Laughing, this kid, Fry, pushes me further toward the kitchen, his hand on my back. "Stop looking back," he chuckles. "You'll survive without Newt."

I pull a face. "Will I? He's the only one—"

"You will," Fry assures. Well, it's actually Frypan, but both Newt and Fry said to call him Fry. Then he explained it's just a nickname and that is actual name is Siggy, though no one calls him that.

"He'll be drawing your designs and we make the salt clay, yeah?"

"Aren't I supposed to make my own design? And aren't we supposed to make that clay together? Since when does someone else draw what I'll be making from clay? Besides, I'm good at dr—"

"You'll like Thomas," Fry mutters under his breath. "Anyways. The due date for this project is the end of the week, so we ain't got no time to do it all together."

"Can I draw the things?"

"You don't trust Newt's drawing skills?"

"...not really, no."

"Newt's able to draw! Better than me, at least."

Well, yeah, he seems like someone who would be able to draw, but how come we don't sketch our own things? Weird system.

"Alright. How do we make this?"

Fry points at the water, salt, and flour on the counter. "Mix this. We could add dye if we want. Then we make whatever drawings Newt got us."

"Imagine he draws something weird as hell. And then we'll have to make that! We have to show our end projects to Mary, remember?"

"Mary's chill. Don't worry, dude." His smile brightens. "Any plans on how to finish that list yet? Minho and Lelia went out yesterday. They must've completed at least two things already."

I nod, but my eyebrows furrow. "I didn't see them at breakfast. Or today at all."

"Don't mind that. Minho barely ever shows up at breakfast. Either half dead from going out or he got up even before we serve, and already ate."

"You sleep in a hut with her. Was she there this morning?"

"Nope." He shrugs as if he didn't just figuratively press an alarm button in my brain that is now sending red lights everywhere— because yeah, Lelia not showing up at breakfast is such an extreme thing that I should totally worry about it and consider the worse things to have happened.

How vigilant is too vigilant?

"Do you know where they went?"

"I don't know. Late night swimming?"

"Imagine something happened in whatever thing they were swimming," I blurt out, then mentally hit myself because I don't have to freaking worry this much.

"Like what? A siren crawled out of the water, pushed 'em off a mountain, then drowned them? Yeah, sure."

I sigh. "Okay. We'll make this clay, check up on Newt, then ask if he knows."

"Or you could leave your sister alone for at least twelve hours."

I don't like that idea at all, especially while I have no idea what she's doing right now—of course she's allowed to have privacy but I'd like to know little of what's going on—but alright.

As we make the clay, Fry tells some jokes that for sure take my mind off everything for a while. Once the clay is done, a bowl full of grayish dough, we take it back to the hut where we were in before.

"Ah, there you are," the woman I now know as Mary says. She closes the door behind us, her dark hair waving up by the motion. "Sit down, boys. Just another hour before we'll be done for today."

"See?" Fry leans in. "She's chill. Only gives us lessons 'till one, then we're free. And she hardly ever gets angry."

I nod. Sitting down next to Newt is another quick comfort, since I'm still a tad anxious, and when he flashes me a smile it does feel like a ton of weight gets lifted off my shoulders.

"Got the drawings?"

As he nods, he slides a paper over to me. I see the light sketches. Inspect them for a while. Eventually, I come to the conclusion he has drawn me a few animals, which I'll now have to make out of clay.

"Satisfied?" He wonders.

I nod, and get to work. "Have you seen Lelia?"

"No. But she's just at the lake house with Minho. He told me yesterday," Newt assures. "I should've told you that earlier, shouldn't I have?"

"Oh, no. Don't worry," I say fast, though he's right. But also not, because he doesn't owe me anything and I still have to keep reminding myself she'll be fine on her own. Or well, with Minho. "Glad to now know."

Another smile, except this one doesn't only send comfort, but it also sends heat up to my cheeks. Quickly, I avert my head and start claying.

***

When I've finished making a mouse and a dog, both about the size of two fists, Newt is still working on his first project. I glance over at him now and then. Try to bring details to my things, but they're really just done.

Then after a few more minutes, it hits me that it is already one o'clock and half of the kids are gone.

"You can go if you want," Newt says, probably aware of my secret glances by now.

"I'll stay," I decide. "What's taking so long, though? I mean, good that you take your time, but it just looks... perfect, actually."

"This square is bigger than that one." He points at the tiny squares he carved into the roses, only a little detail. One square is as small as a freckle. "And this leaf is unsymmetrical."

"Didn't know you were a perfectionist."

He looks up, half-grinning. "I mean, I do choose the ones I like with passion."

My smile disappears, but only out of shock, because if anything, more heat for sure streams into my face. "You're gonna have to explain what you meant with that."

I know damn well what he means. It's just oddly satisfying to receive compliments. Especially compliments like these. And especially from Newt.

But he turns back to his work without another word, yet the grin is left. 

We sit in silence for another few minutes. My skin is back to its normal color by the time I've taken a pencil and have started fidgeting with it. Then I spot a jar filled with water and paint. 

Fast, I dip the pencil in both the water and the paint. My hand automatically starts working on my left arm, even though my mind hasn't even made up what to paint yet. Probably just flowers.

About flowers— why not match my pants with my shoes?

I pull my knee up and start doing whatever will take my mind of Lelia and my eyes off Newt. Great solution.

I think back about my first days in the paint obsession. Dad got pissed I was 'ruining' all my clothes. But Amina was very happy with the customized sweater I got her, and he later was okay with it as long as I cleaned up.

I don't. My bedroom now basically exists out of my bed and paint. Canvas, easels, blow dryers, tools... But my bed is forbidden territory for all that mess, so I do sleep in a clean space. Sort of.

