Prologue
It wasn’t until months later that I noticed how Wyatt made his way into my life like a vine encroaches inside your window and one day you look up and notice that, fuck, there’s a giant vine growing inside my house. The removal of him was the same way, too – my hurried and unsuspecting hands reaching to break the green rope not realizing that it was covered with tiny pricks. I didn’t even notice them until my hands erupted with a glistening red. The pain was sudden and quick. Just like with Wyatt.
Chapter 1
The rain pattered like drops on a tin can, picking up pace until it was a steady hum. Shit, I thought, only five blocks to go. I drummed my fingers impatiently on the wheel, propping my elbow on the window and resting my head in the cup of my hand. Jiggling my left knee I fumbled for my purse, wondering if I had enough time to light a cigarette or check my phone for a text. My hand found the Newports first. As I pursed my lips for a drag, a green haze splashed on my windshield and I stepped on the gas. I exhaled quickly, my muscles releasing one by one.
“AH!”
I screamed and forced my foot on the breaks as hard as I could. I looked up and saw a figure not two feet from the front of the car. The tires screamed in my ears, screeching at the coat of rain slicked to the pavement. I threw the gear into park and flung open the door.
“What the hell are you doing!” I screamed, throwing my arms back. My chest heaved violently, eyes narrowed in. “Why the hell were you in the middle of the street?” I demanded.
“I think you better move your car from the middle of the road,” he replied, pointing to my car, unfazed. He placed both hands in his pockets and started back for the sidewalk.
I watched incredulously as he walked away from me and sat down on the bench. “Unbelievable,” I muttered, shaking my head as I started back to the car. I glanced down at the dashboard clock to see just how late this set me back. 11:00 P.M. Sighing, I put the car in drive and headed towards Blaine’s house.
As I pulled in the driveway all three of them emerged from the garage. Blaine’s hands faced upward at his side, a motion to question where I’ve been. Taking a deep breath I climbed out of the car, slammed the door a little extra heavy and exclaimed, “Don’t ask. Some moron jumped in the middle of the road and I almost killed him.”
This answer seemed to satisfy them because the next question from Luke was, “You want a beer?”
I shook my head and caught it mid-air as I entered the garage. Slumping down in the couch I cracked it open, crossing my legs in a four. Family Guy was playing on the 15 inch t.v. resting on a red crate. This garage was the only place we could all hang out and not be bothered by anyone. Blaine pulled down the door of the garage and picked up some darts. “You want to play?” he asked me, motioning to the dartboard.
“No, I just need to chill a second.” I reached in my bag and pulled out the cigarette from earlier; it was tarnished on the tip.
“You know, you really shouldn’t—“ started Georgia, but I knew what was coming and made a point to exhale right towards her face. “Gross!”she yelled, swatting at the air.
Sometimes I wondered how Georgia ended up in our motley crew. She was sweet, gullible, and driven. Her brown boxy framed glasses were an awesome contrast to her straight blonde hair falling just below her shoulder. Tonight she wore a black short sleeved polo with faded ripped jeans that flared at the bottom and Converse sneakers; doodles etched onto the tops.
“I’ll play with you, B,” she said, and headed for the dart circle.
“So, Brie,” started Luke, “are you entering in that contest or what?”
I rolled my eyes and took another drag. “I don’t think it’ll be done in time. I have so much work left on it.”
Luke chuckled, taking another sip of his beer. “By your perfectionist standards it will never be done. You could just sketch something in five minutes and it would be good enough to beat out everyone who had been working for days.”
Georgia half yelled from the end of the garage, “Yeah, Brie, just enter it.” There was a ‘plunk’ noise soon followed by a “Darn it!!” I glanced over just quick enough to see Georgia’s dart land right in the wood siding, completely missing the board.
“I’ve already had to patch up that side!” growled Blaine. “They don’t make targets big enough for you to hit, you know!”
“What’s it of, anyway?” asked Luke. “The mystery is killing me.”
“Well, you’ll just have to keel over then, because it won’t be ready and I’m not entering something that’s not done,” I said as I threw the cigarette in a Solo cup.
We watched a few more episodes of Family Guy before Georgia started yawning and glancing down at her watch, not unnoticed by me.
“Hey, Gia, you going to pass out on us?” inquired Blaine with a mocking tone and poke to her shoulder.
“No, I’m fine!” she said, sitting up a little too quickly and adjusting her glasses.
“Don’t fight it,” I said, “it’s about that time anyway. Molly will be calling me soon.” I stood up and gathered my bag. “I’m taking you home, right?”
Georgia nodded, bending down to tie her shoe.
“Oh c’mon,” said Blaine, “it’s only 12:30!”
“Which means I’ve spent an hour and a half too long with you goons; I’ve lost enough brain cells already.”
“It’s from the smoking,” whispered Georgia to Luke, not so subtly.
“Oh lay off it, Sandy,” I retorted. I knew how much it irked Georgia when I compared her to Sandy from Grease.
“Bye, guys,” I said with a wave. “See you later.”
Georgia and I clamored into the car and backed down the driveway. We only got a block away before I asked, “You and Blaine… you seem especially… friendly,” I said through a smile and teasing tone, glancing to see Georgia’s reaction.
“That’s preposterous,” replied Georgia, crossing her arms on her chest. It was amusing to see her get so defensive.
Laughing, I replied, “Wow, that’s quite a ten-dollar word for a two-dollar question. I’m just saying what it looks like.”
“And what does it look like?”
“Like you’re into him,” I said, a look of obviousness on my face.
“He’s so… ugh…” started Georgia. “I’m just not into him so let’s discuss something else.”
“Oookay.”
I let my mind drift out the window and onto the street, my eyes settling on a figure at the bench.
Georgia must have followed my gaze because she soon exclaimed, “Look, there’s a person out there.”
“Thanks, Einstein.”
The light turned green, illuminating his body.
“We know him – he’s that soccer player from school. Wyatt. Wyatt Johnston.”
A feeling of recognition overcame my body, a spark connecting. My pupils dilated and I yelled, “No – he’s that moron!”
“What moron?”
“The one who I almost ran over earlier!”
“That was like, almost two hours ago. He’s still here, in the same spot?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well something must be wrong.”
“Not my problem.”
“Brie! We should go talk to him and see if he needs help.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, pulling over the car. I knew I would never hear the end of it from Gia unless we stopped. She practically jumped out of the car the second we were in Park. I took my time getting out and leaned against the driver’s side door, crossing my arms. I could see her approaching him and initiating a conversation. I always envied that about Gia – that she felt comfortable talking to just about anybody. Before I got too deep into thought about it I saw Wyatt stand up and start approaching with Georgia. Even in the darkness I could see his dark wet curls sticking around his forehead; he was easily a foot taller than Gia. Great. Now I have to talk to the moron.
“Brie, this is Wyatt,” Georgia said, a little too excitedly. “I said we could give him a lift home. He only lives a few blocks away.”
Unimpressed I asked flatly, “What were you doing sitting on a bench for two hours?”
Gia shot me a look like I’d just said the rudest thing she’d ever heard.
Wyatt raised one eyebrow. “Wanted to know what it felt like to get soaking wet and then sit with it for a few hours.”
“He said someone was supposed to pick him up but never showed,” replied Georgia, trying to smooth over the tension that clung like a fog between us.
“Whatever,” I replied, already climbing back in the car. “Just tell me where you live, I have to get home.”
Georgia returned to her seat in the front and Wyatt in the back.
“Just shove whatever’s back there over to the side.”
Wyatt’s eyes opened in surprise at all that was back there: paint brushes, paper, canvas, paint, bottles of coke. “Sure.”
“So where am I taking you?”
“Just up five blocks and one to the right,” he replied.
“Gia lives a little closer, so I’m dropping her off first,” I said matter-of-factly.
I waited for the break in silence, knowing how uncomfortable Georgia was in the absence of speech.
“So, Wyatt, where were you coming from?” Gia asked innocently.
“Just this soccer get-together we had. No big deal,” he replied.
“Oh, that must be fun,” she said, “you know, doing things with your team. You all must be really close, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess we are,” he said, listlessness on the edge of his voice.
A few minutes later we were sliding into Gia’s driveway, the flood light turning on. Gia leaned over to give me a quick hug and whispered in my ear, “Be nice!”
