Rocco-s Pov | 17

“Roo? Meatloaf’s in an hour.”

His mother’s knock came. Two soft raps. rocco-s pov 17

He hadn’t known how to explain that the shaking was relief. That he’d been holding his breath since the day his dad left, and her lips had made him exhale. So he’d laughed, said something stupid like “It’s cold in here,” and left the closet. He’d walked home alone in the rain, hating himself for running away from the one person who might actually see him. “Roo

“Yeah,” he said. And for once, he didn’t say it like a lie. He hadn’t known how to explain that the shaking was relief

Rocco pressed his forehead to his knees. He thought about Lena. Lena with the crooked smile and the book of Rilke poems she carried like a bible. Last month, at a party, she’d pulled him into a closet just to show him a glow-in-the-dark sticker of a jellyfish on the inside of the door. “See?” she’d said. “Even in the dark, there are things that make their own light.”