Six days have passed since the day I woke him up on the couch. We had barely talked.
We just agreed that my school could wait while his leg healed. And by we, I mean I told him in a very childish way that he would do me no good as my crippled bodyguard either way.
So he stayed reading, talking on the phone with whoever, and I spent most of my time with schoolwork. The good part about us remaining in silence is that I did get a lot of work done.
Most days, we only spoke to each other when we asked if the other one was hungry. That and good morning and good night. That was about it. I was still mad at him and a little unsure about this whole arrangement. And I bet he was angry too. Not because he had any reason to, but in his screwed-up mind, he probably had. Weirdo.
The thing about