“Bye, Wyatt, nice to meet you!” Georgia said sweetly, smiling.
I watched Gia let herself in and then stared back at him through the rearview mirror. “Are you going to get in the front or what? I’m not you’re chauffeur.”
“Right…” he said, sliding into the seat next to me. “Thanks for the ride, by the way.”
“You’re a hazard to have on the street anyway so you’re only doing me a favor,” I said, rotating my body to start backing up.
“What do you mean?” he questioned.
“Do you not remember? Before… when you almost killed us by throwing yourself in front of my car,” I recalled, annoyed that he didn’t seem to remember this minor detail.
“That was you?” he asked. “Excuse me, you almost killed me.”
“Yeah, because you were an idiot and appeared in the middle of the road out of nowhere!” I could feel my cheeks getting hot, my heart pulsating.
He didn’t come up with a good reason for doing so, he only gripped the handlebar and replied, “I’m sorry you feel bad that you almost killed me, but no hard feelings.”
He was infuriating.
“Make a right over here; I’m the third house on the left.”
I clicked on her blinker and raised my eyebrows at the name of his street, Lovers Lane. “Nice street name,” I said, the sarcasm rolling effortlessly. I was too absorbed by the connotation of the name to realize he only lived one block over from me.
“Yeah, the people who settled this street apparently used to catch teenagers kissing all the time behind the trees so that’s where the name comes from.”
An image of a dozen couples all making out behind the rows of trees caught me off-guard and I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
“Ah, the stone has some blood,” said Wyatt, a smirk in the corner of his mouth. My smile dropped back down.
“Goodnight,” he said, cracking the door, “Thanks again.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said, gripping the wheel. The moment I heard the door click I sped away and didn’t look back.
I deftly opened the back door in the kitchen, careful not to make a sound as I slid on the bolt lock. Carrying my sandals in my left hand I quickly made way for the staircase in the living room.
“You’re late, sweetheart,” came a voice from my right. I jumped at the sound, hand clutching my chest.
Gasping for air I choked out, “Molly, you scared me!”
I’m in deep shit.
I hated disappointing my aunt, which was all I seemed to do lately. Molly was sitting in her yellow terry-cloth robe on the recliner, her reading glasses halfway down her nose and an herbal tea in her right hand. Molly was my mother’s sister and took me and my older brother in the moment we needed someone. That was the kind of person Molly was – she reminded me of my mom.
“Brielle we talked last week about you being on time,” Molly said, sternness in her sweet voice.
“I know, it’s just – I almost hit this person and then I had to pick him up on the way home from Blaine’s and it just totally messed me up,” I blurted.
Molly stood up quickly, confused. “Wait. What? You almost hit someone?”
“Yeah, he jumped out in the middle of the road.”
“Is he okay? Are you okay?” her eyebrows wrinkled in concern and scanned over my body, checking for any visible signs of harm.
“I’m fine. I just want to go to bed.”
“Alright… we can talk more tomorrow,” Molly said, her voice trailing off. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Thank goodness; she seems to have forgotten that she’s mad I’m late. I made a slow ascent up the stairs and mindlessly pushed open my door on the right.
I flopped down on the bed – shoes, purse and all still on and gazed up at the ceiling. I painted Starry Night up there a couple of years ago. I glanced over the painted stars, hesitating on the picture I put of my mom amongst them. Sometimes I awoke in the middle of the night with this indescribable panic. A feeling of not knowing where my mother was in the world. In moments like these I would flick on the side lamp and glance at this picture – a reminder that she’s out there, somewhere in this universe.
My purse vibrated against my hip. A text from Luke.
You make it home okay? Molly not too mad?
I replied, Yep, I kind of distracted her with something else so I think she forgot she was mad. I didn’t think the incident with Wyatt was even worth my time to explain; I’d had enough of him already.
I reached into the side-table and pulled out my sketchbook, flipping through the previous nights’ creations: outlines of my friends, a tigerlily, and my rough sketch for the competition – a self portrait. These were always the hardest for me. Last semester’s art course was entirely on the human body and Mr. Wrought frequently assigned a self-portrait. I always did the worst on these.
In this sketch the outline was pretty much finished, but it was only the outline; the features and emotion were all missing. I shut the book with frustration and tossed it to the floor. I pulled up the covers to my neck and closed the light.
Chapter 2
For some reason I couldn’t get the incident with Wyatt out of my head. He scared the crap out of me and I was furious at him for it. He was so calm and nonchalant like I’d just asked him for directions or something. I pulled out my sketchbook and did the only thing I knew how to do when I was bothered – draw.
Many times I didn’t know what I would draw until the pencil landed on the paper and lines just started flowing out of me and steering me in directions even I was surprised to go in. My wrist flickered a few faint lines on the page that were almost imperceptible. And then it began. Before I knew it the outline of my car was finished, burn marks on the pavement from my almost-collision.
I didn’t want to draw him, because drawing him would mean I would have to look at him and I did not want to look at him. I even set the paper aside for a while – ate a bag of Doritos, went on FaceBook, painted my nails a deep purple. Two hours later I still had that nagging feeling; the one of an unfinished piece. Reluctantly I dragged myself back to my room, crunching on more Doritos and pulled out the paper from my desk drawer. I shoved it in a little hastily and it was crinkled on the edges. I smoothed it out with my hand on the desk and reached for the pencil.
Unlike when I started this sketch, I knew where my next stroke would lead me – to Wyatt. It irked me to pull up a mental picture but what irked me more was unfinished pieces. If I could just draw him this feeling would go away.
I started off sizing him up against the dimensions of the car. I tried to remember his size – about a foot taller than Georgia, which would make him almost six feet. I furrowed my brows, trying to get just the right proportions. His build was slender – athletic. My pencil rolled over his biceps, small lines trying to get just the right curvature. I found my way to his face, trying to capture just the right expression. To be honest I didn’t remember what it was because I hadn’t noticed in my own hysteria.
Blank. That will be his expression.
I remember his wet curls, how they smudged the frame of his face. His angular jaw line, high cheeks and jade-green eyes, how I glared into them and questioned how he didn’t remember it was my car in our almost-collision.
I return to his expression… questioning.
***
Monday came too soon. The only redeeming quality of Monday is that it brought me closer to Friday. And to see my friends too, of course. My high school was pretty typical, but then again the only other ones I’ve seen are schools from shows on MTV, usually following someone around from True Life: I’m Irish and Want to be a Rapper and I Go to a 99% Black School. Or True Life: I Want to Be Popular…I Also Wear Headgear. Trust me, the fastest way NOT to be popular is to be on True Life: I Want to be Popular.
It works the same way here like it does in any other school – to be somebody you have to play a sport, have a rocking body or be a cheerleader. Being all three is the trifecta of popularity. Unless you’re a dude – you don’t want to be a cheerleader if you’re a dude. Using the excuse that you get to look up girls’ skirts doesn’t get you very far.
Unfortunately for me I don’t even have an iota of any of these qualities, except that my body is okay. My boobs, however, are nothing to write home about. When I was thirteen I got a birthday card signed by all of my friends with an illustration of a naked girl standing under a showerhead with a thought cloud: “Maybe if I water them they’ll grow.” Nice, guys.
Sometimes I got comments on my ass. And by comments I mean that boys spoke with their hands. Apparently sometime after sixth grade the boys forgot how to use their words.
“Brie!”
I snapped my head up from my locker just quick enough to spot Georgia shuffling through the crowd, a Starbucks drink in her right hand, a pink binder cradled in her left elbow trying extremely hard not to look like she was running. The only thing worse than headgear was running through the halls excitedly like a lost freshman. I shook my head laughing and slammed my locker shut.
“Hey, Gia.”
“Hey! Have you heard from Luke or Blaine yet today?” her blond bangs swept across the side of her face; she puffed hard to blow a piece of hair from the corner of her mouth.
“I usually don’t see Luke until third period and I haven’t talked to Blaine since Friday. Why?”
“They’re raving about your art submission! Something about it ‘capturing the essence of every day in high school’.”
“My art submission?” I was puzzled. More than puzzled.
