always alone, even when Avery is only a whisper behind him.
‘Can we not fight?’ Sam whispers.
Avery braces his arms against the engine and lets his head hang down, shoulder blades sticking up like achingly sharp wings. ‘S-stop hurting people. You’ll hit the wrong person someday and get yourself killed.’ He looks up, eyes like broken oceans.
‘Then stop screwing up,’ Sam says.
They let their impossible requests hang in the air, bitter as failure.
‘Avery,’ she snaps. ‘Let me help. God, you’re not even all there, are you?’
He’s fine, Sammy wants to say. To shout. To stand on top of the wicker chair and scream. Avery is good and he laughs like chipped pieces of fairy magic and he knows a million facts about cars and there’s nothing wrong with him.
‘I’ll leave then.’ His thin chest moves in and out, too fast. ‘I’ll steal a car and drive away by myself. You c-can get caught if you want. I don’t care. I don’t care!’ He shoves Sam then, and Sam sucks in a sharp breath.
‘Don’t say that.’ Sam’s voice is barely a whisper.
Avery storms towards the door, his limbs jerking like a puppet. He turns back with one last vicious glare – except there are tears in his eyes and his lip trembles. ‘I’ll leave you.’
Don’t ever, ever say that.
He slams the door on his way out.
Avery rolls to face the wall. ‘Every single person in this world is full of bullshit.’
Sammy’s heart aches. ‘Yeah, I know.’
Moxie’s body relaxes and her shoulder leans against his. The pressure is warm and soft and everything. And he falls into it. Just a little. He won't let himself get too comfortable - he's not that stupid. But for the barest moment between patchwork frowns, he's wanted.
She smacks his chest. ‘Never. Will you wear the waistcoat we’re making?’
It’s a crazy waistcoat. Because, for starters, it’s a waistcoat.
‘Obviously,’ he says.
She tips her head up and he looks down and her smile is so full of undiluted delight that he realises no one’s ever taken her outfit-designing seriously before.
‘Don’t you also have that really nice salmon shirt?’ Moxie stabs bobby pins in her hair.
Jeremy nods several times and bolts back upstairs. ‘OK. Salmon. I need to wear a salmon. OK.’
Moxie glances at Jack. ‘Does he have a new crush? Is that why he’s flapping?’
Jack shrugs. ‘Why are you asking me about his f— um, frick-fracking crushes?’
‘Did you just say frick-fracking?’ Mr De Lainey says.
‘No.’ Jack puts his phone behind his back. ‘I’m not speaking again unless I’m talking about the Lord Jesus Christ, can I get an amen?’
‘Amen,’ says Moxie.
Their father sighs and looks very old.
"People understand a cute seven-year-old boy screaming on the floor because he’s autistic. They call the police when that screaming little boy becomes seventeen."