Free Hurt by Travis Thrasher Page B

or watching TV, and their parents would order pizza. We never did this much at our house because my dad was usually working and Mom usually had other things going on.
    I suddenly realize that I don’t remember much of Mom and Dad at home in Illinois. Except, of course, after they’d made the decision to get a divorce.
    Sometimes it feels like they divorced me.
    Kelsey’s mom gives me a big smile and a bigger hug as I enter the kitchen behind Kelsey. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this welcomed or so warm at that cabin fifteen minutes away from here.
    Too bad there’s not a direct tunnel connecting the two.
    She asks me about school and my mom, and I talk as if I’m an ordinary kid talking about ordinary stuff. Of course I can’t tell her the truth.
    Mom’s locked up in rehab so that I’ll do what I’m told and become the next leader of the Ghoulie Tribe of Solitary.
    At first I think that tonight is going to be difficult, with a sit-down dinner and more conversation with her parents, but it truly is casual. Kelsey’s father is coming home late, so dinner is grabbing a plate and some pizza and sitting in the family room watching television.
    After an hour of this, I feel quite comfortable here.
    Maybe I can spend the night. And the rest of the semester.
    “You’re kinda quiet tonight,” Kelsey says as we’re watching a sitcom.
    “So I’m usually really loud?”
    “No. Everything okay?”
    “Sure. Just—just don’t have anything big to say.”
    “Okay.”
    She’s leaning into me on the couch, and I don’t want her to move. I might move closer to her if we were alone, but I don’t want to get too close with her mom nearby and her dad coming home any minute.
    “So what movie do you want to watch?” she eventually asks, as she grabs the remote and scans the options on their Dish network.
    “Anything but horror,” I say, trying to be funny but not really joking.
    I think my days of watching horror films are done.
    Who needs to watch one when you’re living one?
    “Comedy? Action? Hmm.”
    She hmms the romance that she scrolls by.
    “Let’s watch some epic love story,” I say.
    “You call that epic?”
    “Okay, not that, no.”
    “What’s your definition of epic love story?”
    “Oh, you know,” I say. “Big. Huge. Like, uh—”
    “Epic?”
    I poke her side, and she jumps. I’ve discovered that she’s very ticklish, and it’s cute to see her bounce like that.
    “I don’t mean what’s your definition of the word,” Kelsey says. “What do you mean by an ‘epic’ love story?”
    “You know, against the odds, real tragic. Involving faraway places and lots of violence.”
    She laughs. “Lots of violence, huh?”
    “Absolutely. An abusive parent. Lots of running.”
    “What?”
    I keep going, making it up as I talk. “One of the leads falling to their knees and saying ‘No’ real loud. Like ‘Noooooooooooooo.’”
    “You should be a screenwriter,” Kelsey says.
    “You think?”
    “No.”
    “It has to have big sweeping movie music. You know. Like Gone with the Wind .”
    “That has sweeping movie music?”
    I shrug. “I haven’t seen it. But I’m sure it must.”
    “You should also be a movie critic.”
    “Seriously?”
    “No.”
    This is far better than watching an epic love story. We keep this up for half an hour before we realize we haven’t even started to choose a movie. We soon get on the topic of what genre we’d pick if we were to be inserted into a film.
    “If I had to pick, I’d be in a nice, simple romance,” Kelsey says.
    “What about a romantic comedy?”
    “No. Those are usually too crass to be funny. No, I’d be in something set in the South. A nice love story like The Notebook .”
    “They separate for years, and then at the end the woman has Alzheimer’s.”
    Kelsey glances at me and thinks for a minute. “Yeah, maybe I’d pick a different one than that.”
    “I’d be in a comedy,” I say. “Definitely a comedy.”
    “You are