“Yeah…” Georgia spoke slowly like I was Special. “The Almost-Collision. It’s amazing. Who knew you remembered such vivid detail, it was so dark out.”
My insides felt like they were dropping from the Tower of Terror and had no promise of stopping. I could feel my cheeks burning and a tightening in my chest like someone yanking both ends of my bra as hard as they could. Finally what I managed to squeak out came out an octave higher than normal.
“Gia! I never submit that! I didn’t submit anything. That’s not even the piece I was working on. How the hell did it end up here?” My mind was reeling. Whoever got their hands on that sketch had my whole sketchbook.
“Didn’t submit it? That doesn’t even make sense. Of course you did. Brie, you need to lay off the smoking for a while. I think it’s messing with your memory—“
“Gia!! I didn’t sumbit it!”
My hands started sweating, my breathing coming faster. I was shaking her shoulders frantically hoping she’d made some terrible error and I’d told her about the sketch and she had some dream that it magically appeared here.
“I need to go see Mr. Wrought. Right now.”
I grabbed Georgia’s arm and was half dragging her down the hallway, my mind narrowed in on the art room like a racehorse wearing blinders. It was dark. Shit.
I jiggled the handle but it was locked. When was the art room ever locked? Oh, I know. The one fricking day I really need to get in there.
“Brie.”
I almost forgot Georgia was still here.
“Brie, I still don’t think I understand what’s going on or why this is a huge deal. One: why would someone steal your artwork? And two: if it’s that great then what’s the big deal? It’ll probably win.”
I felt a look on my face like one I’d never given Gia before: daggers. Daggers.
“Oh, alright. How about I steal your journal, pick some random entry and publish it in the school newspaper. No big deal, right?”
Georgia’s lips drooped in that unmistakable I’m-about-to-cry-and-you’re-a-huge-bitch manner. Her voice quavered dangerously. “I’m… I’m sorry I even mentioned it to you. I thought you’d want to know that people liked it. But forget I mentioned it.”
She turned on her heel just as the bell rang and started down the hallway. I was about to yell out her name and attempt an apology, but she’d already turned the corner. I suck at apologies.
The rest of the day went by so painstakingly I thought for sure I’d poke my eyes out with my pen by eighth period. Lunch was unbearable without Gia, and just my luck, Mr. Wrought was out at a conference. I didn’t even see Blaine, and Luke said he ‘didn’t want to be involved in our girl drama’ in a note during third period.
Forget that, I wrote. Where did you see my sketch?
I asked Ms. Older if she could let me in to the art room because I forgot something in there on Friday. The submission pile was on Mr. Wrought’s desk so I flipped through them and saw yours. It’s awesome!
I don’t know how it got there! This is really freaking me out.
Maybe Molly…?
Molly didn’t even know about the contest. There’s no way. My whole sketchbook has to be gone – I’m bugging out.
Well whoever has it just has a bunch of awesome drawings; it’s not like your school file floating around.
I didn’t get why none of my friends thought this was a huge deal. They weren’t artists. They didn’t understand. I felt my anger bubbling up like it did with Georgia and I really didn’t want to be in a fight with two friends, so I didn’t respond. I learned the first time.
Hey. Cheer up. You want to come over after school? You can play with Scoobie : )
Scoobie was his collie. He knew I would never say no to Scoobie. I tapped my pencil on the desk, glancing up for the first time all period at the board. Mr. Deckett had drawn some love triangle between three characters: John, Abby and Elizabeth. The Crucible. Bottom line: one whore wreaked havoc in Salem. Sounds a lot like my high school.
Chapter 3
“Sweet-haart,” Luke’s mom engulfed me in one of those it-seems-like-it’s-been-years hugs. Mrs. Andreas was from South Carolina and still cleaved to her accent. It’s funny; sometimes when Luke got drunk he slipped in and out of a southern drawl. It always made me smile.
I squeezed her right back, taking in the smell of vanilla and cucumber. I could always count on her to have some refreshing scent.
“You two gonna do some homework?”
Luke stifled a laugh because when did we ever do homework together?
“No, mom, Brie needs some Scoobie time. I think we’re going to walk out to the pier.”
“Alright, don’t be too long. I want you home for dinner, okay?”
“No problem, mom. We won’t stay out too long.” Luke grabbed the leash off of the kitchen counter and slid the glass door open to the backyard. Scoobie came bounding over, jumped right past Luke and leapt up to my chest.
“Scoobie! No! Down!” His mom was scolding him but I didn’t mind it. I ran my hand through his chestnut and white coat, rubbing behind his ears. Luke tossed me the leash and I clipped it on to his collar.
“Be back soon!” I yelled as we headed out the door.
A few blocks later I asked, “When do you think Georgia will stop being mad at me?”
“Um… I’m not so good with these situations, but I think an apology might help. I’m not sure what went down but she seemed hurt when I saw her.”
I nodded my head in agreement. “So… do you think she and Blaine have something going on? They’ve been acting weird lately.”
“No way – I mean, that would be awkward if any of us hooked up. Right?” Luke looked up at me, waiting for a reaction.
“Well, yeah, we’ve been friends forever. Definitely would be weird. I asked her about it on the drive home from his house on Friday and she got all defensive and crap… curious. He say anything after we left?”
Luke had an expression like he was searching his mind. And then searching my face for some clue. “Nah, I mean, I don’t remember him saying anything. Why, does she like him?”
“I don’t think so, just wondering,” I replied quickly. Yes, we were all four best friends, but there was an unspoken girl code between Gia and I and a guy code between Luke and Blaine – you do not cross the code, even within our group. I was in dangerous territory with this conversation and didn’t want another thing I needed to apologize for.
Luke and I had kissed once momentarily during a game of spin the bottle on a snow day in middle school. It was so fast I don’t even think it qualifies as a kiss – more like smacking into each other lips first. Blaine and Gia never let it go, of course. To this day they still joke about “the time we kissed.” Gia landed on a random. I don’t even think she knew his name before that. At least I had the luxury of doing a follow-up with Luke to ask how I was.
“Don’t worry, kid,” he said, clapping me on the back. “You two could never stay mad at each other. She’ll probably be at your locker in the morning.” I hoped so.
We made our way back to Luke’s house early as promised. I said my goodbyes and headed back home.
Chapter 4
On Tuesday I awoke to my covers being ripped off and jeans thrown on top of me.
“Brielle! You overslept! Hurry, throw these on!”
Molly was in a frenzy, running about my room in her terrycloth towel grabbing at bras and t-shirts, looking for my left shoe.
“Brielle! You don’t have a single shirt that’s not wrinkly and shoved in a ball on the bottom of your closet. When you get home today the first thing you’re doing is cleaning your room. Get your butt out of bed and help me find your shoe!”
I was mildly aware that I wasn’t in a dream, but I sure wished I was. There was no reason for me to go to school when Gia was mad at me and my sketchbook was floating around somewhere. Not today. No thank you.
“Not going…” I mumbled, rolling to my side and pulling the covers back up to my cheeks.
There was a pause and for a moment I thought Molly was considering this option. I must not have been thinking clearly.
“Brielle Maria Devine, you get out of bed right now before I get a glass of water and save you the trouble of needing a shower. Move. It. Now.” Molly’s voice was so serious it scared me. I’m not used to her with her kid gloves off. Most people tread lightly after my mom died. It was like I was some glass house and the wrong comment would shatter me. I think Molly’s gotten over it.
“I’m going downstairs to get you a granola bar. Be down there in five minutes, Brielle. Five minutes!”
Begrudgingly I pulled myself up, reached out for the jeans she had thrown at me earlier and slipped my legs into them. Jeans – check. I scanned over the three bras hanging from my dresser knob and picked the yellow; perhaps it would help with my cheery mood. Bra – check.
Molly was right, all of my shirts were pretty wrinkly. I had this bad habit of trying things on and then throwing them on the bottom of my closet if I didn’t wear them. Once every two weeks or so if you opened my closet you’d see a bunch of empty hangers and a ton of clean clothes like a big multicolored rug on the floor. She looked in there on a bad day. Amazingly, I could pretty much spot any shirt I wanted with a quick glance. I liked to think of myself as organized-messy. When my room was clean I couldn’t find anything. I reached in for a long sleeve white shirt and my heather-gray Elbow band tee. Shirt – check.
