Away We Go by Emil Ostrovski Page B

but less than a lot?” he offers, and stuffs his face with a sandwich to avoid further questioning.
    â€œThe other day we argued about my socks. Remember that?” I say as I turn back to Alice.
    â€œWell, they were on the communal sofa and I thought—”
    â€œIt was one sock, Alice. One lonely, little sock, somehow accidentally—” I stop myself. “See? See? We almost started arguing about arguing about socks.”
    â€œThe truth is, I went to counseling, Noah,” Alice says. She has a way of stating simple facts that feels like chastisement. “I know it may be hard for you to imagine, but it helps. They teach you strategies to reframe your thinking.”
    â€œAbout dying?”
    â€œAbout living.” She bites her lip. “You barely even eat. I worry.”
    My turn to sigh. “I was working up to it, you know. Arguing, I mean. But you ruined it.”
    â€œI know,” she says.
    I love that she knows, so I lean over and give her a brief kiss. For once, my thoughts do not drift to Zach.
    Marty cracks open some Pushkin, pretends to read Eugene Onegin . He does an admirable job, even goes as far as to mouth the words.
    â€œMartin, dear?” I say.
    Marty looks up, and I say, “If Pushkin is the best Russianscan do,” I say, “they ought to stick to chess, balalaika, and scorched earth tactics.”
    â€œNoah,” he says. Shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”
    â€œYou can start by dropping that,” I say, nodding at his book.
    â€œHave you even read Pushkin?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact I have. Dr. Seuss can write better limericks, frankly.”
    He gives me such a helplessly exasperated look that I feel guilty. I’m about to apologize when Alice says, “Noah Falls. You’re such a troll.”
    I want to tell them I was perfectly serious; the other week I spent a good hour crying over Oh, the Places You’ll Go!
    â€œIt’s okay,” Marty says. “Noah has this thing where he has to annoy me periodically. And get me drunk.”
    â€œAnd look out for you after he’s gotten you drunk,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice.
    â€œAnd look out for me after he’s gotten me drunk.”
    Alice smiles wistfully at Marty. “You’re too good to him, you know?”
    Marty blushes, turns a page, but Alice has turned her attention to me. Doubt flickers over her face. She thinks she’s hurt my feelings, and now she’s about to apologize. I hate how fragile she thinks I am; she doesn’t understand that I’m the one who’s hurting her. It strikes me that the only functional relationship I’ve ever had was in Marty’s Peter Pan . Peter’s vision was failing, Wendy’s hair was turning gray, but it was okay, because they were in love, and every night they would escape to Neverland together.
    â€œNoah?” Alice asks, and her voice jolts me from my thoughts.
    Marty hunches over Eugene Onegin, adjusts his glasses.
    â€œYou’re right, actually,” I say, and suddenly I’m standing. Marty and Alice stare up at me from the ground, perplexed.
    They are both too good to me.
    And no matter how good they are to me, it’s not enough.
    Why can’t it be enough?
    Why do I have to walk around with a nagging emptiness inside me?
    â€œNoah,” Alice says, quiet. “You’re the best person I know. I believe that.”
    â€œI’m—” Terrible is the next word I have in mind. Briefly I’m back on the cobblestone path with the autumn-bare branches overhead, the birds flitting above, the teachers approaching, and Zach’s telling me he’s terrible and I’m thinking of squandered poetry, birds that mate for life.
    â€œâ€”going for a walk” is how I finish. I start down the path that circles the lake, leaving Marty and Alice to stare after me. The Galloway gardens are up ahead, flowers