Roman says. He’s sitting on the mattress, bouncing up and down. Despite his height, he can sometimes look like a little kid. I think his outfit is throwing me off, too. He’s not in his standard hoodie and track pants. His mom must have made him put on the pressed dark slacks and a cream-colored button-up shirt for the occasion. He looks a bit uncomfortable in them, like he’s playing dress-up. “Ditching you?” I pace around his room. It’s simple, kind of what I pictured, not that I spend a lot of time imagining Roman’s room. With its beige walls, mandatory University of Kentucky Wildcats Basketball team poster, and maroon trim, it could just as easily be any other high school boy’s room. On his nightstand, I see a picture of a toothy little girl; her mouth is wide open in a smile and she’s sticking her tongue out at whoever was taking the photograph. She has the same color hair as Roman, same deep-set hazel eyes. The girl must be Madison. Roman’s mom is downstairs cooking dinner, her attempt at Turkish cuisine.
What do You think about My Heart And Other Black Holes?