"Ever thought of starting a business?"

His voice comes out of nowhere, so I startle, and my pencil slips away; an unwanted line of paint stains on the material of my clothes. "No, I haven't."

"You should," he says, motioning at my pants. "You're doing a great job with that. Looks nice."

"Thanks," I blush, because compliments are so hard to properly receive.

Another one of those smiles that I shouldn't be finding this amusing. "Sorry 'bout that, by the way," he adds. I can't even register what he's talking about before he has already fixed the mistake on my pants by making a star out of it.

Still startled but in another way, I manage a smile. "Thanks, Newt."

Goddamnit, Lyndon. Come up with something better than just 'thanks' all the time.

"We should probably get some fresh air now, though," Newt suggests. "And we'll go search Lelia, yeah?"

"Yeah," I agree, then take a few deep breaths. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm this nervous today- or basically everyday since I came here."

Newt puts away the last materials and follows me outside. "Don't worry. You just have to find your place. Seek some good friends. Get comfortable."

Another thing I admire about my sister. She always seems to fit in perfectly, or she's not scared to talk to others. I'm not left out, nor am I scared to talk to people, but it's still different in some way.

"I like Frypan," I say.

Newt nods in encouragement. "You'll like Jeff, too. You haven't met Alby yet, have you? Oh, and Ben is also very nice."

Newt takes two plastic bags from off a table and hands me one to fill with food. I take a croissant and some bread, ignoring the food fight that's happening behind us, and then I'm back to walking next to him, on our way that lake house.

"What do you usually paint?"

"Whatever I feel like painting."

"So some have deep meanings?"

I take a bite off my food. "Some, yeah."

"Mind telling me one? I'm curious."

"Well, it's really stupid, so—"

"No, no, tell me," he insists with a laugh.

I run a hand down my face. "It's actually a hideous painting. Everyone who has seen it said it. I did. You know when your mind wanders off while you're doing something? Perhaps you're on a bike, and in such deep thought that you are suddenly a mile further without even realizing?"

He hums.

"So my mind wandered off during that one painting. When I snapped back to reality, there were streaks of red, blue, pink, and yellow. Some had turned into brown."

"What's the meaning behind it?"

"That each stroke is a thought you can't control. Thoughts mashing together into some random emotions. A lot of emotions, referring to the colors. You're unable to tell what the artwork is until you've finished it, just like you're only able to sort your worries out when you've collected them all, I guess." I pause. Frown. Saying this out loud sounds absolutely—

"Beautiful."

...ridiculous.

Surprised, I look at him.

"It can't be worse than modern paintings. And the meaning is beautiful," he says. "Okay. Tell me more."

"I— eh— well." Stop saying 'well' all the time, too, Lyndon. "Promise you won't tell Lelia?"

"Promised," he says, quickly hooking his pinky around mine.

"I once painted her. The back of head, the side of her body... staring out of a window into the dark night. Into a landscape full with baby's breath and a sky full of stars. Her hair had been died brown at that time, but I still painted her as a blonde. Few clouds in the sky. Some made the stars vague. No moon, because she lost the moon while counting the stars."

She loses herself in lighting other dark places up. The moon disappears, the stars shine brighter. She ebbs away, they become happier, even though she doesn't notice. I become happier, even with how she sometimes acts.

Luckily, Newt doesn't ask about the exact definition. He either gets it or just knows not to ask any further. If he would have, I wouldn't have told him. It's sharing a piece of information that I shouldn't be sharing, even though it's not a secret.

"One more," he requests. "I could listen for hours about this, though."

My face automatically lights up. "Really?"

"Definitely."

I mean, Dad and Amina have been interested, but I don't think they really understand most meanings. Like, understand-understand.

"It's Lili's eye," I say. This nickname for Lelia is something I barely use. Sometimes, in my head, I use it. I came up with it like a year ago. Never told her, because she doesn't really care about nicknames like that. I was afraid she'd snap at me and tell me to never use it. "In her eye, there's the reflection of a woman. That's my mom. Our mom. I see her in my mom, even though I was one and a half when she died. Dad told me some stories."

Newt nods, muttering a 'wow' and then not saying anything else.

"What're your hobbies?" I wonder.

He shrugs. "Rotting in my bed during the winter, being here in the summer."

That's... something. "Oh."

"Don't feel bad. All my friends live spread over the country. They can't always come over. I've got my sister, but she's often at school. I just read. Draw a bit. Call my friends. Board games. Whatever. Random things."

That satisfied me more. The thought of Newt, lying in his bed with pillows all around him as snow falls outside, and kids are playing. Throwing snowballs on each other and against his window, but the only thuds he hears are the beats of his heart. Slowly and at a healthy pace, yet sad because it's longing for his friends—

I shake my head a bit. I've been creepy enough while painting Lelia without her consent. I really can't go paint Newt now. And especially not him in his bed. Sad. Or whatever... emotion he'd be feeling... in bed..?

"There we are."

I only realize we've arrived at the lake house when Newt stops, and I hear a few sounds coming from inside.

Interesting sounds.

But Newt either doesn't seem to hear or doesn't care, pushes the handle down, and walks in.

I hear a yelp, which is my sign to squeeze my eyes shut. First of all, I don't want to see whatever they might be doing. Second of all, that would make the urge to kill Minho worse.

"Oh, hi guys," to my surprise, she sounds delighted. "We were just watching Pretty Woman, wanna join?"

I peek at my sister, who's lying on the couch. A thick blanket covers both her and Minho. He has his arm wrapped around her. She lies against his side. I don't see much rivalry—

Then a strange but familiar smell enters my nose.

They're high.