Something About Love
Author: Elana Johnson
Date: 2014-09-15 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult; Romance; Contemporary; Young Adult Romance
Description: High school senior Olivia Winging gave up her love of photography when she gave up her boyfriend, Trevor Youngblood, a year and a half ago. She broke things off with Trevor because her mom married his dad, and dating your step-brother? Creepy. Livvy hasn’t been on good terms with her mother since, and one of her stipulations for staying at the Youngblood’s every other weekend is that Trevor can’t be there. When she gets nominated for the Junior Photography in Excellence award, Trevor insists she enter. She agrees—only if every photo in the portfolio can be of him. Knowing that Livvy can captur
Publisher: AEJ Creative Works

“I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU,”

Are words I do not understand.

How can a person be

In love

With someone who doesn’t love them back?

Is there a magical space

Labeled “love”

Where people meet?

Like,

“I am at Wal-mart with you.”

Now if Harris Jacobsen would’ve said,

“I love being at Wal-mart with you,”

I would’ve understood.

But he hadn’t.

He’d said,

“I am in love with you.”

I shake my head,

Try to make the words align,

All while wondering where this

Cloud-floaty place called love is, and

If I will ever wake up, and

Find myself there.

“WINGS,”

A boy says,

Pulls me from my memory

Of Harris’s confusing statement.

Harris had said it at lunch,

After leading me to his car

Like he usually did.

This time, instead of

Ham and cheese,

Capri-sun and laughter,

He’d kissed me (not new)

And said, “Livvy, I am in love with you.”

I shake the words away,

Focus on the boy in front of me now.

“Don’t call me Wings,” I say to Trevor Youngblood.

He wears his hair too long—

Longer than mine,

But that’s not hard.

Ninety-seven percent of Copper Hills High

Has hair longer than mine.

I move to step past Trevor,

The old flame in my stomach

Slowly igniting

As if he’d cupped his hand around it and blew.

“Come on, Olivia,” he says,

His voice low,

His fingers closing on my forearm.

His touch burns,

The way I thought it would

When I was in ninth grade.

I am not in ninth grade now, and

Trevor has muscled into a man

More so than he was as a freshman,

When I first felt the fires of lust.

“What do you want?” I ask,

Staring at his hand on my arm.

He releases me at the same time

He exhales.

His breath,

My arm,

No longer his prisoners.

“You infuriate me, Olivia Winging,” he says,

Rifling one hand through his bag.

He wears his over his shoulder,

A look I’ve always found feminine—

Unless you’re Trevor Youngblood.

“Because I’m not swooning at your mere presence?”

If only he could x-ray my stomach.

Then he’d see swoon.

I’ve simply learned to school my feelings,

Stuff them tight,

Ribbon them like Christmas presents

That I won’t give away.

“That’s only part of the reason.”

His mouth kicks up, and

I hate that I’ll lay awake tonight re-envisioning it.

“But really, it’s because of this.”

He thrusts a newspaper at me

Forcefully enough that I have no choice

But to take it.

I feel the other seniors watch us

As they jostle by,

Text their significant others,

Head for their cars.

The last bell rang four minutes ago,

Signaling freedom for the day.

The paper feels dirty,

Dry,

Crinkly

In my hand.

I smooth it against his chest,

Notice his muscles,

The amused set of his lips,

The teasing sparkle in his eye.

I find myself looking at

Myself.

“Crap,” I whisper.

“THAT’S YOUR EXPLANATION?”

Trevor cocks his hip out,

His left eyebrow up.

“Does your mother know you talk like that?”

“Shut up,” I say,

My only comeback.

Trevor knows my mother, and

Though he’s not interested,

She likes attractive males of all ages.

Except, apparently, nearly-fifty-year-olds,

As she left Dad last year

In search of a better house,

A better car,

A better husband,

A better life.

I visit her on weekends.

Which is why,

“I’m not entering.”

I shove the paper back at Trevor,

Succeed in maneuvering around him to my locker.

“What?”

The paper protests as he fists it.

I silently protest as he follows me.

“You have to go, Win—Liv.

You’re the only one good enough to win.”

“So what?

So Copper Hills will only have ninety-four trophies

Instead of ninety-five?”

I spin my locker open,

Drown out his exasperated sighs

And muttered complaints

By dropping my books

Against the metal.

Finished, I lean my forehead against my closed locker.

I draw a deep breath, and

Clear my head.

Going home requires such things.

I turn,

Find Trevor standing there, watching.

“Leave me alone,” I say.

“You’re really not going to enter.”

“Really, really.”

“Unbelievable.”

Trevor shakes his head,

Sends that shaggy hair swinging.

His eyes harbor anger now,

His shoulders tension.

“You are something…unbelievable.”

“You enter,” I snap. “If you’re so worried about the trophy count.”

I stride away from him before

I abandon all reason.

“That’s not it at all.”

He matches my gait,

That newspaper crackling with every movement.

It sends annoyance through my bloodstream.

“You’re good, Liv.”

Trevor’s voice has a whine in it.

“No one can capture the soul through a lens like you can.”

He shakes the paper as if strangling it.

“You’ve been nominated.”

I stop suddenly in the abandoned hall,

Shove him away from me

Into the lockers.

I get real close to his face,

Only a finger’s width between us.

“Listen,” I start, before I notice

His eyes.

Green-gray like murky water,

Make me want to see what treasures,

Or dangers,

Are hidden underneath.

For a pinch of a moment,

A mere wisp of time,

They reveal what he doesn’t

Want me to see.

But I’m trained

To see what’s hidden in those pinches,

To release the shutter on my camera

To capture those secrets

Forever.

I have no camera, but I see

Into the depths of his dangerous waters.

I find heat.

Trevor has his own fire burning.

How have I never seen it before?

“HERE’S THE DEAL,”

I say,

Step back real fast.

I have a boyfriend I have a boyfriend

Runs through my mind.

“Deal?” Trevor straightens his shirt,

Smiles slow,

Like he has a lot secrets he

Doesn’t want anyone to know.

He might,

But I know at least one of them.

I saw it.

“You let me photograph you for the contest.

My whole exhibit gets to be you,

The ever popular,

Super-hot,

Most lusted after boy

At Copper Hills High.”

I’ve been dying to shoot him for years,

Find out what really lives,

Breathes,

Pulses,

Behind those eyes.

“Are you saying you think I’m hot?”

Trevor pushes the newspaper into his man-purse.

“Everyone thinks you’re hot,” I respond.

“And every photo will be of you, Trevor.

Every one.”

He hears what I’m saying.

He pales,

Looks away,

Swallows.

“As long as you enter the contest,” he says,

Making my stomach clench.

I really thought he’d say no, and

My pride won’t let me back out now.

“Great,” I say in my sweetest voice as I

Hover close to him again.

“Can’t wait to see what your soul says to my lens.”

“I THINK YOU’RE HOT TOO,”

Circles in my head

In time to the beat of the song on the radio.

Trevor’s last words to me before he left me

Stunned,

Standing in the hallway.

“Stupid Trevor Youngblood,” I mutter.

He couldn’t even let me have the last word.

He never could.

My cell phone blares:

Harris’s ringtone.

“HEY, BEAUTIFUL,”

He says when I answer.

“Hey, Harris.”

I find I don’t have anything else to say.

I know he was disappointed about

What happened at lunch.

I’d have been disappointed if my boyfriend

Ran from the car

Like it was on fire

After I told him,

“I am in love with you.”

“Listen—” he begins.

“I just don’t get it,” I blurt out.

“Okay? I mean, what does that even mean, you know?

How can people be ‘in love’?

It’s not a place, like where you get bacon sandwiches

Or something.”

“Do you want a bacon sandwich, Liv?

Because I’ll get you one.”

I laugh,

Because Harris said that just to elicit such a response.

I guess that should mean something

That he knows exactly what to say to get me to laugh.

“I knew you’d freak out,” he says.

“I just wanted to say it when I was feeling it.”

“Feeling what? Like we’re in love together?

Or that you were just fond of me in that moment

Because I told you how funny you are, and

That I like being with you, and

That your car smells nice?”

“Come on,” he says,

“You know this is more than me having a clean vehicle.”

“But is it?” I ask, not trying to be difficult

But trying to figure out what it means to

Be in love with someone.

“I love my cat,” I say,

“My dad.

Taking pictures.

I love watching the rain when I’m inside,

And I love the thought of traveling the world one day.

But I’m not in love with those things.”

I shake my head,

Turn left onto Washington Boulevard.

“I just don’t get it.

Why don’t we just say,

‘I love you, Harris.

I love you too, Olivia.’

What does ‘in love with you’

Even mean?”

Harris sighs in a way that means he’s annoyed,

Yet contemplating what I said.

“So you think I simply should’ve said,

‘I love you, Olivia.’”

“At least I would know what that means!”

I pull into my driveway,

Put the car in park, and

Lean my head against the window.

Silence drapes between me and Harris.

I think of my parents,

Who, years ago,

Used to be “in love with each other.”

Then Mom decided she liked a

Mercedes Benz

More than Dad.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I just don’t get that particular phrasing of one’s affections.”

“It’s okay,” Harris says.

“I still love you, Olivia.”

I don’t echo it back.

Instead, I get out of the car,

Phone pressed to my ear, and

Ask,

“Wanna come over?

Rose doesn’t get home until four.”

“I’M HOME!”

My nine-year-old sister announces

This every afternoon,

As if her homecoming is something monumental,

Something worth celebrating.

Harris shifts on the couch,

Where we are half-watching-TV,

Half-kissing.

I sit up,

Meet my sister’s bright smile,

Follow her into the kitchen.

“Wanna snack?” I ask,

Already reaching for the raisins.

“How was school?”

“Good,” Rose says, before

Launching into how awesome her teacher is, and

How Kevin got in trouble, and

How the mashed potatoes at lunch are sooo good.

I smile,

Thinking that I love Rose.

But I am not in love with her.

“LIKE THIS?”

Trevor asks the next afternoon as

He scoots forward on the couch,

Raises one fist to his chin

Like he’s Uncle Rico on Napoleon Dynamite.

“Get real,” I respond,

Analyze his position, and

Notice his hips are too far forward,

His back too bent,

His left arm dangling in empty air.

This picture would be a nightmare.

“I’m going to manhandle you.”

I step toward him,

Let the camera settle around my neck.

“I wish you would,” he says.

I push on his shoulders,

Force him back into the couch.

“Arm up, like there’s a girl sitting

Here you really like.

Gross, not creepy-possessive-like.

Release the fingers.

You don’t own her,

You’re just claiming the space she occupies.

Yeah, yeah, like that.”

I picture myself in that spot,

Sitting close,

Feeling the warmth of his almost-on-my-shoulders arm,

Smelling the maleness of his skin.

He should be carefree,

Hands loose,

Smile wide,

“Left leg up,” I say. “Ankle on knee.”

He moves,

That diabolical grin on his face.

“Turn your right toe more toward me.

