feelings.” He leaned over the edge of the platform. “Train’s a-coming. That’s what my dad always says. You nervous?”
I nodded. The train was loud and crowded. Miah had to lean into me to speak. He smiled and touched my cheek. People stared, but we made believe we didn’t notice. People always stared. I feel like I’ve grown an extra leg since we started going out, Miah said once.
“Don’t be nervous. Nelia’s cool.”
“What about your dad’s house. Are we going there?”
“He’s away on business again.” He got quiet.
“How come you don’t talk about him so much, Miah? And how come he’s always gone?”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell you when we get off.”
It was cold when we came up out of the subway. I shivered and Miah put his arm around me for a second then let it drop back at his side.
The streets were quiet and still as we walked. “So many trees,” I said. I hadn’t remembered Brooklyn having so many trees. “It’s pretty here.”
“Yeah.” He looked distant and worried. “Ellie,” he said softly. “You ever saw that film Somewhere on This Journey ? ”
I nodded. I had gone to see it with Anne and Marion last year after it had won something big at some film festival. Marion had cried clear through it. “That was a really great film.”
Miah looked at me and took a deep breath. “My father made it,” he said slowly.
I stopped walking and grabbed his hand. “Your dad is Norman Roselind?”
Miah nodded, looking away from me.
I let go of his hand and starting walking again. I felt strange suddenly, hot and cramped. For some reason I didn’t want Miah to be Norman Roselind’s son. I wanted him to just be Miah—a boy from Brooklyn. But he was Miah. But he wasn’t.
“Ellie,” he said, catching up to me and touching my shoulder. “There’s more.” He kind of laughed, but it was a nervous laugh-sort of tearful and scared at the same time.
“Remember when you were talking about that book Ms. Lanford is assigning in English Comp. The one about the girl growing up in Chicago?”
I nodded.
“My mom wrote it. She’s written a couple of books.”
We stopped walking again. I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and chewed on it a moment. “Jeez, Miah. I thought you were—I thought you were just Miah.”
“I am Miah. That’s why I don’t talk about them so much. When my mother and father split up, it was all over. Everybody knew. I hated opening up some stupid magazine and seeing myself in it—the poor only child of Norman and Nelia Roselind. I’m not some poor only child, I’m Miah.” He swallowed. For a minute I thought he’d start crying. I didn’t want him to start crying. If he’d started crying—I’ d start crying. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d just get on the train and go home-home to Marion and my father and my quiet bedroom looking out over Central Park. Home to our apartment where no one was famous or brilliant.
“I don’t want you to go home, Ellie,” Miah said.
“Who said anything about going home? I didn’t say anything about anything.”
“I can see it on your face... that... that you want to go home.”
I lifted my knapsack higher on my shoulder.
“You could have told me sooner, you know. I feel like you’ve been lying—”
“But I haven’t been, Ellie. I just didn’t want to talk about them.”
“Lies by omission.” I turned away from him then. People going into the train station eyed us, but I didn’t care. I hated being lied to. Hated it.
Jeremiah sat down on the curb.
“What if I had told you the truth from the beginning?” he said. “You would have thought I was something—somebody, I wasn’t. That day, in the hallway, I wanted you to see... to see me, Ellie. Miah.” He sighed and started picking at the tar. I watched him a moment.
“You could have taken a chance, Miah,” I said. “Given me the benefit of the doubt.”
“But that’s what I’m doing now.”
I sat down beside him and
I nodded. The train was loud and crowded. Miah had to lean into me to speak. He smiled and touched my cheek. People stared, but we made believe we didn’t notice. People always stared. I feel like I’ve grown an extra leg since we started going out, Miah said once.
“Don’t be nervous. Nelia’s cool.”
“What about your dad’s house. Are we going there?”
“He’s away on business again.” He got quiet.
“How come you don’t talk about him so much, Miah? And how come he’s always gone?”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell you when we get off.”
It was cold when we came up out of the subway. I shivered and Miah put his arm around me for a second then let it drop back at his side.
The streets were quiet and still as we walked. “So many trees,” I said. I hadn’t remembered Brooklyn having so many trees. “It’s pretty here.”
“Yeah.” He looked distant and worried. “Ellie,” he said softly. “You ever saw that film Somewhere on This Journey ? ”
I nodded. I had gone to see it with Anne and Marion last year after it had won something big at some film festival. Marion had cried clear through it. “That was a really great film.”
Miah looked at me and took a deep breath. “My father made it,” he said slowly.
I stopped walking and grabbed his hand. “Your dad is Norman Roselind?”
Miah nodded, looking away from me.
I let go of his hand and starting walking again. I felt strange suddenly, hot and cramped. For some reason I didn’t want Miah to be Norman Roselind’s son. I wanted him to just be Miah—a boy from Brooklyn. But he was Miah. But he wasn’t.
“Ellie,” he said, catching up to me and touching my shoulder. “There’s more.” He kind of laughed, but it was a nervous laugh-sort of tearful and scared at the same time.
“Remember when you were talking about that book Ms. Lanford is assigning in English Comp. The one about the girl growing up in Chicago?”
I nodded.
“My mom wrote it. She’s written a couple of books.”
We stopped walking again. I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and chewed on it a moment. “Jeez, Miah. I thought you were—I thought you were just Miah.”
“I am Miah. That’s why I don’t talk about them so much. When my mother and father split up, it was all over. Everybody knew. I hated opening up some stupid magazine and seeing myself in it—the poor only child of Norman and Nelia Roselind. I’m not some poor only child, I’m Miah.” He swallowed. For a minute I thought he’d start crying. I didn’t want him to start crying. If he’d started crying—I’ d start crying. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d just get on the train and go home-home to Marion and my father and my quiet bedroom looking out over Central Park. Home to our apartment where no one was famous or brilliant.
“I don’t want you to go home, Ellie,” Miah said.
“Who said anything about going home? I didn’t say anything about anything.”
“I can see it on your face... that... that you want to go home.”
I lifted my knapsack higher on my shoulder.
“You could have told me sooner, you know. I feel like you’ve been lying—”
“But I haven’t been, Ellie. I just didn’t want to talk about them.”
“Lies by omission.” I turned away from him then. People going into the train station eyed us, but I didn’t care. I hated being lied to. Hated it.
Jeremiah sat down on the curb.
“What if I had told you the truth from the beginning?” he said. “You would have thought I was something—somebody, I wasn’t. That day, in the hallway, I wanted you to see... to see me, Ellie. Miah.” He sighed and started picking at the tar. I watched him a moment.
“You could have taken a chance, Miah,” I said. “Given me the benefit of the doubt.”
“But that’s what I’m doing now.”
I sat down beside him and
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