Twenty seconds later my phone dings and downloads a picture. A pair of black-and-white Vans on dirt. He’s outside. One of his shoelaces is frayed at the end, and there’s a scuff mark across the white tip of his shoe. For some reason, that makes me smile, and it’s like this huge weight lifts off my chest and slithers away. I head to my room, snap a picture of an empty paper bag on my desk, and then the chair by the window that I never sit in. I send them before I can debate myself. He sends photos back. A balcony railing with his hand resting on the top. A legal pad with equations scribbled all
...more