Good. Okay, tilt your head just a little…

Too much. You’re not a puppet.”

I step toward him,

Feeling the heat of his body

As I invade his space.

His smile fades as I gently push on his chin, and

Say, “Just a little.

Then I can catch the light in your eyes.

Makes you look alive.”

“Hand here.” I move his left hand down on his knee more,

Ignoring the thrill that squirrels down my spine

When we touch.

“We don’t want this to look posed,

Though it is posed.

You should look natural,

Like you just sat down, and

Now you’re waiting for your girlfriend,

Who will easily slip into this space, because

She knows she belongs there.”

“Got it,” he says.

“And I’m waiting for

Her to figure that out.”

He grins,

One eyebrow raised, and

I ignore his flirtations as

I step back and raise my camera,

A dance we are unaccustomed to,

But one we will master.

I snap several pictures before he smiles,

Before he cages his soul.

“Smile,” I say, “Like the girl coming to sit next to you is special.

Don’t look at her! Look at me.”

Click click click.

I take his picture in rapid-fire succession.

“I’m home!” Rose announces.

I drop the camera,

Remove the strap from my neck.

“We’re done for today.”

“Tomorrow?” Trevor asks,

Gets up, and

Brushes imaginary dirt from his jeans.

“We can go to my place.”

He doesn’t look at me as he says it.

“Right,” I say

As I roll my eyes.

He knows there’s no way I’m going to his place

Tomorrow,

Or ever.

“How about the dock?”

I shoo Rose into the kitchen with a look that says,

Be right there. Get out the crackers.

I turn back to Trevor and find him

Too close,

Smiling,

Eyebrows raised.

“The dock?”

I suppress the memory of what happened

Last time I was at the dock

Alone with Trevor.

“I’ll bring my assistant,” I say,

“She needs the hours, and

You need the water to make you look good.”

“I thought you said I was hot.”

“I said everyone thinks you’re hot.”

“You pay someone to help you take pictures?”

“Sort of. She’s more like an intern.”

Sufficiently satisfied with my answers,

Trevor stoops for his man bag, and

Agrees to meet me at the dock

After school tomorrow.

“I JUST FELL OUT OF LOVE WITH HIM,”

Mom says about why she left Dad.

I’d never asked her,

But while my problem is that

I’ve bottled everything up

Mom’s is that she never shuts up.

This is another thing about love

I do not understand.

The word “fall” should not be applied to

Anything but a season.

My grandpa fell last year,

Broke his hip, and

Hasn’t walked normally since.

I fell out of bed as a baby,

Goose-egged my head, and

Cried all night.

Or so Dad says.

Gravity takes complete control

Of things,

Making them fall,

Shatter,

Split,

Separate.

Like my parents,

My family.

Where is this “love” place anyway?

The only thing I imagine when someone says,

“I’m falling in love with him,”

Is pain,

Injury,

Danger,

Death.

Like jumping from an airplane

Without a parachute,

Hoping to hit the magic vortex

Labeled LOVE, and

Find someone there you like enough

To live with forever.

“Not forever,”

I mutter to myself

As I clean up my photography equipment.

Because apparently,

You can fall out of love

Too.

I wonder if falling out hurts more than falling in,

Or if it’s like

Slipping through the cracks

When no one is looking.

“DAD, WHY DID MOM LEAVE?”

My voice fractures the silence of dinner and

Causes Rose to look up sharply from her spaghetti.

Dad twirls his noodles,

Breathes in deep, and

Meets my eyes.

“I mean, you don’t work late”—

Something I’d heard my BFF Jacey’s mom complain about—

“You make enough money.

I make dinner.

Rose is the cutest thing ever.”

I don’t know why I’m asking.

I don’t really care.

I’ve just been thinking about what Harris said,

Why he thinks he loves me,

What he means by it.

“It’s good spaghetti,” Dad says,

Pointing his fork toward Rose,

Which means,

Let’s talk later.

“Thanks,” I say, answering both his spoken word, and

His unsaid gesture.

“Mom loves us,” Rose blurts,

Her voice too high.

“You told me that, Liv.

Doesn’t she love us?”

“Of course she does,” Dad soothes Rose.

“She did not leave because of you,

Or because I work late or don’t work late,

Or because Olivia burns every chicken dish she attempts.”

Rose chuckles, but the worry

Doesn’t leave her expression.

“You are the cutest thing ever,” Dad reassures,

“Mom just needed…

Something else.”

“What?” Rose asks, and I find my mind

Puzzling through the same thing.

Dad sighs, and

Puts down his fork

To pick up his garlic bread.

While I overcook poultry,

I’m killer with baked goods.

“I don’t know, girls.

Honest, I don’t.

I suspect Mom doesn’t even know.”

He looks at his bread

Like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“But it doesn’t matter.

We’re okay.”

He pierces me with his gaze, and

Then Rose.

“Right, girls? We’re okay, right?”

Rose nods, her little chin quivering.

I feel a love so fierce for my father,

That I don’t know how to vocalize my emotions.

So I just nod too.

“YOU IGNORED MY CALLS YESTERDAY.”

The words float behind me,

Frustration,

Not anger,

In Jacey’s words.

“I did not,” I defend

Without turning around.

“I didn’t get them until this morning.”

I pull out my phone and send my best friend a quick text,

Even though Jacey’s standing right behind me.

“I responded.”

Her phone chirps,

This annoying sound of someone saying,

“Hey, psst,”

In a not-so-stage whisper.

I turn as Jacey looks at her phone,

Her black hair falling way past her shoulder

As she ducks her head.

“Smart aleck.”

But she smiles.

“But seriously, what’s with you and Trevor Youngblood?”

I wait for her next question,

Knowing what she’ll say before she says it.

“You’re not hooking up with him, are you?”

We start down the hall to first period.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you did,

But Harris is more your type.”

What she means is “more available.”

Trevor Youngblood doesn’t have a girlfriend,

But he’s off-limits.

At least to me.

“And,” Jacey continues,

Even as we pass the un-hooked-up-with Youngblood’s locker,

“I’ve already heard three separate rumors about

Why he followed you home yesterday.”

Outside Jacey’s art classroom, she stops.

I do too.

“Did any of the rumors include the word photography?”

Jacey peers at me and

Frowns a little.

“No.”

“Well, I got nominated for the

Junior California Photography in Excellence award, and

I need to submit a portfolio by March.

Trevor is the subject.”

Jacey’s brown eyes couldn’t have gotten wider,

Her gasp louder.

She grips my sleeve and pulls me toward her,

As if we aren’t already close enough, and

The hall isn’t so loud that no one could possibly overhear us.

“I thought you weren’t going to enter.”

“I wasn’t,” I hiss back in the same
half-shocked, half-overjoyed voice

That Jacey used.

Her eyes flicker between mine,

Her hair the only protection

From passing eyes.

I brush my short locks

Away from my face

Though they aren’t long enough

To stay tucked behind my ear.

Jacey leans closer,

And I get an up-close-personal

Look at the skin blemishes

She’s covered with makeup.

“Then why are you snapping shots of the hottest guy in school?”

“First,” I say, “That point is debatable.”

Jacey shakes her head, but I continue.

“Second, I didn’t ask him to model for me.

He—”

“I VOLUNTEERED.”

All sound in the hall evaporates.

I stare at Jacey,

But her gaze switches from mine

To Trevor’s behind me.

“I can’t believe you said my hotness is debatable,”

He jokes, and

I wish my throat didn’t tighten

At the low playfulness in his voice.

His arm settles around my shoulders.

“Wings is a heckuva photog,” he informs Jacey,

As if she didn’t already know.

“Even when she wanted me to take off my—”

I shove him away,

Mad, not playful.

“Shut up, you idiot.

I didn’t—have never—asked you to take off anything.”

I make sure my voice is loud enough for everyone to hear.

Trevor laughs. “She manhandled me.”

“I did not!” I cry,

Though I distinctly remember using those words.

“I was posing you.”

“Did you or did you not use the word ‘manhandle’?”

“You know what?” I growl.

Jacey grabs my arm as I advance on Trevor.

I vaguely hear her say, “Not worth it, Liv.

Mr. Archibald coming this way.”

“No dock this afternoon,” I say sweetly to Trevor,

Force a smile to my face, and

A chuckle out of my mouth.

I put a flirtatious hand on his chest, and

Fiddle with a button on his shirt though

I want to rip it off and shove it somewhere unpleasant.

“Forget about the portfolio.

You’re not worth the effort.”

I spin,

Air-kiss Jacey on both cheeks

Though I know she sees the fire in my eyes, and

Grin at Vice-Principal Archibald

As he walks by.

At the end of the hall,

I dare to turn back to Jacey’s art classroom.

She and Trevor are arguing, and

Neither looks very happy.

WHAT WERE YOU AND TREVOR TALKING ABOUT?

I text to Jacey

From underneath my desk in health class.

Jacey: When?

Me: Come on. After I walked away before first.

Jacey: I don’t want to tell you.

Me: Are you hooking up with him???

Jacey: Not in the way you think.

Me: Enlighten me.

Jacey:

Me: JC!

Jacey:

“I’M SORRY, OKAY?

Can we still go to the dock this afternoon?”

Trevor is standing outside my health class,

Like he hasn’t even gone to first period.

I bolted as soon as the bell rang, and

He was already there, all Edward-Cullen-stalker style.

I stop,

Appraise him, and

Let my eyes graze from the top of his head

To the expensive Nikes he wears.

“Bring your fishing pole.”

“HARRIS, I NEED TO TELL YOU—”

I can’t finish,

Because we round the corner that leads

To the band room, and

Harris presses me into the wall,

His lips already on mine.

I lose myself to his touch,

His heat,

His passion.

“Come on,” he says,

Takes my hand, and

Leads me down the deserted hall to the parking lot.

His car is immaculate, as always.

The music low, like usual.

The food standard, the ham sandwich my dad typically makes.

Harris is funny, his norm,

But there’s a burn beneath the surface, and

I wonder:

Which is the façade?

The in-control Harris Jacobsen,

Who’s never kissed me like he just did in the hall?

The one who smiles flirtatiously, and

Comes over when my dad isn’t home, and

Says “Livvy, I’m in love with you”?

Or the boy with desire on the tip of his tongue, and

A sigh of contentment when we part, and

Glazed eyes that speak of want,

Lust,

Heat?

He reaches for me;

I lurch toward the window.

“I’m shooting Trevor Youngblood,” I blurt.

“After school yesterday, and today, and maybe for a long time.”

I meet Harris’s gaze,

Notice the desire within him has cooled.

“Trevor Youngblood? The guy your—?”

“La la la,” I practically shriek

Until Harris stops speaking.

“Yes, that Trevor Youngblood.

I’m preparing a portfolio for the Junior Photography in Excellence award.”

“With…” Harris gestures to the air in the car,

Smart enough not to say Trevor’s name again.

“Yes, and I wanted you to know,

So you don’t, I don’t know,

Get jealous.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth,

I want to recall them.

