Free The Space Between by Brenna Yovanoff Page B

converging on the point where he sat, leaning his elbows on Dio’s table. He blinked slowly and stopped holding his breath.
    The shot was just starting to kick in when Dio burst into the kitchen, small and kinetic. He banged Johnny hard between his shoulder blades, smiling a little too widely. “Hey, it’s big John! What’s happening, my man?”
    To Truman, he said in a savage whisper, “Dude, I thought I asked you to stop bringing your friends around.”
    He meant Johnny, of course, but also Claire Weaver, who was Truman’s sometimes-girlfriend. Or maybe Victor Macklin, although Victor was scary-unpredictable and had recently promised to kick Truman’s ass over a misunderstanding involving a bottle of shoplifted vodka and twenty-five dollars. Dio meant all of them, any of the tragic losers who drank with Truman or skipped class with him or scored him alcohol.
    And Truman got that—he did. He could see his life as Dio saw it, watch the train wreck from the outside. He knew what itit looked like, but Dio was wrong about Claire and Johnny. They weren’t his friends. They were just messed up enough to hang out with him, and Dio was the only real friend he’d ever had.
    The two of them looked at each other, not speaking. Dio’s hair was long, past his shoulders, and his eyes were the narrow almond shape of a stone god’s in a history book. His expression was angry and helpless.
    Truman missed him suddenly, even though they were in the same room. Loud, fast-moving Dio, two floors down. They’d spent years, maybe their entire lives, smoking on the sidewalk and now Dio was gone. Going somewhere. Everything was wrong. He felt his jaw tighten and made himself stop clenching his teeth.
    “Forget it,” Dio said, shaking his head and reaching for Truman’s shoulder. “Just go easy, okay? Don’t do that thing .”
    Truman pushed Dio’s hand away and stood up, fighting a surge of anger, and under that, shame. “Don’t do what thing?”
    “That thing where you drink like a madman, then pass out. Not tonight, okay?”
    Intellectually, Truman knew that Dio was only talking to him this way because he was worried. But something about Dio’s concern just made him feel worse.
    Even in a house packed with college kids and alcohol and noise, he was completely alone. There was no place in Dio’s world for anyone from the old neighborhood. Especially not a kid who was still in high school and who was never going to aspire to anything as ambitious as college, let alone pre-law.
    At the table, Johnny was offering him another shot. Truman didn’t really want it, but he reached for it anyway.
    He smiled, holding Dio’s gaze. “Hey, don’t get worked up. I’m fine.” He felt the familiar mixture of loneliness and overwhelming relief as Dio’s face relaxed. “I’ll be fine.”
    His own voice sounded warm and easy, and that made everything worse. Fine was the biggest lie of all.
    He turned away from Dio, then froze, before letting his breath out in a strangled sigh. “Shit.”
    Claire had come into the kitchen and was standing against the counter, wearing a bright pink shirt. Her fingers were laced together in a way that made it look like she was about to start begging.
    He watched her from across the kitchen and she stared back. He knew that she expected him to kiss her, but his head was spinning now and the times they’d had together had not been good. Suddenly, Truman wanted to tell her he was sorry, but it wouldn’t make a difference. It was the one thing that she would never believe.
    She moved away from the counter and started toward him, her footsteps sharp on the linoleum. In his altered vision, she moved like stop-motion, flashing closer. Then she was right in front of him, her hands plucking at his sweater, slipping under. When her fingers skittered over his stomach, he flinched.
    It was painful, being so close to someone. He could see her too clearly, eyes caked with makeup, lips slightly parted. She was thin