Hiding From Us

36. shain

‘’Is that a new hoody?’’ Liam asked. 

     ‘’No,’’ I said, before I could stop myself. Hesitantly, I added, ‘‘It’s not mine.’’

     He said, being the nosy child that he was, ‘’Oh. Whose is it?’’

     Frantically, I wracked my brains. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to spark something inside of him, whether it be anger or jealousy or loneliness or heartbreak. It was lunch time and the snow was sparkling in the sun, and for once I was taking the time off to actually hang out with Liam, and I didn’t want to make things awkward. 

     I said, ‘‘It’s my dad’s. I thought it was cozy, so I stole it this morning.’’

     I am such a liar, I thought. The hoody was too small to be my dad’s, and it wasn’t his style: it was thick, dark blue, and emblemed with the Vancouver Canucks’ logo. Maybe I should’ve said that it belonged to one of my brothers instead. 

     Liam and I went outside and around to the back of the school, where we sat against the wall and let the sun soak into our skin while sharing a bag of pretzels. It was still November, but since we lived in Canada—and also in the Rocky Mountains—this was neither unexpected or surprising. 

     Liam popped open a can of Coke. ‘‘You still writing songs?’’

     ‘’Um, sure. Occasionally.’’ 

     ‘‘With your guitar?’’

     ‘‘Mostly. Sometimes on the piano. I don’t know. Only if inspiration comes. Like, um, for instance . . .’’ I pulled out my notepad and turned to the most recent page, where I had scribbled a verse of complex words last night. I showed it to Liam. 

     Softly, he read it aloud: ‘‘Aren’t you just a masterpiece of words / come on dye me stain me paint me in your language.’’ Then he gave me an appreciative smirk. ‘‘That’s cool. Where’d it come from?’’

     I shrugged. ‘’I don’t know. I was texting with Megan and it just kind of popped into my head.’’ I took my notepad back just as an idea came to me. I said, ‘‘Hey, do you remember when we would go outside at lunch and, like, play pretend?’’

     Liam laughed. Then, seriously, he said, ‘‘I missed that so much. I still miss it. Hey, let’s try it. Crossover between Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. I’m a sixteen-year-old boy named Evan—no, Owen. Owain. O-W-A-I-N. I’m attending my sixth year in . . . Slytherin. Yeah, I’m Slytherin. I’m an extremely pissed off and annoyed child.’’

     ‘‘Okay,’’ I said, laughing a little. It had been so long since we’d done this. ‘’Um, I’m fifteen and my name is Deirdre.’’ 

     ‘‘Deeeeer-dray,’’ Liam echoed, slightly mocking. 

     ‘’Oh, hush.’’ I slapped his arm. ‘‘Anyways, my godly parent is, uh, Apollo, and I’m really good at archery and music. My mortal parent—my mom—is a music producer, which is the reason why she got together with Apollo. I’ve been at camp for three years now, and currently I’m doing a quest in Britain because there’s, um, an abominable snowman in the area.’’

     ‘‘Wouldn’t the British demigods be working on that instead?’’

     ‘‘All the British forces got eaten, so they’re sending us Americans instead.’’ 

     Liam frowned. ‘’Oh. Well. That’s depressing. Um, time and setting?’’

     ‘‘November twenty-fourteen?’’