“I mean, there’s nothing to be jealous of,

Not with me and Trevor.”

The idea is laughable,

Though the knot in my stomach betrays me.

Harris reaches for me again, and

I lean toward him,

Tucking my head against his chest.

The steadiness of his heartbeat is

Comforting.

“I thought you’d given up photography.”

He doesn’t sound jealous, just

Curious.

“I did, I mean…

I haven’t taken pictures for a while.”

My nerves come alive,

Sending jitters through my bloodstream.

“I’m just seeing how it goes.”

“Will you let me see the pictures before you turn them in?”

Harris strokes his fingers down my arm,

Across my thigh,

His voice throaty and warm.

“You know I won’t,” I respond,

Which causes him to chuckle

Before we kiss.

“THE NOISE IS INSANE,”

I mutter to myself

Over Trevor’s yesterday-afternoon pictures.

I’m in the library during fourth period

When I should be in Honors English.

Mrs. Peacock doesn’t report me,

Because she knows nothing will happen anyway.

The attendance office will call home,

I’ll intercept and delete the message, and

Simply skip fourth period whenever I want.

Dad and I have a nice system worked out,

Even if he doesn’t know it.

“The focus is too soft, too close to his face,” I whisper,

Thinking I shouldn’t have opened the aperture so wide,

Creating this shallow depth of field.

I like the background blur, but

“This is too much.”

My fingers fly,

From mouse to keyboard shortcuts,

Editing the shadow behind Trevor,

Cropping the right side so the end of the couch doesn’t show,

Taking out the thready ends on Trevor’s frayed jeans.

I get lost editing pictures.

The entire period flies by, and

I’m still working on the first photo.

There’s something still

Not quite right.

I change the saturation,

Add a vignette,

Whiten his teeth.

As the bell rings

I change the photo to

Black and white.

The shot transforms,

Becomes masterful.

I sit back,

Stunned,

Encouraged,

At the image I see on the screen.

I’ve selected a picture of Trevor

With his arm flung wide over the couch,

The smile in his eyes,

But not on his face.

I can see something in him

I never have before.

Apprehension.

Indecision.

About what? I wonder.

“That’s lovely.”

Mrs. Peacock’s voice causes me

To slam my laptop closed.

I don’t like people looking at my photos

Until they’re ready.

“Thanks, Mrs. P,” I say.

“I gotta go.”

She smiles as I gather my things, and

I see the pity in her eyes

Even without my camera.

“HE’S LATE. OF COURSE HE’S LATE.”

I sit,

Fuming,

In my car,

Only glass separating me from the wind

Coming off the lake.

Living in California, but

Not on the coast,

Has some advantages.

No smog,

Sunny year round,

Day trips to the beach.

But the wind is murder.

I wonder how long it takes to stop,

Pick up a fishing pole, and

Drive to the dock.

I’ve ridden with Trevor before.

He drives fast.

He should be here.

A minute clicks by,

Shooting my frustration to near I-want-to-scream levels.

I snatch my camera off the front seat and

Enter the fierce breeze coming off the water.

I lift my camera,

Snap image after image,

Knowing I’ll never download them,

Just glad to be behind the lens again.

Photography soothes me,

Creates an outlet for my anxiety,

A drain in my body where

I can physically feel the tension flow out.

I wonder if Mom found her outlet

In money,

Fast cars,

Beautiful men.

I wonder if that’s why she left Dad,

Left me and Rose,

Left her whole life

To move across town to a new house,

A new husband,

New kids,

New new new.

I capture a duck taking flight,

It’s feathers glossy and bright,

Though the bird is clearly mature.

I wonder what’s so wrong with being old,

With the comfort of a long marriage,

A whole family.

“WINGS!”

Trevor’s voice floats to me on the air.

I don’t turn.

He can see me, because

The dock isn’t that long.

I’m leaning against the railing,

Staring into the water.

My reflection ripples on the miniscule waves,

Making my face wavy and my features distorted.

Trevor settles next to me,

His back to the water,

His eyes on me.

“You’re late,” I say,

“I have to be home for Rose at four.”

“We’ve got time,” he says,

Smoothing down his hair.

“Sorry, Wings. I swear.”

“Why do you call me Wings?” I ask, and

Stand up straight to look at him.

Trevor glances away,

Suddenly not so calm and collected.

I remember the apprehension and

Indecision

I caught in his expression yesterday.

“Remember when we used to come here?” he asks

Instead of answering.

“Before all that stuff with your mom happened?”

He sighs.

“I miss doing that.”

He pins me with a meaningful look.

“I call you Wings because we used to be friends.”

“Trevor—”

“I miss you, Livvy.

Why does it have to be this way?

I mean, I get why you think so,

But I think you’re wrong.”

I step back and lift the camera.

“I’m not wrong.

You wanna shoot or what?”

“I’M NOT WRONG,”

I repeat to myself as I drive home.

The shoot was short, yet

Nearly perfect.

I’d captured Trevor as

A vulnerable boy who loves fishing.

I caught him casting,

Reeling,

Patiently waiting.

I know I’ll be able to get at least one

Good shot for my portfolio.

One that shows the little boy behind

Those murky-water eyes.

My entry needs ten photos, and

I have two that showcase completely different sides of the subject:

Teenage uncertainty, and

Childhood love.

I don’t allow myself to hope

To win the Junior Excellence in Photography award.

“What will it change, anyway?”

When Rose rides in the car with me, and

I talk to myself,

She always asks, “Who you talking to, Livvy?”

“No one, kid,” I always answer.

“Myself.”

Trevor’s right: We used to be friends.

But things change, and

There’s little either of us can do about it.

It’s dealing with the change

That makes us into the type of person we are.

So he’s flirtatious,

Hot, and

Sought after.

I’m closed,

Quiet, and

Only noticeable because of my buzzed hair

And the rumors about my mother.

Not exactly what I want to be known for.

I want to be friends with Trevor, but

It doesn’t feel possible.

I tell myself again,

“I’m not wrong.”

“COME ON, GIRLS,”

Dad calls,

“Time to go to your mother’s.”

I curse silently,

Get up, and

Enter the hall.

“Can’t I stay here this weekend?”

I yell down the stairs as

Rose comes out of her bedroom with her overnight bag.

“Olivia,” Dad warns.

Rose trains her baby blues on me, and

I certainly can’t make her go alone.

“I need to pack,” I mutter, and

Return to my room.

With all this stuff going on

With Trevor,

I’d forgotten it was my mom’s weekend.

“I HATE IT THERE,”

I say to the window as Dad backs out of the driveway.

We’ve eaten dinner, and

He has to deliver us by eight o’clock.

It’s 7:45.

We’ll be late.

Mom won’t care.

I’ll be shocked if she’s even home.

“You’ll be fine,” Dad says,

“You don’t even have to come out of your room.”

I grunt in response,

Because I can’t argue.

After the first weekend at Mom’s,

I cried,

Howled,

Begged

Not to go back.

Dad said he’d do everything he could

To make every other weekend bearable.

That included buying a mini-fridge,

A microwave, and

Many and varied boxed,

Canned, and

Frozen foods.

Mom furnished the room with two twin beds,

Two desks,

A flat-screen TV,

A laptop, and

Anything else Rose asked for.

I don’t come out of my room for meals.

I don’t come out of my room for “family” activities.

Rose does.

She is better than me in so many ways.

But for those forty-eight hours

Every other weekend,

I only leave my room to use the bathroom,

And only after everyone else is asleep.

“O-LIV-IA!”

Mom sing-songs like we’re celebrities

Who only meet over lunch

To share the latest gossip.

“Hey, Mom,” I deadpan.

I brush past her outstretched arms,

Let my eyes skip past her perfectly painted face,

Her stylish hair,

The disapproval that shows in the corners of her mouth.

She doesn’t say anything,

Simply turns to Rose,

Her arms still begging for a hug,

Which Rose gives her happily.

I let them bubble over the activities of the past two weeks

While I beeline for the stairs.

I keep my head down, and

My iPod on loud,

So it’s a miracle—

Or a nightmare?—

That I hear,

“Hey, Wings,”

Coming from the doorway

Across from mine.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

I gasp,

Dropping my iPod

As I skid to a stop.

“I live here,” Trevor says, “Remember?”

“Not every other weekend,” I practically yell.

My heart pounds too hard, and

My voice borders on screechy.

“Not this weekend!”

He shrugs.

“My mom is out of town on a business trip.”

“No.” I shake my head,

The word reverberating through my skull.

No no no no no no no.

My mother has lived with Trevor’s dad

For over a year.

I’ve been existing within the walls of my bedroom-away-from-home

For ninety-six hours a month,

Safely knowing that Trevor is at his mom’s.

Across town.

Not here.

He’s never been here on my weekends.

That was a stipulation of mine

When my parents and I discussed visitation.

He can’t be here.

“DAD, PLEASE,”

I whisper into my phone.

“I can’t stay here.”

Dad starts into something about

How I’ll be fine, and

That I don’t even need to leave my room.

I listen,

Near tears,

Shaking my head but

Not speaking.

“So tell me, Livvy,

What’s really going on?”

I’m desperate to tell him the real reason

Why I’m so freaked out, but

I stifle a sob instead.

“Nothing,” I say,

Though it sounds raw and alien.

The word gets muffled by the clothes in the closet

Where I’m hiding,

Articles my mom purchased

For me back when she thought

She could buy my love

With designer jeans and sparkles.

That’s another funny thing about love.

It can’t be purchased,

Coerced,

Taken,

Imagined.

It has to be felt,

Earned,

Cultivated.

I wonder if Mom has fallen out of love

With me too.

“Honey?” Dad’s voice comes through the line,

Insanely curious,

Smudged with worry.

“It’s fine, Dad,” I muster,

“I’ll survive.”

I hang up,

Knowing I’ve disappointed him

By staying silent.

I just can’t find the words

To tell him

That it’s my fault

Mom left.

My doing that she met Darren Youngblood

In the first place.

My eyes who first saw them kissing

At the dock.

My silence that bought our family

Another year together.

My lies that ruined

My relationship with Trevor,

Dad’s marriage,

Rose’s chance at having a real mom,

Our family.

ARE YOU GOING TO STAY IN YOUR ROOM ALL WEEKEND?

Trevor texts

Around noon on Saturday.

I don’t respond to him, but

Call Harris to come get me.

“THIS IS NEW,”

Harris says as we drive away from

The Youngblood’s.

“I’ve gotten used to our

Every-other-weekend schedule.”

“Sorry,” I say,

“Did you have something else going on?”

It suddenly occurs to me

That Harris could be cheating on me,

Every other weekend,

With another girl.

“Not really,” he says.

“Playing Halo, you know,

Busy stuff.”

I smile

Without showing my teeth,

Not sure what to even say.

Harris doesn’t ask,

Just drives.

He takes me to a movie,

Something that makes me squeeze his hand tight,

Because I won’t have to speak.

