The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

19...

19…

I watched him run out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, my mouth falling slack. Slamming the shampoo bottle down on the counter, I crossed my arms and took several deep breaths.

            There was no point in getting angry with him. That much I had figured out. Getting mad at Roy for the things he did was counterproductive.

Besides, it was only shampoo. It was my favorite kind, and I wouldn’t be getting any more until dad took me back to the city, but it was still just shampoo.

            Letting out a heavy sigh, I walked out of the bathroom and stood in front of Roy’s door. I had probably hurt his feelings. He was so sensitive--especially for a boy. But that should have given me an even better incentive to be nice to him. Especially after I’d locked him out of the bathroom and caused him to…have an accident.

            Poor Roy. His face had turned so pale when he saw me coming down the stairs. He’d been too embarrassed to make eye-contact, even. And now I had gone and yelled at him.  

            “Hey Roy…listen…I didn’t mean to get so upset.” I said, absently pressing my thumb against my lip. “I guess I kind of overreacted a little bit.”

            There was no answer.

            Reaching down, I started to turn the knob and then stopped, changing my mind. This was his room. I couldn’t barge in on him like that. He might have been a weird boy with weird special powers, but he was still a guy, and he needed his privacy.

            “…Roy?” I tapped the door.

            I heard a muffled sniff on the other side.

            My heart froze. Was he crying?

            “Roy, are you okay?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat. It was a big lump. A big, fat lump. It was a lump of guilt.

            “It really wasn’t a big deal, Roy. I’m not upset anymore,” I said, brushing several loose strands of damp hair out of my face. “Can I come in so we can talk about it?”

            “You yelled at me.”

            I glanced up from the spot on the floor that had held my attention for the last five minutes. Swallowing, I nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

            “You yelled at me Lisa. That means you’re mad at me,” he said in a muffled, quiet tone. His voice was steady, so I knew he wasn’t crying. But I could tell he was really upset. My guilt returned, and I mentally shoved it back down my esophagus with a tremendous swallow.

            “I’m not mad, Roy.” I pressed my hand against the door, wishing he would open it.

            “But…you yelled.”

            “I know I yelled at you. It was wrong of me. I’m really sorry,” I sighed, genuinely apologetic. I tried not to picture myself in that moment, standing in shorts and a t-shirt, my hair a mess, my shoulders slumped as I talked to a closed door. It had been ages since I looked this pathetic—and even longer since I’d said I was sorry to anybody. “Please open the door, Roy.”

            I waited several moments in silence, knowing he’d heard. I was starting to think he was going to ignore my request until I heard the click of the knob. The door came open very slowly, just a crack. I pushed it open the rest of the way and saw Roy, several inches taller than me, standing just beyond the light of the hallway. It was dark outside, and his room was full of shadows. From the way he stood, his shoulders hunched forward, his hands clenched at his sides, his head ducked away from my face, I knew he was really upset.