The World Without Flags

“Don’t worry about it,” I interrupt. “Really, I understand. I wouldn’t have told me either.” I sigh and toss a branch into the fire.

We listen to the wood spark and burn.

I look up at him. “Do you think that Good Prince Billy really knows how to help Eric?”

“What do you mean? Didn’t Eric say she did?”

“Well,” I answer him, “now I’m thinking he said that to protect you.”

“What?”

“Maybe the Good Prince never said anything like that,” I continue. “Maybe he knew people could survive the Worm because of you, but he couldn’t say that. They might’ve killed you. So he made up the whole thing with the Good Prince to keep your secret.”

Pest looks over to Eric, who’s sitting with his back against a tree, his head turned upward for some reason. “I didn’t think of that,” he says.

“Maybe this whole trip is for nothing,” I say. “Maybe there’s nothing anyone can do. It’s all chance. Either Eric makes it through or he doesn’t. Maybe it’s best if we just find a shack somewhere and wait.” I put my hand on my head and sigh. “I’m so tired,” I say, looking up at the darkening sky through the trees.

There’s a long silence. Pest moves closer to me, and I’m surprised to feel his arm around my shoulders. I’m even more surprised that I don’t recoil. Usually I don’t like to be touched, but I feel myself relax. More than that, I feel strangely safe this near to Pest. I find myself leaning into him and laying my head on his shoulder. It feels good and right. And Pest doesn’t ruin it by talking. We just sit there, listening to the fire crackle and snap.

“What’s your real name?” I ask him in a soft voice. I don’t usually talk like this, low and gentle and, I don’t know, vulnerable and delicate, but that’s how Pest makes me feel, I guess.

“You already know if you saw my school ID,” he answers with a little chuckle.

“Corey?”

“Corey,” he states. We both smile and chuckle a little. The name fits strange on him, like clothes that are too large. “You can keep calling me Pest, if you want.”

“I will,” I laugh. I sigh and then put my arm around him. “You can call me Birdie, if you want.” My voice is so small, I hardly recognize it.

“I will,” he answers me. His voice sounds just as small.

We stay that way for a long time without talking, but eventually hunger forces us to part. When I stand up and walk away from him, I feel my heart stretch, as if it was reluctant to leave and stayed with him.

That night I have a hard time sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, I think about Pest and the feel of his arm around me. How safe I felt. And how, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so alone. When I can’t sleep, I just lie awake, listening to Pest breathing in the night.

115

The next morning I feel stupid. This isn’t the time for romance.

I berate myself for silliness while I get wood for the fire. I think maybe Pest is thinking the same thing because we don’t talk much. We focus on our jobs. We don’t even look each other in the eye. There’s work to do. We have to find the Good Prince, even if she can’t help us. We have to take that risk. It could be Eric’s only chance. Later, while I feed Eric some hot water and the last of the oatmeal, I feel ashamed of myself. I should be concentrating on Eric. He needs me now. I don’t have time for boys. Especially not Pest.

The both of us kind of avoid each other during breakfast and getting ready for another day’s walking. I take care of Eric and he takes care of Queen. The only exception is when I insist on checking his wound.

“Just sit down,” I order him when he tries to argue he feels fine. He listens to me, although he doesn’t look happy about it. I sit down next to him and start unwrapping his bandage. Pest winces and jerks in pain. “Sorry,” I say to him more gently. I try to focus a little and stop being so brusque. The wound is red and angry, but it doesn’t stink and there’s no sign that it’s getting worse. I tell him so. “I’m going to wash it anyway,” I finish. He opens his mouth to argue, but I give him the look that says he shouldn’t bother. He hardly makes a sound as I wash the wound. He just stares off into the forest over my shoulder. “There,” I say when I’m done and the bandage is back in place.

“Thanks,” he tells me. When I look up at him, just for a second, I can’t help but touch his shoulder. Just for a moment. Lightly. The feeling takes away my breath. I swallow and turn away, surprised by the strength of it. Not now, I say. There’s no time for this!

I feel Pest clutch my hand before I can move away, and I turn back.

“Birdie,” he begins.

“Please,” I say. “Please, not now. I have to think about Eric.”

“I know,” he says. “I just want to say.” He takes a deep breath.

“What?”

“You know, just in case, something, you know, happens.” He sounds so awkward, so unlike himself. It makes me feel like holding him. Instead I’m standing in front of him, waiting. He clears his throat. “Just that,” he says. He swallows. “It’s just that I’ve never met anyone like you, and I don’t know, I don’t know.”