Lucas came.S. home talking more than he had in years.
Especially about a girl named Ava.
“She has this laugh,” he told me one evening while standing in the pantry doorway. “When she laughs at something you say, you feel picked.”
“Picked?”
“Chosen, I guess.”
I smiled.
“That sounds sweet.”
A few weeks later, he spent an entire Saturday trying to choose a gift for her.
He finally settled on a tiny fox keychain because Ava had mentioned liking foxes.
“Is this stupid?” he asked.
“It’s sweet.”
His face changed.
“That means yes.”
“No, Lucas. I mean it.”
I thought the crush was adorable.
So adorable that I told people about it.
My sister Renee.
My friend Karen.
Even my hairdresser.
I never stopped to ask whether Lucas wanted his feelings turned into a family story.
Then one Thursday afternoon, everything changed.
Lucas came home with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and a blank expression on his face.
“Hey,” I said. “How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Did you see Ava? Did you give her—”
He stopped halfway up the stairs.
“She laughed.”
My stomach tightened.
“At what?”
“My clothes.”
He stared at the wall instead of me.
“Tyler and his friends were there. She laughed at what I was wearing. They did the rest.”
“The rest?”
“My face. My body. My weight.”
My chest tightened.
“Lucas—”
“I’m going upstairs.”
He closed the door gently.
Somehow that hurt more than if he’d slammed it.
I had a hundred questions.
I asked none of the right ones.
Freshman year slowly unraveled after that.
Lucas stopped talking after school.
He wore oversized hoodies even when the house was warm.
At dinner, he pulled the sleeves over his hands and sat with his elbows tucked inward, as if trying to occupy less space.
One evening, I made spaghetti because it had always been his favorite.
He barely touched it.
“How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Did Tyler bother you again?”
“No.”
“You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You said you had practice.”
“I ate afterward.”