Harris seems to know exactly

When I need to talk, and

When I don’t.

After previews and popcorn,

After the hero is on the run,

I lift the armrest between us, and

Cuddle into Harris.

He squeezes my shoulder, and

Kisses the top of my head.

I turn my mouth to meet his, and

Try to drown out my fears by

Kissing my boyfriend.

“YOU’RE LATE,”

Are the first words I hear

Upon arriving back at the Youngblood’s house.

The voice belongs to my mother and

Comes from the shadows in the living room.

The lamp snaps to life and

Illuminates my mom.

She stands,

Wearing a pair of purple satin pajamas.

From a distance,

She looks perfect,

Polished.

Up close,

I see the imperfections:

The pilling of fabric along the seams,

The hair that refuses to be tamed, and

The crinkles around her eyes.

Strangers come into the house, and

Exclaim over its magnificence,

Its cleanliness,

Its grandeur.

Their eyes sweep over

The garbage disposal that doesn’t drain right, and

The scuffs along the baseboards, and

The dust on the too-high-to-reach light fixtures.

I see all of that, and

More.

From the outside,

My mom looks like she has a perfect life,

A perfect house.

From this close,

I see the truth:

She traded in a family

For money,

And she’s no happier than she was before.

Something different didn’t help, and

I wonder when she’ll leave

The Youngbloods

In search of what she’s looking for,

But still can’t find.

“WELL?”

She places one hand on her narrow hip, and

Skates her eyes down the length of my body.

“You cannot simply leave this house

Without telling anyone where you’re going, and

When you’ll be back.”

“I told someone where I was going, and

When I’d be back.

It just wasn’t you.”

“Olivia!”

She throws her hands into the air.

“Texting your father does not count.

It’s my weekend.”

Something unfolds inside my body,

A monster,

An animal, and

Claws through my stomach and

Up my throat.

“When you left us a year ago,

You gave up the privilege of knowing

Anything about me.”

Anger blazes in Mom’s expression, and

I can tell she’s fighting her own monster.

“I just want to know you’re safe.”

“I was fine.

I am fine.”

“Where were you?

Who were you with?”

I squint at her,

Hoping to see her more clearly.

I can’t.

She is so far removed from me,

It’s as if a continent separates us.

“Olivia.”

Her voice carries only warning,

Not compassion,

Not worry,

Not concern.

“I was with Harris!” I yell,

Not caring that it’s two o’clock in the morning.

This house is huge, and

The people here probably sleep

With those machines that simulate the sound of the ocean.

“We drove around a little,

Went to a movie, and

Then had hot sex in the back of his car!”

My chest heaves,

The monster inside is desperate to come out and

Scratch my mother’s vocal chords from her throat.

“Is that what you wanted to know, Mom?”

She stumbles back a step,

One hand clutching her heart.

“You didn’t.

Tell me you’re lying.”

“Why do you care?” I ask.

I take my raging emotions, and

Tighten them back into the box

I’ve so carefully used for the past year.

“At least I’m not married to someone else but

Sleeping with him.”

I don’t wait for her response, because

I think I may have just stepped over an invisible line, and

I’m scared at how satisfied I feel.

“IS THAT REALLY TRUE?”

Trevor’s voice pierces the darkness

Outside the bedroom I share with Rose.

Upstairs, quiet reigns.

Rose left our door open, but

I didn’t wake her with my tantrum.

“You sleeping with Harris.

Is that really true?”

His silhouette dances with

The moonlight spilling through his room.

The monster flees, but

I keep my feelings from showing on my face.

“I mean, you’ve been dating him for

Eight months, but…”

Trevor lets his words die in the night, and

I have nothing to add.

I’m trying to figure out why Trevor

Knows how long I’ve been dating Harris.

I barely know that.

“Please,” Trevor begs, and

I hear the compassion,

Concern, and

Worry

In his voice.

Everything I wanted to hear in Mom’s.

“I have to know if you’re sleeping with him.”

“No, I’m not.”

The truth leaks from me, and

I’m not sure why.

Truth is a dangerous thing.

It can free a person, and

When spoken plainly

Can build trust.

When hidden, the truth

Can destroy relationships,

Families,

Lives.

“I didn’t think so,” he says,

Relief plain in his tone.

“What does that mean?” I demand.

The animal inside me thrashes again.

“You think the artsy, photographer girl

Can’t arouse the soccer star?”

“No, it means I don’t have to beat him up.”

“Why do you care?” I’m thrilled in a weird way at the thought of

Trevor punching Harris

For sleeping with me, but

Mostly confused that Trevor cares.

“We’re not friends.

You and I aren’t…together.”

He takes a step toward me, and

I see that it’s tentative,

Giving me a chance to escape if I want to.

I hold my ground,

Neither ready to run

Nor committed to staying.

“We used to be friends,” he says.

“And we used to be together, and

I miss you.”

He threads his fingers through mine, and

The feelings I have now aren’t

In the same realm as anger,

Or frustration,

Or fear.

His hand in mine

Feels warm and safe,

Completely unlike the frantic desperation

That courses through me when I’m with Harris.

He tugs me toward his room, and

I seize,

Thinking of Rose alone in our bedroom,

My mom’s watchful eyes, and

Harris’s willingness to wipe my mind clean

Through his kisses.

“I’M NOT SLEEPING WITH YOU EITHER,”

I say,

Every muscle in my body locked.

I am not following Trevor into his bedroom.

His chuckle is low,

Sexy.

It causes warmth to slide through my body, and

Reminds me of when we used to lie

Next to the lake,

Fingers tangled,

Eyes on the clouds,

Laughing, and

Talking, and

Kissing.

I remember the way he used to look at me,

With desire,

Not so unlike Harris.

I remember how his mouth felt against mine,

Soft yet insistent,

Completely unlike Harris,

Who kisses me with too much tension and

Too many clashes of teeth.

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” Trevor says,

His feet still shuffling in the direction of his room.

“I mean, I do, but not tonight.”

“Not ever,” I say,

“Because we’re not together.

I have a boyfriend, and

He’s not you.”

I keep my feet glued to the carpet.

“You and Harris won’t last forever.”

The gentle hiss of Trevor’s voice

Sends a tremor racing underneath my skin.

“You don’t know that,” I hiss back,

Mine much more menacing.

“Oh, but I do, Wings.”

He tugs on my hand again, and

I yank my fingers out of his.

“Come on,” he pleads,

“We’re not going to my room.

How about the terrace?”

All I can ask is,

“This place has a terrace?”

“I LOVE THE STARS.”

Trevor sits beside me,

Having released his grip as soon as we stepped onto the terrace.

He hasn’t spoken in ten minutes, and

I’d just started to drift.

“Mmm,” is all I can muster.

I don’t even bother to open my eyes

To see the magnificence of the stars.

Minutes pass, but

His simple statement has pulled me from the edge of sleep.

“What were you and Jacey talking about?” I ask.

“Jacey?”

“Yeah, yesterday morning,

Before first period.

I saw you guys arguing.”

My eyes open bleary but

Quickly focus on his moonlit face.

I have not allowed myself to look at him so openly

Since our parents got married,

Not even through the lens of my camera.

I think of what images I could capture here,

Now,

On his terrace with his face highlighted by the moon.

His jaw is pronounced and smooth;

His eyes wide and bright.

He doesn’t notice me looking,

At least for the first few seconds.

When he notices,

He lets me look, and

Search, and

Examine.

Through the shadows around his face,

I can see all the way to the bottom of him.

I don’t know what I expect to find, but

It’s not helplessness, or

Vulnerability.

My fingers itch to use a manual flash,

Adjust my shutter speed,

Set the aperature, and

Solidify who he is.

“Jacey told me I had no chance with you,”

Trevor says,

Finally tearing his eyes away from my scrutiny.

“I disagreed.”

JACEY’S RIGHT

Sits on the tip of my tongue,

Unspoken, untasted.

No matter how much I want to be with him, and

No matter how sincere his words sound,

Jacey’s right.

I want to believe he misses me,

That he would be with me if things were different.

But I can’t, because those thoughts hold too much hope, and

Hope is a painful thing.

He leans forward,

Hands on knees,

Eyes on stars.

He turns toward me

As if in slow motion.

Trevor’s hand comes closer, and

Closer, and

Closer.

I don’t move mine,

Though my brain is screaming at me.

His fingers land warm and soft on mine,

Much the way I imagine falling in love to feel.

I swallow.

Blink.

Look into the depths of his eyes, and

Breathe in the fresh linen scent of his shirt, and

Turn my face to the stars he loves.

“THEY’RE LEAVING,”

I whisper into my cell phone to Jacey on the other end of the line

As I watch my step-father’s Escalade

Back out of the driveway and

Turn toward the city.

From my second-story window

I see Trevor’s profile in the backseat with Rose,

Who loves him as though he were her real brother

Even though they don’t spend much time together.

They’ll be gone until at least mid-afternoon,

What with the drive,

The brunching, and

The shopping.

“I’ll be right there,” Jacey says,

“I’m just down the block.”

When I see her beat-up Toyota round the corner,

I grab my purse and fly down the stairs,

Past the undusted chandelier and

The dishwasher that clicks on the heavy duty cycle.

I have to pull hard on the double-front doors, and

A flash of self-loathing slices through my body,

A reminder that I want to do this.

Jacey asks anyway.

“You sure about this?”

She traces the path of the Escalade

Though we aren’t going nearly as far.

“I held hands with Trevor Youngblood,” I tell her,

“He said he wants to sleep with me.

He told me you said he had no chance.”

“You held his hand?”

Jacey doesn’t answer for a minute,

Only chews her bottom lip.

“I didn’t think he had a chance…”

I swear the heat from his fingers still seeps between mine,

Like the remembered warmth of a campfire.

“It was a sort-of hand-hold,” I say.

“He took my hand and led me to this terrace

I didn’t even know existed.

We looked at stars, and

He said he missed me.”

Jacey tosses me a worried look.

“Did he say anything else?

Try anything?”

I shake my head,

Somehow feeling even more guilty for the hand-holding

Now that someone else knows.

Still, it feels good to talk it out,

The way I should’ve been able to do with

Mom.

“Well, then, how did the sleeping-with-you thing come up?”

Jacey turns into the tattoo parlor parking lot,

Parks, and

Kills the engine.

I close my eyes as if that will drown out the hateful things

I said to my mother.

“I sort of told my mom I was sleeping with Harris, and

Trevor overheard—you know he’s not even supposed to be there on my weekends?—and

He asked me about it.”

Since Jacey isn’t driving, she turns toward me,

Her brown eyes wide and curious.

“And? Are you?”

I shake my head again.

“You know I’m not into Harris like that.”

“You sure kiss him a lot for someone who’s not into him like that.”

“Kissing is different,” I say,

“It’s harmless. Everyone kisses. It’s no big deal.”

Jacey cocks her head to the side as if to say,

Yeah, right.

