“Nine,” Alex repeats. He picks up Ryan’s dropped stone, and holds it out. “Nine.” His voice doesn’t change.
Ryan throws his stone, which sinks after seven, and they don’t speak of Lizzie again.
* * * *
They aren’t friends, not really. They are strange acquaintances with very little in common, pulled together out of boredom and isolation and geographic convenience, and Ryan can’t read Alex. He doesn’t know what Alex thinks of anything, never mind him, and he isn’t altogether certain if Alex could be classified as wholly sane or not.
They aren’t friends. They are barely more than strangers.
So it doesn’t occur to Ryan to say goodbye until he finds himself on the train and realises that not only did he not say goodbye, he didn’t even tell Alex that he was going.
But it won’t matter—Alex is hardly an overemotional sort of person. Ryan will be lucky if Alex even notices that he’s gone; half the time, Alex barely notices when Ryan is there.