Happily Ever Afters by Elise Bryant

Author:Elise Bryant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Balzer + Bray
Published: 2020-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

I walk past more doors than there are people that live in this house. I have never lived in a house like that—not in Roseville and not in Long Beach. We’ve always had just enough rooms for our family, and most people I know are like that too. I wonder what it must be like to live in a house with such excess, to have rooms that people probably don’t even go into every day. Does dust gather in those rooms? I guess that’s what Grace must be for.

Most of the doors are shut, but there’s a light on at the end of the hallway, and I slowly drift toward it, like a moth to a flame. And when I get there, I see Nico, back hunched over in a C, studying a large book. But squinting, I see that it’s not something serious like the complete works of Leo Tolstoy or something. No, it’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone—the illustrated one. And I’m surprised. It doesn’t fit this image of him I’ve created in my head.

I turn around to go back to the party, my neck feeling a little hot. But then I stop myself. You can do this. Or at least—you will do this, and you’ll find out about your capability along the way. With a sudden pang of boldness, I knock on the doorframe, making Nico look up.

“Hi,” I say, my voice a little strangled.

“Hey,” he says, and smiles. Full-on cheeses. I take that as my invitation to walk in.

“What you reading?” I ask, even though I know.

He shows me the cover and then blushes, which throws me off. He’s usually so confident. “I know it’s kinda little kiddish.”

“Not at all! I loved Harry Potter. Well, still love Harry Potter. They’re my favorite books.” I’m talking too much, trying to make him feel better, because they’re definitely not my favorite books anymore. I almost even spill the beans about my Harry Potter fan fiction history, but luckily I have a little more self-preservation than that.

“Cool. Me too.”

“Except . . .” Should I say it?

“Except what?”

“Except, I just wish there were more brown people in the books. It made my Halloween costumes in elementary school pretty difficult.”

“Well, Hermione’s Black in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. I saw it on Broadway a couple years ago. And J. K. Rowling said Dumbledore is gay, right?”

I just give him the side-eye, and he laughs, loud and full, his head falling back to face the ceiling. It emboldens me further, and I close the space between me and the bed, sitting down at the end.

“The books,” he continues, not acknowledging me sitting on his bed either way, “they’re just . . . they’re a comfort to me. I read them when I’m feeling kinda shitty. And these illustrated ones—have you seen them? They’re dope.”

He scoots closer to me and leans in to show me the page he was on. It’s Hagrid, towering over Harry, their faces illuminated by the fireplace as Hagrid reveals something that will change Harry’s life forever.

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