I was still yanking the tee over my head and through my arm as I ran down the stairs. I grabbed the granola bar off the counter and dashed out the back door to my car.
I had just turned on the engine when my pocket started vibrating. I reached in to see who would be texting me at seven in the morning.
Gia.
“Hi. Mom can’t take me to school. Can you pick me up?”
I sat in the car for a minute, staring at my phone and debating how to respond. After all, she was mad at me. Finally I typed, “Okay.”
A few minutes later I pulled into Gia’s driveway. She was already waiting for me on her front steps with her backpack. She got up and walked slowly around the front of my car to the passenger side without making any eye contact. I guess she hadn’t forgiven me.
I turned up the radio so I wouldn’t have to drive with this awkward silence all the way to school. We weren’t even a minute down her street when Gia said, “I’m sorry I was so sensitive yesterday. I was totally pms’ing. And I know how important that book is to you so I’m sorry that it’s gone.” Phew. I’m glad I didn’t have to start the apology train because it never would have left the station.
I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “I’m sorry, too. I was just freaking out and you happened to be there.”
“It’s alright. I’m glad we got the apology thing out of the way because now I can tell you that you’re shirt’s on inside out.”
Crap.
“Ah, shit,” I said, glancing down at my chest to check if, indeed, it was on inside out. It was. This is why I needed Georgia in my life.
I started slipping my right arm out of it when Georgia gasped, “What are you doing! Not while you’re driving, Brie!” Her hands groped for the wheel where I had temporarily abandoned it.
“Chill out, you worry too much,” I said, slipping the shirt over my head and down the other arm, taking back control of the wheel. Gia audibly let out a huge breath of air.
I groaned as we pulled into the parking lot noticing the lack of junior spaces available. Seniors had assigned spots and we juniors had to scramble for whatever was left.
“I’ll drop you off at the front and find a spot,” I said, knowing how anal Gia was about being late. Me? I didn’t care so much.
“No,” she said, with this hesitant high-pitch. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll go find a spot with you.”
I knew what she was saying and what she was thinking were two totally different thoughts. “Don’t worry, Gia, I know how much you hate being late and I don’t give a damn so I’ll just drop you off and find a spot on the side street.”
As I pulled up to the front doors she had this conflicted look on her face, but nonetheless already had her hand on the door. “Alright… if you’re sure…” she said, looking back at me for some second reassurance.
“G, get out of this car before I shove you out,” I said jokingly, pushing her backpack into her hands. “Save me a seat at lunch.”
“Done!” She said, smiling, her hand on the open door. “See you later!”
***
Fifteen minutes later I was sliding into first period without a pass, but Mr. Wrought didn’t care, he was usually so into what he was lecturing that he didn’t take time to ask for one. My mind was on auto-pilot as I strode towards my seat.
It took me a few seconds to realize that someone was already there.
What the heck?
Since I came in the back door all I could see was the back of his head. I cleared my throat loud enough for him to hear, “Ahem… you’re in my seat.”
As he turned to face me I felt like I got bitch slapped in the stomach. He was the last person I had expected to be sitting there.
“Oh, sorry,” Wyatt said, “I just got switched into this class and your seat was open…”
“Is there a problem back there?” Mr. Wrought was finally pulled from his lecturing trance and noticed that I was standing in the back of the room.
“No, sorry,” I said, looking around for an empty chair. Everyone had turned around and was staring at me by this point. Nothing was open.
“Take the chair from my desk and pull it up next to Wyatt,” he said. “Quick, quick, you’re holding us up.”
I dropped my bag on the floor next to the big square desk and strode up to get Mr. Wrought’s stool. It was so silent I could hear the teacher next door through the cement wall. It felt like everyone was watching me. At least it wasn’t because my shirt was on inside out. Good start to the morning.
“Okay, everyone, pull out your portfolios and continue working on your partner portraits. Remember, today we’re focusing on the expression of your partner’s eyes. Don’t worry about the other features, yet. You have twenty minutes from now. Start!”
I looked around for Dustin, my partner. My heart started thumping when I didn’t see him anywhere. I raised my hand. “Excuse me, Mr. Wrought, do you know where Dustin is? At the office or something?” I was praying that he just stepped out for a minute. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Wyatt was looking around, checking out who else didn’t have a partner.
“No, he’s absent today. Why don’t you partner up with Wyatt and explain the assignment to him since it’s his first day? Show him where all the supplies are and everything.”
Oh. God.
“Umm, okay.”
I had no idea where to start. I also needed to start my sketch all over again since I couldn’t exactly put Wyatt’s eyes on Dustin’s face. Why couldn’t we be working on something like hair today? Nineteen minutes to go. The longest nineteen minutes of my life.
“Kind of funny that we got partnered, right?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Can you tell me what we’re supposed to be doing?”
“Uh, sure,” I said. I was racking my brain, which seemed to temporarily shut off. What are we doing? What are we doing?
“Do you even know how to draw?”
Sweet Jesus I’m rude sometimes.
“And there’s the Brielle I met on Friday night…” Wyatt responded, pointing his finger at me and leaning on the table. “No, I can’t draw for shit, but I needed another class to graduate and this was the only one that fit into my schedule.”
“So you can’t draw but thought Advanced Drawing would be a good fit to graduate?” I asked, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrow. “How did you even get in without the prerequisite?”
“Who are you, my guidance counselor? Just show me where the paper is.”
I rolled my eyes and turned to show him the supply closet when I realized we had attracted a small crowd of partners staring at us. I didn’t say anything, I just narrowed my eyes at a few of them and they got the hint, quickly pretending like they were checking the clock behind me. “Yeah, eighteen minutes to go…” I heard someone mumble.
He trailed behind me as I clicked on the light. “Pencils here, paper here, charcoal, colored pencils, pastels, and staplers to make your portfolio holder,” I said, hurriedly pointing out supplies.
“So we keep our portfolios in here, too?”
“Yep.”
“I can take any of these supplies?”
“Yep.” My foot started jiggling.
“Where’s the rubric for the assignment?”
“There is none. He just tells us what to do and we do it.” I was relieved to have one class left that didn’t use rubrics for everything. History paper? There’s a rubric for that. Math project? There’s a rubric for that. Need to use the bathroom? Oh, wait, there’s a rubric for that. If you make it back in four minutes or less you get an A.
“So can you tell me what we’re doing?”
He looked so out of place clutching his paper and fresh supplies, not a clue on what he was about to do with them.
“Can we get out of the closet first?” I asked, looking past his shoulder back to our desk.
“Oh, yeah, right,” he said, like I’d just pulled him back from some daydream.
I grabbed new paper, too, while I was in there since I needed to start over. I began setting up my little station, my practiced hands finding the right pencils, rotating my paper and getting just the right position on my stool. I started to relax into my routine. I knew what I was doing. When I glanced up Wyatt looked clueless, trying to mimic what I did with my pencils and how I was seated. He stopped abruptly when I looked up at him. It was kind of funny.
My brain finally found the “on” switch. “Our assignment is to sketch a portrait of our partner. Each class we work on a different feature. Last class we drew the outline and shape of their face. Today we’re working on eye expressions. We have to take turns sitting and being a model and then also drawing. Dustin and I decided that I would draw first and he would model and then we’d switch. We can keep that routine if you want.”
“Uhm,” he said, clearing his throat a little, “yeah, that works for me.”
“Okay just sit up and pick a spot to focus on over my shoulder so I can get a good front profile,” I said. I got to work quickly and began getting the shape of his face, jaw, and forehead. It felt a little déjà ’s vous since I already sketched him from memory once. Remembering this brought me back to thinking how mad I was about the missing sketchbook. I had almost forgotten until this moment. My face must have shown my thoughts.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt was looking at me now, unfrozen from his model pose.
I looked up at him, an expression of genuine concern on his face. It almost made me feel bad about being rude. Almost.
“Yep. Don’t worry about it.” Fourteen minutes to go. “Can you get back in position?”
“Sure.”
I finished up the last of his neck and let him know it was time to switch. I couldn’t stand when athletes got administration to do whatever they want, like getting into a class they shouldn’t be in, just because we ‘need’ them.
Let’s see what this kid’s got.