“It’s true,” I insist. “The value of a kiss has significantly decreased.

Just watch The Bachelor.”

I remember a time when I believed a kiss meant something.

When the joining of mouths wasn’t trivial,

Wasn’t just something that happened at the end of every date,

With every boy.

I used to think a kiss meant

Trust,

Loyalty, and

Love.

I remember a time when kissing was mysterious,

Fantastical almost.

I imagined what kissing a boy would be like, and

It always happened with someone who looked at me like I owned the stars, or

At least his heart.

He might whisper something to me to make me laugh, or

He might cup my face in his wanting hands, or

He might say my name with so much need our only option was to taste each other.

My first kiss had been with Trevor Youngblood, and

He’d done all that.

He’d created the standard that all my future kisses would be compared to, and

Since I’d only kissed Harris after him,

Harris had definitely lacked the heat, and

Passion, and

Love

That Trevor’s kiss had given me.

After that, I paid more attention to how other people kissed.

How my parents pecked in the morning,

Not a true melding of mouths, but

A quick gesture.

I witnessed the stoner girl make out with her boyfriend

Across the hall, and

Their movement was wild desperation and groping hands.

I watched Jacey kiss her Homecoming date goodnight, and

It was chaste but soft,

With the leaning of bodies and the flutter of hands.

Mason Burns is now her boyfriend, and

He still looks at her with constellations in his eyes, and

Like he’s not sure where he’s allowed to touch.

But no one kisses the way Trevor and I had,

Like we needed the other to breathe,

Like the only thing that mattered was exploring each other,

Like everything could crash,

Burn,

Die around us, and

We’d be okay, because

I was his, and

He belonged to me.

“YOU HATE THE BACHELOR,”

Jacey brings me out of my kissing-Trevor memories, and

Reminds me what we’re doing here

Parked outside Happy Valley Tattoo.

“I know,” I say,

“But that doesn’t mean kissing means something these days.”

I release my seat belt and slide from her car.

“It does,” she insists,

“And you know it.”

She takes a few steps around the car and meets me at the entrance.

“If you don’t like Harris,

You should stop kissing him.”

“I like kissing him.” I silence the part about how the kissing makes everything

I don’t want to think about

Go away.

I move to pass her, but

Jacey puts her arm on mine.

“But you don’t like him.”

She’s sort of asking, and

Sort of not.

I shake my head.

“No, I don’t really like him.”

It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and

Jacey’s next words are in my head before she says them.

“You should break up with him then.

It’s not fair to use him like that.”

I nod.

“After we ink, okay?

I’ll call him after we ink.”

“YOU SURE?”

The tattoo artist appraises my bared foot.

“It’s gonna hurt real bad.”

“It’s not my first one,” I defend,

Showing him my other foot.

I have a pencil-thin line around my pinky toe, and

Another around my ring toe.

He shrugs as if to say,

Your call, and

Gets his instruments ready.

I band my skin to remind myself

Of the mistakes I’ve made that I can’t repeat.

One: Watching my mother and Darren kiss

In that needful,

Careful,

Bone-melting way that suggested they craved each other.

I’d never seen my mom kiss Dad like that.

I kept the secret for far too long, and

Whenever I look at my pinky toe and see that line,

I remind myself that truth is the great equalizer.

Two: Breaking up with Trevor

Without an explanation,

A discussion, or

Anything.

After I’d done that, I felt like

I needed to plunge my own hand into my chest

Just to make sure my heart was still there,

Beating.

When I look at my ring toe,

With it’s black line of permanent ink,

I remind myself that sometimes I can’t have everything I want.

“WHAT’S THIS ONE FOR?”

Jacey asks, knowing I don’t ink myself for pleasure, and

That if my mother knew,

She’d freak out and have me sent for laser removal.

I’m careful around her,

Only wearing close-toed shoes or

Toe rings.

It helps that I only see her twice a month

For about ten minutes, and

That the lines are so thin and so far from her appraising gaze.

“Cheating,” I say.

“I am not a cheater.”

What I mean is:

I am not my mother.

I don’t know if Jacey hears that or not.

It doesn’t matter.

Every time I look at my left pinky toe,

I’ll remember.

“It wouldn’t be cheating if you broke up with Harris,” Jacey says,

Closing her eyes as the artist brings the needle closer to my foot.

She’s right, and

I close my eyes too.

I hate needles

Just like Jacey does.

But I need this reminder.

Every zing of pain tells me

Not to get too close to Trevor,

Not to keep dating Harris,

Not to be like my no-good-adulterous mom.

“HE’S HERE,”

Jacey says, her eyes suddenly fearful.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“It’s Harris,” I say,

“He’s not going to hurt me.”

Jacey purses her lips and looks over my shoulder to Harris’s car

As if she’s not sure.

We’re still sitting in the tattoo parlor parking lot.

I’ve called Harris to take me to lunch, and

My toes throb as I move my foot

Though I have them bandaged and protected in two socks and a firm sneaker.

“Call me later,” she says.

“I want to know how it goes.”

I agree and switch from her dirty excuse for a car

To Harris’s immaculate vehicle without limping.

Harris doesn’t know about the tattoos, and

I don’t want to tell him.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over the center console for a kiss.

“Hey,” I respond, pretending not to see him as I reach for my seatbelt.

“Where to?” he asks,

Recovering quickly from my rejection and

Throwing the car in reverse.

I think of my right pinky toe,

The one banded for truth.

“Harris,” I start, my voice catching on his name.

“I don’t think we should see each other any more.”

“WHY?”

Of course Harris wants to know, and

He deserves an answer.

I can’t give him the real reason, but

Only a watered-down version of it.

He’s smart,

Funny,

Kind,

Dedicated.

He doesn’t make me talk when I don’t want to, and

He knows exactly what to do to make me smile.

He’s polished,

The kind of boy who’s easy to bring home to my dad,

With hair that’s not too long, or

Too greasy, or

Even overstyled.

His teeth are white, and

His clothes smell like a mountain stream, and

He’s tall, dark, and handsome.

I am an idiot, I tell myself, but

When I look at Harris,

All I see is that

He’s not Trevor.

“I LOVE YOU,”

He says, his voice tight with anger.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

I study my hands in my lap

While Harris pulls over to the side of the road,

Waiting for me to explain.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say,

“It’s me. I’m just not into you the way you’re into me, and

It’s not fair.

I mean, it’s not fair to you for me to keep leading you on

When this isn’t going to go anywhere.”

His breath explodes out of his body, and

He rakes his fingers through his hair

Looking out his window.

“I said it too soon, didn’t I?”

He slams a palm against the steering wheel,

Startling me,

Making me question if I should’ve sent Jacey away.

“Said what?”

I ask, trying to keep my voice low and timid.

“You know what.

I’m sorry, Olivia, okay?

I won’t say it again.”

His jaw tightens,

His eyes seem wild.

I need to calm him down, and

I only have one idea: Talking.

“That’s not it,” I say,

“But it did make it clear to me that you feel way more strongly about us

Than I do.”

I put two fingers on his forearm,

Drawing his attention to my face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.

And this—” I gesture between us— “Is not fair to you.

I don’t just want a make-out partner.”

A glint of hope enters his eyes

Just for a moment, but

I see it.

If I had my camera, I would’ve captured it with a high-speed flash and

An eighty millimeter lens.

“I’d be your make-out partner,” he says,

Real soft,

His eyes dropping to his lap.

I shake my head. “I can’t.

Honest, Harris, you’re a great guy.

You’re just…”

I don’t know how to finish that sentence.

“Stop,” Harris says,

Saving me from myself.

“I know you have this honesty pact thing with yourself, but

Just…don’t.”

The silence in the car becomes charged,

Fueled by the frustration in Harris’s voice, and

The anger in his eyes.

“Will you take me back to my mom’s?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, but

The tires spin in the gravel,

Like he can’t get rid of me

Fast enough.

“WHORE!”

Harris screams from the end of the Youngblood’s driveway,

Causing me to turn back to his car.

The window is rolled down,

His middle finger is extended, and

He looks unhinged.

He lingers,

Like he expects me to run forward,

To apologize.

I stay rooted to the spot,

Unable and unwilling to move.

Harris finally peels away,

His voice carrying on the wind.

I hear the insults, and

I can’t stop the rush of guilt.

“I DID THE RIGHT THING,”

I tell myself for the tenth time

In as many minutes.

I did not cheat on Harris,

I didn’t lead him on,

I didn’t deserve his name-calling, because,

“I did the right thing.”

“DISASTROUS,”

I repeat to Jacey from the safety of my bedroom.

No one’s here, and I don’t expect them to return for a few more hours,

But I feel safer inside my room, with the

Door locked,

Music loud.

“What did he do?” she asks, and

I give her the break-up in blow-by-blow fashion,

Torn between relief and sadness,

Much the same way I felt last night when Trevor finally said,

“Well, we should get some sleep.”

Walking away from Harris’s retreating car and

Venomous words made my steps heavy,

The same as last night.

I’d lingered on the front porch,

Like I’d hesitated outside my bedroom door.

In both cases, I’d entered kissless.

In both cases, it was for the best.

“Disastrous,” I murmur again,

Thinking of Trevor this time.

“HEY.”

Trevor meets me in the student parking lot on Monday morning.

I can hear the jazz band music from down the hall, and

Streams of students flow around me.

What is he doing?

Standing there with that nervous smile,

Murky eyes,

Too-long hair?

His feet shuffle;

He clears his throat.

What is he thinking?

He won’t try to hold my hand in public, will he?

I haven’t told anyone but Jacey about my break-up with Harris, but

That doesn’t mean Trevor doesn’t know.

“Hey,” I say, and

Make to step past him.

“You can’t go to your locker,” he blurts,

The panic and concern evident in his tone.

I turn around,

Doing my best to ignore the icy fingers reaching into my stomach,

Eliminating the slow burn that Trevor ignites.

“Why not?”

“There’s…”

He seems to lose the oxygen he needs to speak.

“Did you break up with Harris?”

“Yes,” I say,

Still trying to figure out what my locker has to do with Harris.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Trevor says,

The worry suddenly replaced by fury.

My camera could catch his mood swings,

Even though they happen in milliseconds.

“Come on.”

He grips my hand and enters the river of students cascading down the hall.

“Trevor, tell me what’s going on.”

My backpack swings wildly as Trevor cuts left and then right.

I feel my cell phone buzz in my pocket.

Trevor doesn’t answer until we reach B-Hall,

Where my locker is.

“I thought you said I couldn’t go

To my locker.”

“I was wrong,

You need to see this.”

He pauses at the corner,

His chest heaving,

His eyes bright.

I wish I had my camera so I could capture the urgency in them,

The emotion I can’t quite name in real time, but

Could if I had enough time to analyze the shot.

It’s something hot, and

Pulsing, and

Alive.

Something I haven’t felt since breaking up with Trevor eighteen months ago,

Something that if I understood what it meant,

I’d call it…love?

