The monsignor studies his hands as if he’s reading what’s written on his palms. “You are friends with this Jacob Smithson, are you not?”
Avery nods. “Yes, sir.” He won’t deny it.
“Good friends, Mr. Dendritch?” The monsignor glances up at him.
Avery nods again. “The best, sir. He’s…” He smiles, thinking of the way it feels to hold Jacob close. “He’s not as bad as they say, Father. He’s funny and smart and…”
And beautiful and loving and means more to me than anyone else in this whole world. But he doesn’t say that.
Instead, he tells the monsignor, “He’s lonely, I think. Not used to having people be nice to him, maybe. I don’t know. I just know he’s great to hang out with, you know? He’s made this year fun for me.”
You don’t know how much fun, he adds silently.
“Mr. Nelson says—” The monsignor stops, catching him with that stare. “His roommate. You know him, as well?”