I pushed my pencils aside and sat up a bit straighter, picking the clock beyond his shoulder to focus my attention. From my peripheral vision I could see Wyatt awkwardly holding the pencil and paper, clearly unsure of where to begin. He kept making these facial expressions and having false-starts on the paper. It was painful.
I got up from my stool and walked over to look over his shoulder at the paper.
“My head looks like a kidney bean,” I said flatly, confirming my suspicion that he should not be in this class.
“Yeah, about that…” he started.
Not a clue. Not a single clue.
Maybe I was just feeling a little narcissistic, but I was not about to allow a drawing of me where I resembled a bean. Not going to happen.
I took the pencil from his hand and reached around his arm to sketch on his paper.
“It’s misshapen over here on the left,” I said, pointing to one of his lines. “Curve it in more so it flows into the jaw line and the neck.” I sketched a sweeping line over his existing lines and before I knew it I was drawing all over his sketch. I got a little carried away.
“Wow, that looks great,” he said, looking up at me.
I don’t know why but suddenly I felt tightness in my chest, a tingling in my hands. I dropped the pencil back on his paper, mumbled “thanks” and went back to my stool.
“Okay, everyone, it’s about that time so start cleaning up and I’ll see you on Thursday,” Mr. Wrought said.
One minute left.
I zipped up my backpack and began gathering my pencils to put away when Mr. Wrought came over to our table.
“Brielle, do you think that you can catch up on the assignment with Wyatt before Thursday? We’re moving on to a new feature and you two will always be a class behind unless you can get today’s work done before next class.”
“What about Dustin?” I asked, grabbing for hope that when he returned on Thursday I could shake Wyatt.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t look like he’ll be coming back anytime soon. Just got an e-mail that he might have mono and will be out for a while.”
Mono?? I’ve heard people stay out for like a month with that thing!
“Oh… um – “
“I’ll catch up, no problem,” intercepted Wyatt. “I’ve already missed enough so I want to make sure I don’t get behind.”
Saved. He’d catch up on his own.
“Brielle, when can we meet tomorrow?”
Not saved.
“I’m not sure, I think I’m busy.”
“During school?” he questioned. “What about a study hall?”
Briiiiiing
Saved by the bell.
“I gotta run to my next class.”
“Can I have your number so we can set it up?”
A guy has never asked for my number. Not even for homework. So I did the only logical thing… gave him Gia’s.
“Bye!” I grabbed my bag and rushed out the door.
Chapter 5
“You did what??” Gia asked me, thumping down her lunch tray and guzzling on her Juicy Juice. “Why would you give him my number? Now it’s going to be super awkward when he realizes you gave him a wrong number just for an assignment. It wasn’t like he was hitting on you!”
“Because. I didn’t want him to have my number. When he texts you, just text me and I’ll make arrangements like that,” I said, taking a bite of my cheeseburger.
“That is so illogical.”
I shrugged, munching on my burger.
“Anyway,” she said, “what a coincidence he was in your class. And you got partnered with him! Crazy. What happens when Dustin comes back?”
“According to Mr. Wrought, Dustin has mono, so I’ll probably get stuck with him all semester.”
Gia smiled, pushing up her glasses. “Hey, at least he’s not so bad to look at, ya’know? If I had to study someone’s face for a semester, Wyatt’s not a bad choice!”
“Gia, he has no idea what he’s doing. He sketched my face and it looked like a kidney bean. How am I supposed to work with someone like that?”
“I’m sure you could teach him a thing or two,” she said coyly.
“Why are you so into this? You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Cuz he’s hot, Brie!”
Okay, I had to admit that he wasn’t terrible looking.
“Lots of people are good looking. That doesn’t make them acceptable human beings.”
She smacked her hand on the table, frustrated. “And what makes him unacceptable in BrieLand?”
Now this I could explain.
“Oh, where to begin? He’s arrogant, clearly missing some common sense, and the guys on the soccer team are douche bags.”
Gia rolled her eyes. “Oh, like all artists are creepy, tortured, and weird, right?”
Ok, she had a point.
“I think you should give him a chance. You’ll be miserable if you keep hating him and have to work with him all semester.”
Another valid point.
Suddenly Gia jumped like she had fire ants in her crotch, pulling out her phone and pointing to it for me to read, making this “mmm!!” noise, her mouth full of mashed potatoes.
A text.
From Wyatt.
Can we meet tmrw during 2nd period? I alrdy got a pass from study hall.
Before I could even think of some fantastic excuse to get out of it Gia had already replied, Yes!
With the exclamation point and all.
This was my punishment for giving him a wrong number.
“Gia what are you doing! I wasn’t going to say yes!”
“I know,” she said, grinning, “That’s why I did it for you! You can thank me later.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Oh, and the next time you get really excited about something, don’t do the fire-crotch dance. It’s not a good look for you.”
She smirked and replied, “Next time you want to be insane and turn down a totally hot guy, I’ll be glad to keep his number. You’re welcome.”
I shoved a few curly fries in my mouth, trying to tame it from a less-than-gracious response.
“He replied, Great! Meet you in the art room to get our supplies and then we can find a spot to draw.”
“S-o-u-n-d-s g-o-o-d,” she mouthed as she typed back.
***
The rest of the day and night went by way too quickly for me – a departure from the usual droning of my school days. I used to not mind school so much, but in the past year or so every day felt like the beginning of one of those boot camp obstacle courses – you know, the ones where you crawl through mud and have to somehow climb up a vertical wall with nothing but a knotted rope and your sheer lunacy.
Today didn’t feel like one of those days; it felt more like a 100 meter sprint and already I was there. The moment I was dreading.
I was standing outside the art room, shuffling my bag, adjusting my tank top and checking my phone every five seconds. I started doing the three-step pace back and forth so vigorously I must have looked like I was about to piss myself. Where was this kid?
I was in the middle of checking my phone again for the umpteenth time when I heard, “Sorry! Sorry! I had to finish up a project and got held up. Did you get my text?”
I didn’t, but I’m sure Gia did.
“Yeah, about that… um, let’s just go in and grab our stuff, okay?”
We slipped in quietly through the back door since Mr. Wrought was in the middle of teaching and bee-lined to the closet. I hurriedly grasped for my portfolio and a few pencils, eager to get out of there. Wyatt stood staring at the bucket of pencils. Staring. For what seemed like forever. He’s so clueless.
“You know, there isn’t some flashing neon sign that’s going to blink WRONG CHOICE! if you don’t pick the perfect pencil. Just grab one.”
“Well, Miss Brielle, you are apparently unaware that there is indeed an enchanted pencil in here that magically makes any human an artist,” he replied with this stupid grin on his face. “I was hoping it would glow or float into my hand or something, but I guess I’ll settle for any old one. And I can blame it on your impatience when your eyes end up looking like donuts.”
“You’re really into making body parts resemble food, aren’t you?”
“Can you two please hurry up?? It’s distracting trying to teach over your bickering!” yelled Mr. Wrought.
Wyatt chuckled, putting his finger up to his mouth in a motion to be quiet. I rolled my eyes and shut the light, exiting the closet.
Late September can be fickle, but it was a gorgeous day so Wyatt suggested we sit in the courtyard to complete the assignment. We found a spot in the grass under an oak tree. I sat Indian-style, resting my back on the trunk of the tree. It’s difficult to sketch without a table so I grabbed my chemistry book to lean on. Wyatt sat directly across from me, in a similar setup. When I looked up he was staring at me.
“Something interesting on my face?”
“You don’t even know what kind of a set-up you just gave me, but I’ll be a gentleman and not even go there,” he said, his lips widening to reveal his very white teeth. “The assignment is about the eyes, right? I need to get a good look.”
I suddenly felt dumb for making that comment. As if he was staring at me for any other reason…
“Right. It’s not just about the eyes and the color and the shape. It’s about drawing eyes with emotional expression. I’ll be impressed if you can give emotions to donuts,” I said, smirking.
“I don’t know which donuts you eat, but I only eat the ones with emotions. There’s the emo donut, the cheery donut, the cool donut, and of course, the Brie donut.”
Wait, did he just create me into a donut? And say he would eat me? This conversation is getting weird.
I couldn’t resist, however, and asked, “So, what kind of flavor is this said Brie donut?”