“I’ve already told the office, and the janitor,”

He explains, “But it’s still there, and

Well, everyone’s staring.

But you need to know what kind of guy

Your boyfriend is.”

My ex-boyfriend.

I suddenly realize how quiet B-Hall is.

I wonder if the absence of noise can consume a person, because

This silence feels predatory.

“How bad?” I whisper

With no movement in my lips.

I picture Harris from yesterday:

Broken, confused, and

So, so angry.

But he’d said he loved me;

He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.

“Bad,” Trevor whispers back, and

He squeezes my hand for strength.

“BAD,”

Doesn’t begin to describe it.

The first locker on the corner has writing on it.

Red spray paint, if I had to guess,

There’s no need though, because

The empty can is lying on the floor.

All the other seniors are on the opposite side of the hall, and

Vice Principal Archibald marches up and down the line,

Barking questions.

When he sees me and Trevor, he makes a beeline toward us.

“Miss Winging,” he says crisply,

“Come with me.”

I can’t move.

Every locker from mine to the corner is defaced.

Various notes have been scrawled on the locker in black Sharpie, and

The red spray paint makes up a larger message.

SLUT.

WHORE.

BITCH.

Above those bright,

Bold,

Red words,

Sits my name.

First and last.

OLIVIA WINGING.

SLUT.

WHORE.

BITCH.

“OH…”

My breath leaks from my body,

Leaves me cold,

Comes out in a low moan.

Someone next to me whispers, but

I don’t hear what they’re saying.

A buzz moves along the crowd,

Down the line,

Through the rumor mill.

If everyone hadn’t been staring at me before,

They all are now.

It’s then I realize that Trevor and I are still holding hands.

“OLIVIA WINGING IS A CHEATER.”

One of the smaller black Sharpie messages declares.

Could be true.

“I TOLD HER I LOVE HER, AND SHE DIDN’T CARE,”

Says another.

Totally not true.

“OLIVIA IS A TEASE,”

I read.

I didn’t mean to be.

I thought I was doing exactly the opposite.

“She’ll kiss you, but

Don’t expect anything more,”

The note continues.

I don’t know what Harris means to accomplish by that.

If anything, that makes me less of a slut, right?

Or does it make me a bad girlfriend?

Maybe a loser who doesn’t want to put out for her hot boyfriend?

I have no idea, because

The rules of high school relationships have suddenly shifted.

“COME WITH ME,”

Vice Principal Archibald insists, and

I rip my tear-filled eyes from the red spray paint and follow him.

But I’ll never get those words out of my head.

I’ve seen them, and

I can’t unsee them

Just like I’ve kissed Trevor, and

I can’t unkiss him,

Can’t unwant him,

Can’t unlove him.

IS THIS HOW HARRIS FEELS?

I wonder as I navigate the clearing halls.

The warning bell rang a minute ago, and

Everyone’s ducking into classrooms

As VP Archibald, Trevor, and

I pass.

Does Harris feel like the earth beneath his feet will suddenly vanish?

Without me, is the surface too perilous to hold his weight?

Does Harris feel as though the sky will fall?

Does he welcome it, because then the crushing hole in his chest will shrink?

Without me, does the atmosphere surrounding Harris change?

He said he loved me.

Maybe his message stems from the pain he feels

At not being able to unlove me.

I understand this pain as I have shouldered it for eighteen months.

It’s hard to describe to someone who has never truly longed for something,

Who has never truly experienced the endurance needed to inhale one more time

Without this thing.

This thing they need.

Humans need oxygen;

Fish need water;

Harris needs me, and

I need Trevor.

I suck at the air, and

Find him at my side.

Suddenly I can breathe.

“I DON’T KNOW,”

I say for what feels like the millionth time.

Along with,

“Yes, we broke up.”

And, “Yesterday.”

And, “He seemed fine.”

And, “Okay, yeah, mad. Hurt, probably.”

And, “Still. I can’t believe he would do something like this.”

And, “No, I don’t want to call my parents.”

And, “No, he hasn’t contacted me.”

And, “No, I don’t want to see him.

No! I don’t want to press charges.”

And, “Please, let Trevor stay.”

“CALL ME LATER, WINGS.”

Trevor finally relinquishes my hand as my father pulls up to the curb.

Vice Principal Archibald hurries around to the driver’s side window, and

Begins talking earnestly.

I get in the front seat,

Feeling the tears pooling.

I stare straight ahead, because

I do not want Trevor to see me cry.

“YOU OKAY, LIVVY?”

Dad asks when we get home.

He hasn’t spoken since bidding VP Archibald good-bye in the pick-up lane.

I’d let my tears overflow as soon as we were on the street, but

I did not sob.

I am not a sobber.

I do not let things devastate me.

I compartmentalize them until I can deal with them from behind

Locked doors, with

Loud music.

I shake my head as my tears fall.

Dad scoops me into a tight hug, and

Holds on.

He strokes my hair, and says,

“It’s okay, Livvy. It’s going to be okay.”

He held me like this after Mom left too.

He said the same words, but

Back then I didn’t know if he was saying them for me, or

For him.

Now, I just grip him with the fierceness of someone who’s drowning, and

Cry.

“LIV?”

Rose peeks her head through the crack in the door

Only minutes after she gets home from school.

“Dad said you weren’t feeling well.

Can I come in?”

I’ve refused phone calls,

Ignored texts,

Eaten nothing, and

Said little.

But I can’t refuse Rose.

“CLIMB IN, BUDDY.”

I hold the blankets aside so Rose can snuggle in close.

She’s always warm.

I call her my little furnace.

I can’t seem to get warm no matter how hard I try.

Voices murmur outside my closed door, and

Though she hasn’t lived here for over a year,

I recognize my mom’s tone.

She sounds worried.

If anything, the chasm inside me widens,

A fissure deeper than it is broad

That fills with a longing that only a mother can soothe.

“Livvy, Mom’s here.”

Rose’s voice shakes with emotion, and

I realize my cheeks are wet again.

“I know,” I whisper.

“She says you won’t let her in.”

“Yeah,” I say.

She’d tried to come in, but

I didn’t want to see her,

Didn’t want to talk about anything,

Not with her.

“Why are you crying?

What’s wrong?”

Rose’s voice pitches into hysteria, and

I stroke her hair,

Unable to answer.

“WEATHER AND TRAFFIC ON THE NINES.”

I fumble for the snooze button,

Find it,

Hit it, and

Roll over in bed.

After the third time,

I’m really late and expect Dad to come in,

Telling me in his warning voice that I’ll be late for school.

He doesn’t.

I lay there, listening to the sound of my heart beating,

The shifting of the house, and

The rumble of the garage door as it opens and then closes.

Twenty minutes later, the garage opens again.

Only a few seconds pass before a soft knock lands on my door.

“Olivia?” Dad asks. “I’m working from home today.

I’ll be in my office.”

I roll over and look at him so he knows I’ve heard him.

I find him watching me while his hands twist around each other,

While he assesses me to see if I’m okay.

My skin hides everything my eyes can’t.

Dad doesn’t have a camera, and

He’s not a photographer, but

He sees.

“I called the school and excused you.”

A quick wisp of a smile comes and goes.

“When you want breakfast, let me know.”

He backs out of the room and closes the door behind him.

I press my eyes closed, and see red paint on the backs of my eyelids.

I blink—blink—blink—

Until the crimson splashes fade from my sight,

Replaced by the kindness and understanding I saw in my father’s eyes.

He loves me, I know.

He’s letting me get away with a lot, I know.

I have a very, very good dad, I know.

For the first time,

The thought of love doesn’t raise more questions than answers.

“I CAN DO THIS,”

I coach myself as I turn down

Copper Hills Drive toward the school.

Dad gave me one day to lie in bed;

I didn’t ask for more, but

This Wednesday feels off,

Like a meteor could hit the earth, or

The Yellowstone volcano could erupt, or

I could see Harris.

I pull into the parking lot.

Kill the engine.

Stare at the streams of students as they move toward the door,

Get swallowed by the school.

My heart flutters;

My stomach flips;

I can’t breathe.

Somehow I force myself out of the car and

Toward the school.

“…Winging,” someone says

To my right.

I ignore them and

Keep going.

With my foot on the first step,

An arm lands across my shoulders.

“Hey, Liv.”

Joey MacNamara leers at me,

His fingers gripping my shoulder

In that possessive gesture

I warned Trevor not to do in his picture.

“Hey.”

I try to shrug away from him, but

He’s too strong.

“Want my number?” he asks as we enter the building.

“Maybe we can catch a movie later.”

He chuckles. “I heard you and Harris really liked movies.”

Humiliation burns through my body.

I wonder if one of the Sharpie messages

I didn’t see said something about our make-out sessions

During movies, or

If Joey saw us once.

“Jerk.” I elbow him in the stomach, and

He drops back,

His laugh loud among the noise in the hall.

DON’T CRY, DON’T CRY, DO NOT CRY.

I coach myself all the way to my locker,

Managing to avoid another encounter with

Any overly-hormonal guys.

I hear my name plenty of times,

Along with “slut,” and

“Whore,” and

“Bitch.”

I try to ignore them, but

I can’t seem to get my locker open.

I smell the fresh paint,

Can still see the sprayed-on words,

Try to quiet my fingers as they shake.

I finally get the latch to release.

An avalanche of folded notes fall

To the floor when I open the locker door.

They’re all written in red pen and

Black Sharpie.

“FUNNY.”

Jacey swipes away as many of the notes as she can, but

There’s so many,

They’re everywhere.

I see my name.

See those horrible things Harris painted on the lockers.

See phone numbers,

Guy’s names, and

Crude drawings.

Jacey stands next to me,

Scooping the remaining notes out of my locker, but

I bend down and pick one up.

YOU ARE A TERRIBLE PERSON,

The note says,

Written in Sharpie.

Harris is a great guy.

You don’t deserve him, and

He didn’t deserve what you did to him.

It’s unsigned, but

Clearly a girl’s handwriting.

“I WAS WRONG.”

I drop the note and

Turn away from my locker.

“I can’t do this.”

“WINGS! WAIT!”

Trevor’s voice cuts through the laughter,

The pounding of my pulse as I sprint down the hall, and

The sound of the tardy bell.

I don’t wait.

I don’t go to class.

I don’t care.

“DAD, CAN YOU CALL IN AND EXCUSE ME?”

I stop my car at a red light, wishing he’d picked up, but

Maybe my tears will be obvious over the voice mail.

“I just can’t go today.

I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Maybe, I think as I hang up.

The light turns green, but

I feel like I have nowhere to go.

“LET’S JUST SEE WHAT SHE SAYS,”

Mom whispers from the kitchen,

Causing me to pause at the bottom of the stairs.

Dad answers in his lower timbre,

Words I can’t hear.

He’d warned me Mom would be joining us for dinner, and

The fact that Rose left with Gramma-Linda twenty minutes ago does not escape me.

“Hey,” I say, rounding the corner and entering the kitchen.

