Chapter 4: Watermelon and Warnings

Even during summer break at UChicago, Julian was hardly ever home. It was like he was always on the move, only crashing here for a few hours at a time.

I’d hear the front door click at odd hours, the rumble of his old Mustang pulling away, but he was always gone before I could say more than a word.

Still, sometimes our paths crossed.

One sticky-hot afternoon, Mrs. Greene brought me chilled watermelon, but set two plates on my desk.

The ceiling fans barely moved the air. I wiped sweat from my brow, grateful for the icy fruit.

"Mrs. Greene, that’s too much. I can’t eat it all," I said, grinning.

She hesitated, then forced a smile. "It’s just enough. Your brother hasn’t eaten yet. Avery, why don’t you bring him a plate?"

I caught the way she was testing me—seeing if I’d play peacekeeper.

I frowned, but nodded. "Okay, Mrs. Greene. You go ahead. I’ll take care of it."

After she left, I knocked on Julian’s door.

I could hear faint classical music inside, but it cut off as soon as I knocked.

A few seconds later, Julian opened the door, arms crossed, annoyance flickering in his eyes. I forced a smile and held out the plate.

I tried to look harmless as I offered the watermelon. "Julian, Mrs. Greene cut some watermelon. Want some?"

I didn’t let my eyes wander, but I couldn’t help noticing how neat his room was—minimalist, almost sterile, with one bright photo by the bedside. He shifted, blocking my view before I could see more.

Julian’s voice was flat: "No thanks. Don’t come looking for me again."

He shut the door.

I shrugged and carried the watermelon back to my room. I’d expected that, but did it anyway—just to keep up appearances, even if it annoyed him.

I set the plate on my desk, oddly satisfied by the performance, even if no one was watching.