He relaxed, leaning back on the palms of his hands and pretending to contemplate. “Weeell… I haven’t really savored and spent as much time with the Brie donut as I have with all the others. But I would say she’s a mix of sassy and sweet. So cinnamon. Brie tastes like cinnamon.”
I was marinating in what he just told me when one of Wyatt’s soccer buddies came over. “Hey man!” He said, shaking hands and bumping fists with Wyatt. “What are you doing? What’s with all the paper?”
“Just some project, you know,” he replied, not even acknowledging that I was sitting there. He cleared his throat nervously. Was he embarrassed to be seen with me?
The guy looked back and forth between the two of us, obviously formulating some ideas in his mind but he never voiced them.
“Alright…” his eyes lingered on me. “Catch you later, then.”
“Yea, see ya, man.”
“Uh, where were we?” he said, scratching his curls and glancing down at his paper.
“Donut expressions. I mean – eye emotions,” I said, shaking my head in confusion.
“Oh, yeah. So what kind of a donut do you think I am?”
What is this, middle school? ‘Tell me what you think of me disguised as a conversation about donuts.’
“Turnip. Tastes like shit with cinnamon,” I said very convincingly.
His face looked completely taken aback, but he came ready to play. “Oh really? Have you tried it?”
“Don’t want to.”
“You didn’t even give it a chance.”
He didn’t ask a question, but his face looked like he was waiting on an answer. I wondered if we were still talking about donuts.
Chapter 6
I convinced Molly I was staying late after school in order to work on the art assignment even though I had finished already during the day. My friends climbed in the back of my car, eager to get the heck out of there.
“So how’d it go with Wyatt?” Gia asked. How’d I know that would be the first thing she’d say?
“How’d what go with Wyatt?” Luke jumped in quickly.
“Some dumb art project,” I said, hoping they would drop the subject.
“Oooo, you and Wyaattt,” Blaine said mockingly and grabbing my shoulder. He’s so immature.
“Alright goons, where am I driving this bus?” I asked.
***
I parked at the pier. We were talking about a whole lot of nothing, looking out on the sunset and listening to “American Baby.” I don’t know why but the song and the sunset got me thinking about my mom and I started feeling pretty shitty. Luke couldn’t even see my face sitting in the backseat but he could feel that I was down. He’s good like that – knows I’m feeling shitty without even looking at me.
He cleared his throat. “Um, you guys wanna roll a joint?”
Blaine didn’t need to be asked twice, he answered, “yep,” immediately. Georgia started squirming in her seat, wringing at her hands and touching her glasses like she always did when we were about to do something she wasn’t sure about.
I’m not a stoner, but I felt pretty awful and what could it hurt? While the boys rolled in the backseat Georgia and I started shuffling on my ipod and looking for songs to mellow out with.
“Brie, when are you going to give Wyatt your real number? It’s kind of nerve wracking trying to remember I’m supposed to be you when he texts me!”
“He texted you again?” I asked, curious. We finished the assignment. What could he be texting me (or rather, Georgia,) about?
“Yeah, he wrote, ‘See ya in class tomorrow, Cinnamon ;)’.”
I choked back from spitting out my coke. Gia didn’t seem to notice.
“I didn’t know if that was some weird pet name he came up with for you, so I just replied, ‘Yeah, see ya nutmeg’. Weird that you guys have spice names.”
Nutmeg?
“Did you seriously reply to that by calling him nutmeg? Why didn’t you just ask me what to say?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed out, “this is exhausting, Brie! I don’t want to have to ask you what to say every time he contacts me. This is why you should have given him your number and not mine!”
The boys seemed to have finally caught on to what we were talking about after being engrossed in their activities, because they blurt out almost at the same time,
“Wait, who’d Brie give your number to?—“
“What guy is texting you?—“
Selective hearing. That’s what my mom used to say about my listening skills.
I tried to shake the thought of my mom and ignored their questions but asked, “Where’s the joint? You two done back there?”
“Yep. Compliments to the driver, I’ll give you the first hit.”
Luke passed it up to me and I took in a long drag. The first time I ever smoked he told me to hold it in as long as possible and it would get me more high, so I held it as long as I could before my lungs felt like they were on fire. I didn’t cough right away like you see everyone do in the movies; the coughing came later like an afterthought. At first I didn’t even think I was high. I heard that could happen – that you don’t get high the first time so that’s what I thought was going on. I felt like some superhuman that could smoke as much as I wanted without getting baked like everyone else. After the burning subsided I took in another huge inhale, holding longer every time.
After a few rounds this girl, whose name I don’t even remember, suggested we play a game called “Suck and Blow.” And no, it’s not whatever dirty thing you’re thinking of right now. It’s a game involving a playing card. You put the card up to your lips and suck in air, suctioning the card to your mouth. If you stop breathing in the card will fall. The point is to sit in a circle and pass the card around with your lips only; get the card to make it all the way around the circle without it dropping. You might be thinking what the big deal is with the card falling – well let me tell you. Everyone tries to go as fast as possible with their turn of sucking the card. If you run out of breath and it drops, nine times out of ten you end up kissing the person next to you smack on the lips while trying to pass them the card. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why people like this game. It’s a more guaranteed version of spin the bottle – you’re pretty much guaranteed to kiss whoever is sitting on your right or your left. Or both. Who did I end up kissing? The dumb skank on my left who suggested the game. I still wonder if she let it drop on purpose just for attention. I hate when girls kiss each other in front of guys just for the attention. There was a good portion of my freshman year when half the girl population stated they were “bi” and then magically became straight again sophomore year. It was like Harry Potter swooped in sporting a big rainbow scarf and said, “I pronounce you humanaris bisexualis… for six months.”
Well, anyway, I guess you could say that was my first encounter kissing a girl. It really wasn’t a big deal. I was also stoned off my ass at this point and I think in my mind I was comparing what we were doing to the Native Americans sitting around smoking a peace pipe and I suddenly felt really connected to the world.
“Brie… Brielle??”
Luke sucked me back from my daydream.
“Mmm?” I replied. I melted a little, letting my seat envelop me like a warm hug. I opened my eyes and looked up through my sunroof. The sky looked like a painter took a giant brush and streaked pink and orange right across the sky. The biggest canvas I’d ever seen. It was beautiful.
“You want another hit?”
I reached my hand back without looking and took it from him, inhaling and blowing up towards the sky. I clicked the button on my door and the sunroof started to pull back, revealing a clear picture. I just wanted to be swimming in it, breathing and eating and being all the warm colors of the September sky.
My hands found the sides of the window, my arms pulling me upwards and out of my seat. I was stepping up onto the middle console when my friends yelled,
“What the fuck are you doing!”
“Brie!”
“Get down, Brie!”
I had the most indescribable urge to climb onto the roof of my car and just lay there, pure with my canvas. I hoisted myself up and pulled my legs on top of the roof. I’m not really sure why I did what I did next, but I pulled my shirt off and just lay back in my bra, arms outstretched and shut my eyes.
“I feel like Jesus.”
I felt amazing.
I could hear them in the car below me. “What is it laced with, Luke? It’s obviously laced with something!” Laying there with my eyes closed I could imagine Georgia freaking out while she said this, wringing her hands and touching her glasses.
“Calm down, Gia. It’s not laced with anything. Just leave her alone.” Luke always knew how to handle me. Something I love about him.
They quieted down and I found myself listening to the silence and to the water lapping, the faraway cars on the road, an overhead plane. The mixture of silence and white noise lulled me and I found myself comforted by the sounds, relaxing into the noises. A warm breeze rolled over my stomach, face and chest. My breathing slowed; my heart beating slower. I noticed how my chest rose and fell; the pulse in my wrist. It was the most peaceful I’ve felt since I could last remember.
I relaxed so much I didn’t even notice when the car pulled up next to us.
“Dude, there’s a topless girl on that car! Quick, take a picture!!!”
My eyes snapped open, adrenaline pumping through my body. Unfortunately the weed made my reflexes a little slower and I couldn’t decide how the hell to get off the car.