Dad lets his glare linger on Mom a moment longer,

Then sweeps his attention toward me.

“Hey, Liv, how are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” I say, glancing between him and Mom.

I sort of feel like they’ve set me up for something, and

Click, click, click,

I see the brief moments of apprehension,

Fear, and

Determination

On my mom’s face.

“What’s going on?”

I sit at the table, where the Chinese take-out is spread, but

I don’t eat.

“Olivia, darling—”

Mom cuts off when I give her a scathing look.

I’ve been trying to get her to stop calling me darling for years.

Actions speak louder than words, and

Hers have told me I’m not darling to her.

She smoothes her honey-colored bob and tries again.

“Your father and I have discussed,

That is,

We think…”

She looks at Dad, just as she always has.

Mom’s never been able to break bad news,

Which is how I know whatever Dad says isn’t going to be good.

“We don’t think you should go back to Copper Hills,” Dad says,

His voice soft but strong.

“We’d like to explore some alternatives.”

I frown as the words settle into my mind.

I am both relieved and thrilled at the prospect of

Never darkening the doorway of Copper Hills High again, but

Also indignant and defensive.

“You think I can’t handle it?”

My voice is much too quiet to be polite.

“Of course you can,” Mom trills, but

I look to Dad for the truth.

“It’s not that we think you can’t handle it,” he says,

“It’s that you shouldn’t have to.”

He reaches toward the counter and gathers a pile of paperwork.

“We have some options we’d like to discuss with you.”

He spreads the brochures and papers before me,

Where I can examine them.

I glance at him before picking up the top item.

Private school =

Dreary and elitist.

“No,” I say.

Jacey could never afford the tuition to come with me.

Charter school =

Dreary and elitist without the academics or credentials to back it up.

“No,” I say,

Wondering what other options there are, and

If I’ll be able to convince Jacey to come with me.

Mom removes several brochures from the pile and

Tucks them in her purse.

She exchanges another glance with Dad.

“Well, honey, the last option is homeschool.”

I gauge them carefully, and find no snapshot tells.

“Really?” I ask. “But you both work.

Who—?”

“Grandma Baker,” Dad says,

“Is a retired high school teacher.”

Gramma-Linda is soft,

Like a teddy bear.

Growing up, I thought Gramma-Linda was how

Everybody said Grandma.

She always smells like baby powder and sugar,

Always tells the best stories about her former students,

About what her childhood was like in Berlin.

I suddenly want to be with her and Rose

Instead of sitting here at this table with my parents.

“She taught German, Dad,” I remind him.

“I am aware,” he says, the familiar quirk to his lips

That says he’s trying not to smile.

“Still, she knows how to make a student turn in assignments on time, and

You still have six months of your senior year to finish.”

Homeschool seems like it could be a viable solution.

Something that would allow me to avoid the jokes,

The boys coming on to me,

The staring,

The whispering,

The constant notes written in red pen.

“You can’t stay home forever,” Mom nudges.

“I know,” I snap.

After Wednesday’s failure,

I haven’t even tried to go back to school,

Unable to face the freshly painted lockers,

The mocking laughter, and

The rumors of Harris’s expulsion.

I’ve connected with Jacey and Trevor, and

There isn’t anyone else I care enough about to talk to.

“Homeschool.” I roll the word around in my mouth

As I chew on the idea in my mind.

“With Gramma-Linda.”

“OKAY.”

I meet Dad’s eyes and then Mom’s.

Dad smiles, and I see that moment of acceptance.

He would’ve supported me in whatever I chose.

Mom bends her lips up, but it’s not a real smile.

Click—I see disappointment in her eyes before she can force it back.

I’m sure she wanted me to pick the swanky private school—

Only minutes from her and the Youngbloods.

“I’ll call Gramma-Linda,” Mom says,

Running from the room like it’s caught fire.

“HOMESCHOOL?”

Jacey’s disbelief echoes off the walls in my bedroom.

I pick at the threads on my quilt and don’t look up.

“Livvy, are you sure?”

She touches my knee, and

I simply stare at her fingers.

“I don’t want to go back,” I say.

“I just wish you could come to my gramma’s with me.”

She chuckles. “Right. Your grandma scares me.

She yells.”

I let myself smile. “Only because she thought you’d eaten her chocolate.”

I look up, and

The tension between us fades.

“It was in German,” Jacey says,

“I didn’t even know what she was saying.”

“I’m tired of hanging around here.” I stand up.

“Want to help me while I take pictures?”

“Who are we shooting?” She stuffs her feet back into her shoes.

“Maybe Rose,” I say.

“Maybe you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Not Trevor?”

I bite back my grin. “Not today.”

“Okay, I just need to check in with my parents.”

She gives me a look that clearly means,

Oh, so Trevor later. I get it.

“I CAN’T ENTER THIS,”

I mutter to myself.

Number one, the picture of Jacey

Doesn’t fit into the portfolio.

She’d dragged me to the Ferris wheel

At the city park, and

The shots I’d taken are carefree and joyous.

They don’t match

The Many Sides of Trevor Youngblood,

Teenage Boy Who’s Hiding Something.

Not only that, but the sun was too bright, and

The light in the photos is all wrong.

She hadn’t listened to me about the golden hour, and

She won’t understand even if I show her the overexposed pictures.

She’ll analyze how her hair looks, and

If her teeth look straighter now that she’s been wearing her night guard.

I’m looking for something deeper,

Something beyond hair color,

Straight teeth,

A beautiful face.

I’m looking for a person’s soul,

Their hidden feelings,

Their deepest secrets.

I can usually find those things easily,

Just a click, click, click, and

I see them for who they really are.

I sit back, and

Wonder why I haven’t been able to

See who Trevor is in a single photo.

He’s more complex than I imagined,

Than I even knew.

I upload Jacey’s pictures from my memory card to my computer, but

I don’t waste my time editing them.

They’re useless, even if the afternoon wasn’t.

“IT’S OVER,”

I’d told him eighteen months ago.

He thought we’d broken up because my mom

Got engaged to his dad, but

It wasn’t the only reason.

I felt myself falling for him.

Fast,

Furious,

Completely.

I couldn’t allow myself to do that, so

I smothered the flame,

Telling myself that fire burns.

I quenched the fire inside, even

If the simple sight of him feeds it.

I know nothing about love,

Other than it’s a powerful feeling that shouldn’t

Be equated with falling

Or fire.

Both are dangerous.

Both break important things,

Like hearts,

Like families.

“YOU CAN’T IGNORE ME FOREVER,”

Trevor says on my voice mail,

A message he left during his lunchtime.

“Call me back when you get this.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about.

I’ve texted him three times over the past week.

Of course, each one was an excuse why I couldn’t meet him to shoot, but

Still.

“I’m not calling you just because you tell me to,” I mutter to myself

As I delete the message.

He’ll get a text, and

That’s it.

Me: I’m not ignoring you.

It’s seventh period, and

He has world history.

He might be able to text.

Trevor: You don’t answer your phone when I call.

Me: Maybe I’m busy, have you ever thought of that?

Trevor: Busy doing what?

I look up from my phone,

See the same caging walls of my room,

Where I’ve been for too many days.

Suddenly, the halls of Copper Hills High don’t sound so bad.

Except for the outing to the Ferris wheel with Jacey and Rose over the weekend,

I haven’t left the house.

Me: Stuff.

Trevor: Rumor is you’re not coming back to school.

It’s Monday,

The sixth day of school I’ve missed.

Dad excused me again this morning, but

He’s been leaving me home alone while he goes to work.

Gramma-Linda is coming over tomorrow to begin homeschool.

Me: Rumors can be false.

Trevor: Sometimes they’re true.

Me: Who did you hear it from?

Trevor: Jacey.

I take a deep breath, so

I won’t hit the call button and tell him off.

Or end this conversation and

Call Jacey and demand to know why she told him.

Then I remember that they’ve been all buddy-buddy lately.

Me: Fine. It’s true.

Trevor:

When he doesn’t text back for ten minutes,

I take my phone downstairs and

Plug it in.

I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

“GET THE DOOR, LIV,”

Dad yells from his office,

Where he’s been since he came home early.

Rose, who got home ten minutes ago, is in the living room,

Watching TV and snacking on apple chips, but

Dad thinks she’s not old enough to answer the door by herself.

I’m in the kitchen,

Just starting dinner.

I heave a sigh Dad can’t hear,

Wipe my hands, and

Go to answer the door.

I expect to see Gramma-Linda on the step,

Her white hair freshly permed,

Her skin pillow soft and freshly powdered, and

Her hug a welcome boon to my current situation.

“Hey, Wings,” greets me when I open the door.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

I hiss as I look behind me.

Rose hasn’t moved, and

Dad won’t come out of his office unless I call for him.

“Wanted to see what kind of ‘stuff’ you’re doing

That you can’t answer your phone.”

He scans me from head to feet,

Finding me in my pajama pants and an old T-shirt.

“Yeah, I can tell you’re just so stressed.”

I look over his shoulder as if Joey or

Someone from school will be outside,

Camera ready,

Paparazzi style.

“Don’t you have homework or something?”

I block the doorway with my body, because

I don’t want him to come in.

“Yeah, but I thought we could do our next photo shoot first.”

“You thought wrong.”

I fold my arms and

Meet his gaze.

“I’m busy. Cooking dinner.”

I give him a glare that says, So there.

He grins,

That smile that makes the ember inside me

Flare into an inferno.

“No problem,” he says.

“I can do my calculus while you chop.”

“DERIVATIVES SUCK.”

I don’t answer,

Only move the knife I’m wielding

Through the green peppers a little too forcefully.

I find this boy utterly maddening.

I’ve made it clear I don’t want to be with him,

That we will never be together,

That I don’t have time for his silly photo shoots.

How does he undo my carefully tied bindings?

Why do I let him worm his way inside my weak spots,

The way weeds find the cracks in a sidewalk?

I toss the peppers into the pan with the onions before

Turning to face him.

“I wouldn’t know about derivatives,” I say.

“I stopped taking math at geometry.”

“Lucky.” He glances up briefly, but

Not long enough to meet my eye.

He returns to his homework,

Which only adds to my rising frustration.

I watch him for a few seconds,

Past the time I need to stir my vegetables.

The intense concentration he’s paying to his math problem

Furrows his eyebrows,

Crinkles the corner of his mouth.

I swipe the wooden spoon through my sautéing vegetables, and

Turn to get my camera.

Click, click, click.

I take a dozen pictures before Trevor even realizes I’m doing it.

He looks up,

Startled, and

I capture those faces too.

I see it all,

The range of emotions as they flit across his face.

Surprise, recognition, happiness, smugness, cockiness.

He leans away from his calculus book,

His homework forgotten

As he folds his arms across his chest.

The smile he’s wearing now doesn’t ignite anything inside, but

My eighty-five millimeter lens still tells me a lot about him.

He came over here to get something, and

He got it.

Click, click, click.

