I glance around, and, seeing neither of my parents, follow him downstairs. My mind races as I stare at his broad shoulders, rocking with his movement. Why five? Can you get high that way? What do I do?
He reaches his bedroom door, then turns to face me. “Fuck. Am I making you uncomfortable?” He looks pained. “Do you want to…I don’t know—sit on the stairs, and I’ll stand by my door?”
He runs his free hand through his hair, and I notice his eyes. They look bloodshot, with dark smudges beneath. Desperation is etched in his features.
I heave a long sigh. “Go into your room, and I’ll come, too.”
I follow him into his bedroom. Both beds, I can’t help noticing, are made.
“You haven’t been to sleep at all tonight?” I ask as he stands with a hand rubbing his forehead. There’s only one lamp turned on in his bedroom, and it’s on a nightstand right behind him. Golden light rolls out around him, casting Landon’s tall form in a shadow.
“No,” he says.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Because I fucking can’t.”
“You have insomnia?”
He exhales roughly, running his hand back through his hair.
“Is it drugs?”
“Fuck, no. Do I look like I want to end up in a fucking halfway house?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. “You’re stealing my dad’s Ambien.”
“Because I can’t sleep.”
“What do you mean?” I press.
“Humans have to sleep, Evie. I can’t. So I went looking for some sleeping pills and I found this. It works, so…” He lifts a shoulder, looking pained. “I only take it when I really need to.”
“Five!” I shake my head. “Did you think my dad wouldn’t notice?”
“Yes. The prescription is from 2005. Clearly, he never takes it.”
“Still…you can’t be taking five per night. The dose is—”
He’s shaking his head. “These aren’t for tonight. I already took one, in the kitchen. These are for the next few times I need one.”
I try to picture Landon swallowing my father’s Ambien in the kitchen. That means he didn’t even wait to walk downstairs. He must have wanted it right then. I look at his face, his tired eyes and his downturned mouth. He looks unhappy. Maybe even miserable.
“What’s wrong?” I ask more softly.
“Like I told you, I can’t sleep.”
“I know, but why do you think that is?”
“Because I can’t.”
“Is it like…you’re just not tired?” Even to my own ears, that sounds stupid. “Is it nightmares? Like, disturbing memories or something?”
“Yeah, it’s nightmares. Every night. The fucking boogeyman.” His tone is cutting.
“Sorry. I just…” I blow my breath out slowly. “I think you should tell my parents. They’re nice, you know that. They would try to help. My dad—”
“No fucking way.”
“Why not?”
“Foster parents don’t like trouble, Evie. Don’t you know that?”
“That’s not true. And anyway, if you just talk to them, I won’t say a word about the Ambien. Just tell them you can’t sleep.”
“You think your fucking dad can help me sleep? What is he going to do, hold me in the rocking chair?”
“Well, no.”
“Before I found the Ambien…” He sighs, looking down and then back up with hard eyes. “These were in the back. But there was Valium right in front of them.”
I gape. “You took some Valium?”
“I took one. I hadn’t been to sleep in three days then.”
My jaw is on the floor. I’m not sure what is more alarming: the idea of Landon being awake for three days, or the thought of what my dad would do if he found Landon pocketing his Valium. “How does no one know this! Why wouldn’t it be in your papers or something? That you can’t sleep.”
“You think they write down shit like that?”
“Well, yeah. So you could have continuity, you know, like from one house to the next.”
He snorts, but even that sounds tired. “Nobody gives a fuck about that, Evie.”
“I do.”
“Yeah, well good for you.”
I take a moment, weighing my options while I blink at him. “You have to put back the Ambien,” I say finally. “My dad could notice, especially if you’ve taken some before.”
His jaw tightens, but he holds his palm out. My fingertips graze his warm skin as I take the pills.
“Tomorrow night, you’ll… I don’t know. I’ll help you somehow. We can watch a movie.”
“Watch a movie?” His lip curls.
“A TV show,” I clarify. “Something super boring, to put you to sleep. I’ve got the perfect one—about real estate.”
He arches his brows. I hold my breath, and he lets his out. “If you say so.”
“I say so.” I want to touch him—so much I can’t keep myself from reaching out and smacking his arm lightly. “I can even make you tea.” I smile up at him.
He smirks, looking like his usual self despite his tired face. “Tea?”
“Chamomile. It’s so relaxing. You’ll see.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” I look around the room, then back at his face. “You look super tired. I’m sorry you can’t sleep.”
He shrugs.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you have your own couch, doctor?”
I smile. “I forgot. You’re not a fan of therapists. You teased me about that the first time we ever talked, at school that day.”
He nods once, as if to say yep.
“This house is a good place. Trust me. And don’t worry, about the Ambien. Or the Valium. I won’t say anything. But if you need something, you should tell me. Okay?”
He smiles. “If you say so.”
“Tomorrow night. I say so.”
Five
Evie
Except the next night, when I text Landon, asking if he’s still awake, he doesn’t text me back. The morning after, I see him at breakfast, but he hides behind the newspaper. On the ride to school, we roll our windows down so we can feel the fresh air as I drive us down the hills toward town, and play the radio a little loud, the way I’ve done from day one. We comment on the traffic, Landon sings along with all the pop songs—he knows the lyrics to every one of them, thanks to his amazing memory—and when we stop at a light near the school, I ask him how he slept.
“Better.”
As we walk into school, I try to watch him without being seen. I’m always surprised by his height when I stop and pay attention. He’s a full six feet, and in the time he’s been with us, he’s gotten bulkier. His arms and shoulders have filled out, and playing soccer has thickened his calves.
With his haircut and nicer clothes, he’s turning heads, which I notice as I lag behind him.
When I pass my locker, I stop like I always do, and like he always does, Landon keeps on moving, giving me a nod as he continues on without me. His locker is down a little ways, closer to our shared homeroom. He stops and gets his books, while I’m unloading most of mine—because unlike me, Landon doesn’t bring books home. I guess he doesn’t have to.
In homeroom, he yawns three times, eventually propping his elbow on his desk and doing the good ol’ cheek-in-palm routine, shutting his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking. The smile he gives me when we part ways is small and strained, falling quickly off his mouth as he turns toward his next class.