Out of Nowhere(38)

“No, I live in South Philly,” I say. Then, because these are Rafe’s friends—or acquaintances, at least—I add, “You?”

“Yeah, I live at 48th and Kingsessing.” She points south. “So, like, what’s your story? I haven’t seen you here before.”

I fucking hate that question. What’s your story, like the person expects you to entertain them or something. I think of all the conversations I could start, the topics I could bring up, and the jokes I could make to get in with them and find that none of them really seem suited to this crowd. In fact, I have no idea how to make them like me.

“Um, no story, man. I’m an auto mechanic.”

“Oh. Cool. I’ve always wanted to do a skillshare about how to fix cars. Neat.” But she keeps looking at me like she’s waiting for me to explain myself and my presence here and I don’t know what she expects. And what the hell is a skillshare?

“So….” She tries again. “Have you been involved in prison justice and decarceration before, or…?”

“Uh… what’s decarceration?”

She seems puzzled and looks around at the others. “Oh well, it’s trying to get the state not to funnel any more money into building prisons and to eventually release incarcerated folks from prison, you know?”

Everyone else at the table nods as they pack their books.

“Um, is that… I mean… you don’t really want to release people from prison, though, right? Like, what about murderers and rapists?”

Every head at the table snaps up to look at me. A few start to say something but then look at Rafe and look at each other, puzzled.

“How’s it going, Colin,” Tony says, coming to lean over me on the table.

“Um, fine.” I lean away from him.

“Cool, cool.” He hesitates. “Okay, well, just let me know if you get stuck.”

“Am I doing something wrong?” I ask Rafe quietly.

He shakes his head. I meant with the people at our table, but Rafe says, “He’s just making sure, since it’s your first time.”

“Dude, stop saying that. You make me sound like a virgin.”

I’m joking, but Rafe’s expression changes quickly and he swallows hard. Which, of course, makes my stupid dick sit up and take notice again. Rafe clears his throat.

“I’m gonna get another.” I gesture to the letter bin. This letter is from a woman. It’s dumb, I guess, but I never thought about the fact that there are women are in prison too. Her name’s Jane and she wants romance novels set in Scotland. I wander into the room with the fiction, where it quickly becomes clear not only that a lot of the romances are set in Scotland but also that you can tell just by the covers, all of which feature plaid, bare-chested men in kilts, or both.

I grab a few of the least tattered ones, but instead of going back to my table I veer right and go in the basement, hoping to delay the moment when I have to make small talk with the other volunteers. Okay, they seem friendly, and obviously they’re doing a nice thing, but… I don’t know, there’s something about them that I’m clearly missing. Like, they all seem to agree with each other without saying anything, but I’m not sure what they agree about. And Rafe clearly agrees with… whatever they’re doing, and I don’t like not getting something about him.

I lean against a shelf marked “Prison Abolition” and look at the books I grabbed. The first one is called Kiss of the Highlander, and the cover shows the bottom half of a man’s face and his bare shoulders draped in plaid. I can’t tear my eyes away from the cover because the mouth looks kind of like Rafe’s mouth. I’ve never read a romance novel, never even seen one except when people are reading them on the train. Curious, I flip it open to read just the beginning.

I startle at a hand on my shoulder and practically decapitate myself jerking around to look up at Rafe.

“Jesus,” he says. “I thought you left.”

“Sorry,” I say, pushing myself up and holding the books behind my back. “Just, um, getting some books.”

“What’d you get?”

“Oh, just, you know.”

“Nope, I don’t.” He looks quizzical.

“Um.” I hold out the books.

Rafe laughs. “Very steamy, Colin. So.” He leans in close. “Do highlanders do it for you?”

“Well, I saw the movie. Queen. Best soundtrack ever.”

“Mmhmm. Well, it’s about time to go, if you want to come finish up this last package.”

Thank god. “Sure.”

Back at our table, a skinny guy wearing a bike helmet is talking loudly about how everyone should come to a film screening later that night. Everyone nods like they already know about it, but he never says what the movie is. I keep my head down and write back to Jane.