Free Friend Is a Four Letter Word by Steph Campbell Page B

have you been up to?” Carter picks up our plates and carries them to the kitchen. “Are you in school?”
    “I…” Does leaving town in the middle of a semester with no notice count as still enrolled? “I am.”
    “And you’re on break?” he asks.
    “Something like that.”
    “Something like what? Did you decide on a school?”
    “I did.” My answers give nothing away, except maybe how uncomfortable I am. It’s clear to me that Carter is digging for more.
    “I’m—maybe I should go.” The familiar feeling of walls closing in squeezes my chest.
    Carter crosses the room and says, “ Hiraeth.”
    “Excuse me?” I say.
    He’s here. Beside me. He may as well have a pick ax in hand the way that stare could tear down walls. Jesus.
    “That nagging restlessness. Last Christmas you said there’s probably a word for it.”
    So he does remember. I fight the curve of a smile.
    “I figured it out. It’s called hiraeth . I’m guessing that’s why you’re here now.”

 
     
     
    “You don’t happen to have a wetsuit in your bag, do you?” Carter asks. His voice is a low drawl that could easily lull me back to sleep. I pull the duvet up to my neck and snuggle back into the plush bed.
    “Huh?” I ask. I look up at him through a layer of lashes that I’m unwilling to part completely just yet.
    “A wetsuit. I’m going camping down at San Onofre, I thought you might like to come with? Or you could, you know, stay here if you’d like.”
    It finally dawns on me where I am and I pop my eyes open.
    “Carter?”
    “Morning, Shayna.” He slips his phone out of his pocket and gives it a quick glance. “Afternoon, I guess. How’d you sleep?”
    “How? Um…” I glance around the bed looking for my sweater. “Good. I slept really good. How long was I out, though?”
    “Eighteen hours. Give or take. You were beat.”
    “I am so sorry. So, so sorry. I know this has got to be a huge intrusion—”
    “It’s fine, really. I was more than comfortable out on the sofa.”
    “You slept on the sofa? At your own place?” Oh dear God, what a leech I am. I sift through the vague memories of awkward conversation before I must’ve fallen asleep. I can’t remember much from last night. I was so damn tired.
    “Would you stop it. I made omelets, I’ve already eaten, but help yourself. I’ve got to run down the road to grab some more surf wax. And I’m guessing that’s a no on the wet suit?”
    “Yes. I mean, no. I don’t have a wet suit.” My brain is still cloudy.
    “Okay, so, I’m just going to run out then,” he says.
    His eyes rake over me in a way that I’m familiar with, but with Carter, the wanton look feels different. I can’t get what he said to me last night out of my head. He understands. Maybe more than he’s willing to admit. That feeling of loss for something that you maybe never even had. He gets it so much that the look of want in his eyes almost makes me sad. Because maybe he’s more broken than he wants to admit. Maybe all these years of being the ‘together’ sibling in his family is all a painful ruse.
    Or maybe I’m just hungry and reading too much into the way his eyes slipped over my skin like a soft satin ribbon, tickling me with delight without even being touched.
    “I’ll be back in a few,” he says, finally breaking eye contact. He turns for the door but stops short.
    “Listen, Shay, I don’t want to pry, but I thought I’d mention it before we get on the road because there’s crap cell service out at the camp site. Do you… do you want to call your parents or anything before we head out? I’ll be gone for a bit, so you’ll have some privacy—I just thought—”
    “No,” I say firmly. “I’m okay.”
    “Alright, I just wanted to bring it up, you know, in case you had anyone you wanted to check in with. Let them know you got here okay?”
    “I said no, Carter.” I reign in the bitch voice and try again. “Thank you for mentioning it though, that’s