“Roll off!!” I heard Gia yell from the car and then open her door to try and shield me. I didn’t even think I just reacted and flung myself off the opposite side from the other car. I felt my foot hit the ground first and my knee and chest soon followed. Luke opened his door and I scrambled as I could into the seat next to him, still topless and now dirty. I yanked on my shirt and slammed the door up against my side.
“Aw man, it came out blurry!” I could hear them say as they started to drive away, “I should’ve taken a video. Did you see her fall off the top of that car? What a dumb bitch.”
My desire to know who was in that car overcame my desire to remain hidden. I forced myself to look over just in time. Just long enough to see Wyatt sitting in the backseat.
Chapter 7
The next day I slipped in to class before the bell rang, ensuring I wouldn’t have another awkward entrance like last time. Let him figure out where to sit. I pulled my black zip-up hoodie over my head and close around my cheeks.
The bell rang and everyone began piling into class last-minute like a bunch of clowns squeezing into a circus car. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until everyone was seated and the stool to my right remained empty. “Pheww,” I let out in a sigh of relief. I released my guard slowly as one minute went by and then three and then five and he still hadn’t showed up. I peeled away my hood and settled into Mr. Wrought’s lesson on shading. Twenty minutes had passed and I was comfortably reading through our textbook, taking notes on technique and thinking about lunch.
“Sorry, sorry!” Wyatt exclaimed, dropping his bag on the seat next to me and pushing a note into the teacher’s hands. He clutched his chest, wheezing like a smoker and tried to choke out, “car… wouldn’t… start…”
Mr. Wrought raised an eyebrow at and nodded over to my table, “go have a seat.” I could feel my heart fighting to stay inside my body, my immediate reaction to pull up my hood again. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He started back towards our table and I averted my eyes back down to the textbook.
“Hey, Brie…” he started cautiously. I could hear the hesitation roll off his tongue as if his voice might make a bomb explode. The bomb being me.
Silence.
“So what are we supposed to be doing?” he tried again, a little less caution in his tone.
It’s not that I didn’t want to answer him – in fact, responding would be less awkward than the silence. I just couldn’t. I felt like someone had locked deadbolts all the way up my body, the last on my lips.
“Brie? Hello?”
I continued to “read” the textbook, scribbling nonsense in my notes.
“Is this about yesterday? Because if it is—“
“Don’t!”
Deadbolt unlocked.
“Brie I’m sorry my buddies were being such assholes. I didn’t even know it was you until you sat up and rolled off the car. I’m not even going to ask what you were doing up there, but –“
I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to be anywhere in the world but in that discussion. I slammed my textbook shut, my hand trembling over my notebook trying to put them in my bag with full intent to walk right out of that room.
“What are you doing? Brie? Stop.” His hand found its way to my shoulder, clearly trying to offer me some comfort. It just made me feel dirty and exposed, like him seeing me shirtless all over again. I shook it away violently. Grabbing my bag from the floor I walked straight for the door and didn’t look back.
I don’t know why but I half expected him to come running out after me. Those things only happen in the movies, though, right? I put my back up against my locker and slid down the wall, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. After a couple of deep breaths I pulled out my cell and texted Gia. A few minutes later I saw her appear around the corner, jogging towards me.
“Brie, what’s wrong?” she asked, sympathetic wrinkles forming around her eyes. She took a seat next to me on the floor, wrapping her arms around me.
I cleared my throat. “Wyatt was um, in class today. He mentioned what happened last night and I just couldn’t be in there. I had to leave.”
“Ohhh,” she said, rubbing my arm. “The next time you take your shirt off maybe it should be inside,” she joked, trying to get a laugh out of me. A small smile cracked on the side of my lips.
“Yeah, I’ll take that into advisement,” I replied.
“Just think of it this way,” she started, “now you can say you’ve been to quasi-second base with Wyatt Johnston!”
“Ha-ha,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “Thanks, Gia.”
“Happy to help,” she said, a huge grin on cheeks. “I have to get back to class before they send a search party to the bathroom.”
“You do that.”
“Oh, and you definitely shouldn’t go back. It loses all the dramatic effect if you storm out and then come back a few minutes later.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good. I’ll see you at lunch!” with a wave she turned the corner and disappeared.
Chapter 8
Wyatt didn’t try to talk to me for the rest of the week and I was grateful. We went about class in silence, following directions for our portraits and using grunts and body language to communicate when it was time to switch spots for modeling. Every day I felt a little less awkward, but the silence only grew heavier and thick. After a while we didn’t even need to make the noises anymore, we wordlessly communicated, moving like ghosts around each other’s space. I didn’t even care that his portrait of me started to look more and more like a kidney-bean-turned-gremlin.
At lunch on Friday Gia and were in our usual spot, sipping apple juice and recapping on the day. “How much do you love me?” she asked, wearing a strange kind of smile. I knew this face. This is the face of her asking me to do something I really don’t want to do.
“What is it?” I asked, putting my juice down and folding my arms on the table.
“Oh- uh, what do you mean?” She asked, twirling a lock of her blonde hair. The nervous twirl. This wouldn’t end well for me.
“Just tell me, I know you want to ask me for something.”
She hesitated, searching for the right combination of words to convince me. “Okay, there’s this party tonight that Blaine was invited to and he said all of us are welcome to come and I really want to go but I can’t expect Blaine to stay with me the whole night and I really don’t want to be alone so I need you to come. Please please please?” She made this pathetically sad looking face, the one that could convince a nun to kidnap a baby. “It’ll be fuuuun...” she smirked, poking my arm.
I wanted to say no. Every part of my body was yelling no. If we didn’t go, though, I could already envision her whining to me all night about why we couldn’t be there.
“Is Luke going?”
“Well, his answer was contingent upon you being there, so if you go he’ll go,” she replied, hope rising in her voice.
I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking. “Well – alright.”
“Yay!! I’m so excited!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Come to my house before so we can get ready together and then I’ll get the boys to drive us. So excited!”
***
That night I had a hard time convincing Molly, however, to let me go. I don’t know why I didn’t just lie in the first place.
“Molly, I promised Gia that I would go. She’ll be crushed. I can already see her staying in, crying to some movie like The Notebook and stuffing her face with brownies. It’ll be my fault.”
“You should have asked me before you promised her you would go,” she said, chopping the onions a little harder than usual. “You don’t even know whose house it is, or where you’re going. How am I supposed to feel secure about you going somewhere when you don’t even know where it is that you’re going?”
I had a hard time coming up with a response for that one.
“What if I call Gia and ask her to find out all the details. Will you let me go?”
“I’ll consider it, but you need to be careful, Brie.”
Two minutes later I had Gia on the phone while she was simultaneously texting Blaine. We finally managed to scrape up enough details about the location and host for Molly to agree.
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I told Gia as I gathered up my bag.
“Bye, Molly.”
“Bye sweetie. Be careful,” she warned as I headed out the door.
“I don’t know what to weaaar,” Gia whined the second I walked into her house. “I’ve already changed three times and nothing seems right.”
“Oh, was I supposed to care about my outfit?” I remarked.
“Don’t even joke. You don’t need to care about your outfit. Boys just ogle at your beautiful long hair and body and don’t care what you’re wearing.”
“Um, thanks for the compliment, but if you haven’t noticed, boys don’t care what you wear either. Why are you so stressed about this anyway? Who are you dressing up for?”
Gia stopped her frantic pacing and looked at me, blushing. “Nobody. Why? Do you think I’m dressing up for someone?”
I had my suspicions but I swallowed them. “No, just asking. I’ll help you pick something, show me the choices.”
After three more wardrobe changes and Gia convincing me to wear a wine-colored lip-gloss the boys finally arrived to pick us up.
“Jesus, I thought we’d never get there,” complained Blaine as we slid into a spot outside the house. “You girls took freaking forever to get ready.”
“Yeah, and you didn’t even compliment my outfit!” Gia had a joking tone, but I could see on her face that she was actually kind of disappointed.
Luke turned in his seat, “Gia, you look great. Brie… stunning.” His eyes lingered on me a little longer than Gia. I knew he was saying it just to make her feel better, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he really thought I was stunning.
“Alright guys, let’s go,” started Blaine as he exited the car. Gia’s smile returned when Blaine acted uncharacteristically and opened the door for her. Luke and I just exchanged knowing glances.
I was grateful that we were fashionably late when we walked in and I could tell half the people there were already sloshed. A few people I barely knew from school even came over and gave me a big hug. The alcohol seemed to make everyone friendlier.
“Bri-elleee!” This girl Jenna from my art class came over and wrapped her arms around me like we were best friends. “You are like, burp, the best artist in our class. For real. Shit’s amazing.”
“Um, thank you. You’re really good yourself,” I replied, trying to get out of our embrace.
“You should be my beer pong partner later!” she offered, looking like it was the best idea she’d had all day. “Yeah, I’ll sign us up!” she said excitedly as she walked away in search of the list.
“Gia, quick, let’s go get a beer,” I said, trying to get out of Jenna’s eyesight. The boys were already there pumping from the keg.
“And you were worried you wouldn’t know anybody,” Luke laughed, clearly making fun of what just happened. He placed a red cup in my hand.
“Yeah…right.”
Gia and I ended up talking near the kitchen while the boys mingled with some guys from their classes. Before we knew it we got roped into playing a game of flip-cup and then two games and then five…
I was feeling pretty good when Jenna found me again, even friendlier than the first time and asked if we would play never-have-I-ever. She explained that everybody holds up five fingers and each person states something that they’ve never done. If you’ve done that certain thing, you put a finger down. If you put down all five fingers you lose the game and have to drink.
We settled in on the couch and the questions began.
“Never have I ever smoked weed.”
Finger down. Woops.
“Never have I ever snuck out of my house.”
Two down. Three to go.
I looked over at Georgia and noticed all five of her fingers still up. She’s definitely winning this game.
“Never have I ever liked someone else in this room.”
Everyone glanced around nervously before placing their finger down. I noticed Luke put one down, and Gia – her first one. I glanced around at all the girls, trying to figure out which one it was that Luke used to like. I came up empty.
“Never have I ever skipped class.”
Three down.
“Never have I ever given a blowjob.” My eyes widened at the girl who said it. Of all the things she could have picked.
I was even more surprised when I noticed the guy who put a finger down.
Just as I was wrapping my head around that one (no pun intended), the front door swung open and five more people came in – Wyatt and four other guys. Georgia’s pupils dilated and I could feel her staring at me, looking for my reaction. I felt like I should’ve had a bigger reaction, but the alcohol had slowed my nerves long before. I wasn’t wasted but I definitely felt some liquid courage. When they saw us all huddled around the coffee table they squeezed in and asked to join the game. It took Wyatt a few seconds before he noticed me sitting there, his eyebrows rising. He was probably shocked to see me at a party.
“Alright, let’s continue,” said Jason.
“Never have I ever been to Canada.”
“Never have I ever been caught having sex.”
“Never have I ever cheated.”
It got to Wyatt. “Never have I ever ignored someone for an entire week.”
Fourth finger down.
His friend was next. “Never have I ever been caught shirtless on the top of my car,” he said, laughing and staring right at me.
I was out.
As the first one out of the game everyone looked at me, waiting for me to drink. I grabbed my full cup from the coffee table. “Cheers, you fuckers,” I said, and knocked back the whole thing without a break.
“Whoa…” I heard Georgia say in awe next to me. I had to burp so bad after that but I managed to keep it down and not look like a man.
The game went around the circle a few more times until there was a winner – that guy who’d given a blowjob. Surprised us all.
The group dissipated and a few went off to play pong, some flip-cup, and others just drank on the couch. I went on the back porch for a cigarette. I was fishing around in my bag for my lighter when the sliding glass door opened and Wyatt appeared, holding his beer. He was alone.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” he said, pointing to the cigarette hanging between my lips.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I said.
“I’m sorry about my friend in there during the game. He was being a real ass. I told him so after.”
“So what, that makes you a hero?” I asked. “If you ask me, I think you’re a real pussy. You wait until no one’s listening to say what you’re thinking.”
“You think I’m the pussy? You were so embarrassed by something so stupid that you didn’t speak to me for a week. I didn’t even do anything! You were the one without your shirt on.”
“As if it’s a goddamn crime,” I retorted, blowing smoke over my shoulder.
“The way you reacted, you’d think it was!”
“Tell your friend in there if that picture gets out I’m going to cut his fucking balls off. And don’t think I won’t.”
“If that picture gets out, I’ll cut his fucking balls off. Okay?”
His response caught me off guard. I didn’t expect him to defend me.
“Okay, fine.”
“Fine.”
It was like the calm after a storm. He leaned up against the deck railing next to me, quiet. “Let me get a drag of that,” he said after minutes of silence. I passed it over to him and watched him inhale.
“I didn’t know you smoke.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh. Then why are you now?”
“Same reason you decided to take your shirt off.”
I stared at him, puzzled. “And what’s your reasoning for it?”
“Reckless abandon.”
If Wyatt Johnson needed to smoke a cigarette to feel reckless abandon I could only wonder what he thought of me. I probably seemed like Mary Magdalene to him. I let him keep my cig and lit up a new one for myself.
“So, Brie,” he said, breaking the quiet air. “Tell me something about yourself, other than the fact that you’re an amazing artist. I’m actually really embarrassed of my portrait of you.”
“You should be,” I laughed.
“Ha-ha,” he fake laughed. “I know I suck. My skills really can’t do you any justice. You’re beautiful.”
I couldn’t tell if my cheeks were hot because of the alcohol or because of what he just said.
“But I’m serious, tell me about yourself.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I don’t, that’s why I just asked you twice,” his eyes were on me. “I want to know, but if you don’t want to tell me that’s another thing.”
There was a wooden bench calling my name down in the grass. I walked down the porch steps towards it, Wyatt following. We wordlessly settled in on the bench next to one another. We’ve gotten good at this nonverbal communication from our week of being mutes.
“What do you want to know?”
He thought for a moment, then looked up right into my eyes. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t.
“What are you so angry about?”
He doesn’t play around. I thought he was going to ask me something simple like my favorite color or music.
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean. You seem angry all of the time. Even when you’re having fun. What happened?”
I was having fun until he asked me that question.
“Now’s really not the time to get into this shit,” I said, as I stood up and started walking back to the stairs.
“Brielle!” Wyatt stood up and grabbed my arm. “Stop running away. You keep doing this.”
“You don’t even know me,” I said as I shook off his hand.
“I want to know you. Why do you seem to hate me so much? I can’t tell if you’re angry all the time or just angry with me.”
I stopped. I’d never really thought about why I was so mad at him. I struggled to think of an answer.
“See, you can’t even tell me why. You’re just angry. Why?”
“Why not? My life is so messed up right now, why not be angry? You’re damn right. I’m angry.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to fucking talk about it.” I felt like I was on a train headed for a wreck and couldn’t stop. I started feeling that lump in my throat and a mist in my eyes. Shit.
Wyatt didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in close to his chest. Our wordless communication at work again. He started rubbing my back and that’s when I crashed. Silent tears streamed steadily down my face, unstoppable. There was no sniffling or chest heaving involved, just a flood of tears. In same way the alcohol made me brave it also enabled my breakdown.
I had been holding my breath for a while to try and hold back the tears. I tried to suck in air in short, shallow breaths so he wouldn’t notice me gasping for air. Lucky for me, he did notice, and pulled away to check me out and make sure I was alive.
“ Are you okay? You sound like you can’t breathe.”
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping the tears from my face. “Don’t look at me, I probably look awful right now.” I hurriedly tried to wipe around my eyes, knowing my mascara probably made black streaks down my face. I felt even more embarrassed at that moment than when the boys caught me without my shirt on. I hadn’t cried in two years and the one night I have a breakdown Wyatt has to be the one to see it.
“You don’t look awful,” he said, his green eyes locked in on me. His hand brushed through my hair and over my cheek. “Like I said, you’re beautiful.”
My heart raced, my palms sweaty. I knew he meant it.
His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in closer. This time I didn’t rest my head on his chest, I kept my eyes locked back on his. He leaned in and I let him. His lips softly brushed up against mine, like a question. And I answered. I wrapped my arms up around his shoulders and neck, pulling him in tighter. He kissed me back, harder, and then on my cheek and trailing down my neck. His hand cupped my face and laced through my hair. Chills spread throughout my body, down my spine. I wondered how I got into this wreck.