I’m definitely putting this

Self-Assured Trevor Youngblood

In the portfolio.

“TREVOR, HELLO,”

Dad says when he enters the kitchen.

He doesn’t sound surprised or upset,

Both of which I would’ve been happier to hear in his voice

Than the pleasantness that’s there instead.

“You staying for dinner?”

“No—” I say at the same time

Trevor says, “Sure.”

Dad volleys his gaze from Trevor to me.

I roll my eyes and snatch another plate out of the cupboard.

“Fine, he can stay for dinner.”

Dad doesn’t know that Trevor and I used to hold hands,

Whisper together in the halls, and

Kiss down at the dock.

I don’t normally keep secrets from him, but

The thing with Trevor and I had begun suddenly, and

Everything about dating and boyfriends had been new and foreign to me.

I sorted through things with Jacey,

Keeping everything that concerned Trevor—or the Youngbloods—

Unsaid.

“You should help Livvy with her math,”

Dad says just after I’ve served up the sausages.

“She’s starting homeschool tomorrow, and

Her gramma doesn’t know multiplication from multiple intelligences.”

A squeak comes out of my mouth, and

I knock over my water glass as I

Reach for a hot dog bun.

I wave away Trevor’s offer of help and

Mop up the spill,

All the while keeping my eyes down.

Trevor clears his throat.

Rose sits silently,

Unaware of the awkward silence that’s descended.

“I mean—” Dad starts,

Very aware that he’s said something wrong.

“I don’t take math,” I tell him,

Finally looking up and into his eyes.

They are wide,

Filled with apology.

“I don’t need a tutor.”

My camera sits on the counter behind me, and

I want to hide behind it while I capture the

Naked relief in my father’s eyes.

He might actually fit into the portfolio.

My annoyance surges.

I can’t believe I’ve let the

Photography in Excellence competition

Penetrate my thoughts so completely.

Everyone I see, I’m mentally viewing through an aperture,

Calculating which lens would create the perfect depth of field, and

If I should saturate the color or wash it out during the editing.

“I’m going on a field trip tomorrow,” Rose announces,

Breaking the tension and

Giving me the opportunity to make it through dinner without saying much more.

“LIVVY?”

Rose’s voice comes through a widening crack in the door, and

I hurriedly drop the journal I’d been reading:

An old diary from two years ago when Trevor and I started dating.

“Yeah, come in.”

She enters, clutching a book to her chest.

“Can I read to you?”

I smile as I pat the empty space next to me on the bed.

Rose is a good reader, but

She doesn’t like to do anything by herself.

She cuddles into my side, and

I stroke her hair while she reads me the story of

Louis the swan, and

How he’s fallen in love with a girl swan, but

Doesn’t have a voice to tell her how he feels.

It seems I cannot even read with my nine-year-old sister

Without the subject of love consuming me.

“BE MY VALENTINE,”

Read the card I’d kept in my journal,

Pressed between the pages

As if it is something precious.

My first card from

My first boyfriend,

From Trevor Youngblood.

He’d scrawled my name at the top, and

Said how glad he was that I’d gone out with him the weekend before, and

That he really liked me.

Like, not

Love.

Trevor never told me he loved me.

I never said the words to him.

But when we’re together,

There’s a slow burn that won’t disappear,

A seething just beneath my skin

That longs to touch him,

Kiss him.

That’s what I wrote in my diary years ago, and

As I kiss the top of Rose’s head and

Tuck her into bed,

I know that’s how I still feel.

“BUT IS IT LOVE?”

I mutter to myself as I return to my bedroom.

So Trevor makes me feel something.

Big deal.

That tingling in my fingertips,

That rush in my stomach—

Doesn’t mean I love him.

There’s something about love I just don’t understand.

Is physical attraction enough?

Or compatible personalities?

Or shared goals?

I thought my parents had all of that, and

They still split up.

I lean over and pick up my diary again,

Leafing through the pages until I find where I’d left off.

I read about the excitement of going out with Trevor,

Watching movies,

Holding hands,

Sharing ice cream,

Swimming in the lake,

Laughing as he drives me home,

The thrill of our first kiss.

After that,

The entries change,

Morph into how our relationship moved

From friendly,

Flirtatious,

Fun,

To serious future discussions, and

What he wanted to do after he graduated, and

Where I wanted to go to college.

He’s so easy to talk to,

Reads one line, and

That’s still true.

I’d told him about my dreams of opening my own photography studio,

Of going to college on the coast so I could go to the beach every day and

Take photos of surfers,

Athletes,

Couples,

Tourists.

I’d shown him my raw pictures,

Before I’d edited them.

He was the only person who ever got to see them,

See me,

In an imperfect form.

The pages fly by, and

Soon I get to the one that records who—

And what—

I saw at the dock.

My mom’s car was there,

Parked way down by the entrance

To the walking path that leads to the center of town,

As if she thought people might overlook it on their way in, or

Assume she was just another jogger getting in her exercise.

Trevor parked closer to the dock,

Opened my door,

Took my hand in his, and

Led me to the trail that circles the lake

Before he saw his father’s truck.

“Hey, that looks like my dad’s car,”

He’d said,

His voice filled with surprise and curiosity.

He changed direction,

Drawing closer to the black truck.

I glanced over my shoulder to where my mom’s

Green Honda was parked.

Both cars were empty,

Like the hollow spot in my chest,

The one where my heart should’ve been.

We walked halfway around the lake,

To the huge trees that provided the best shade, and

The best hiding spot.

Trevor told me he wanted to be

A dentist when he grew up,

Like his father.

He asked me to the prom;

I said yes.

He kissed me,

Slowly,

The way he had the first time we’d come to the dock.

When it was time to go home,

He went to the bathroom while I waited on the dock.

He didn’t see his father emerge from the walking path

That runs from the lake to the city center.

He didn’t see his father

Kiss my mother.

Didn’t see them get in their separate cars,

Drive away one after the other.

When he came out of the bathroom,

I couldn’t speak.

I didn’t tell him,

Didn’t tell anyone.

How can I tell Trevor?

How can I tell my dad?

I HATE MY MOTHER

My next journal entry reads.

It’s dated a few weeks after the previous one, and

I remember not being able to record my thoughts and feelings

After seeing her and Darren Youngblood at the dock.

I’d felt dammed with frustration,

Plugged full of words,

Horrified.

Every time Mom left,

I wondered if she was meeting Darren.

I stopped believing what she said;

I was suspicious of every “meeting” she had,

Every “errand” she needed to run without me and Rose,

Every “night she went to the gym” after six o’clock.

I hate Darren Youngblood

Says the next line.

That comprises the entire entry, and

I don’t write in this journal again.

“GRAMMA-LINDA!”

Rose yells before throwing herself into our grandmother’s arms.

Gramma-Linda smiles,

Pressing Rose close to her.

I smile too,

Watching them.

Rose, at nine years old,

Only a few inches shorter than

Gramma-Linda.

“Take my books, hon,”

She tells Rose,

Handing her a bulging shoulder bag.

Rose stumbles under the weight, and

I marvel at how Gramma-Linda managed to bring so many books,

Especially on such short notice.

“Olivia,” she says, and

While she’s my mom’s mother,

Her voice is kind,

Soft, and

Doesn’t make me want to stab out my own eyes.

“How are you?”

She clutches me to her in a tight hug, and

I get that noseful of baby powder and sugar

I’ve been anticipating.

“I’m good,” I say as

I squeeze her back.

“Looks like you just got your hair done.”

She pulls away and pats her perfectly sculpted curls.

“Just yesterday.”

She examines me in much the same way my mother does, and

That annoys me.

I turn away just as Rose comes out of the kitchen with her backpack.

“Leaving already?”

Gramma-Linda asks,

Her voice set on syrup-sweet.

I know as soon as Rose leaves for the bus,

Gramma-Linda will pry,

Asking things like, “How are you really doing?”

“ENGLISH FIRST,”

Gramma-Linda says after

Rose heads to the bus stop,

After Dad goes to work.

Gramma-Linda piles the books on the kitchen table,

Where we’re sitting.

“Fine,” I mutter,

Pulling out the only book that looks like a novel.

“Huckleberry Finn?”

I meet my grandma’s eyes.

“I read this last year.”

I don’t tell her that I only read the first seven chapters, then

Faked my way through the quizzes,

Reports, and

Tests,

Because it was boring.

She plucks it from my fingers.

“Okay, then.

I’ll bring A Tale of Two Cities tomorrow.

Have you read that?”

“No,” I say,

Waiting for her next subject of torture.

“A one-page essay on Mark Twain, then.”

She tucks the novel back into her shoulder bag,

Glancing at me from over the top of her glasses.

“You have a computer, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say, “You want me to do the essay right now?”

“Right now,”

She echoes before getting to her feet and

Shuffling to the couch in the living room.

“Wake me up when you finish.

I’ll proofread it for you.

Then we’ll do geography.”

“TORTURE?”

Jacey repeats as I pull into Taco Bell.

“So much torture,” I tell her.

“Which is why I need Mexican food.”

“Better than here, I bet,” she says, and

I think of Trevor,

Of seeing him in the hall,

Of continuing our playful banter.

Then I remember Joey, and

His crude comments;

The notes, and

Their hateful messages;

The lockers, and

How the janitor couldn’t quite match the old paint color—

A constant reminder that

Something happened.

“Still not sure,” I say before placing my order,

Though I have no desire to return to the hallways of Copper Hills High,

Definitely don’t want to risk seeing Harris again.

Jacey takes the tater tots I pass her, but

I almost drop my soda when she says,

“You’re still going to Preference with me, right?”

“I—who would I go with?”

The look on Jacey’s face says it all.

“I AM NOT ASKING TREVOR.”

“HE SUGGESTED YOU ASK HIM,”

She says defensively,

Leaning into the passenger window like I might hit her.

The thought has crossed my mind.

“He said he’d love to go with you.”

“I can’t!” I practically yell.

“He’s my freaking step-brother.

Why does nobody get that but me?”

My food sits untouched in the bag, and

The accelerator pays the price of my wrath.

I screech to a halt in my driveway,

Snatch my food, and

Stomp into my house.

Jacey follows,

A sheepish look on her face.

My anger melts away as I flop onto the couch,

Unwrap my burrito.

I sigh.

Everything was less complicated when

I was still with Harris.

Jacey and I could’ve gone to Preference

Without any drama,

She with her boyfriend, and

Me with mine.

“Sorry,” I mumble to my burrito wrapper.

“I screwed everything up when I broke up with Harris.”

I think about how I’ve lost so much more than a boyfriend.

I can’t go back to high school,

I don’t see anyone but Gramma-Linda and Jacey—and

Stupid Trevor, because

He pops over whenever he wants,

Somehow getting himself invited to dinner.

“No you didn’t,” Jacey says.

“You needed to break up with Harris.

I just wish—”

Her eyes go wide, and

She stuffs her mouth with a fistful of tots.

“You wish what?” I ask.

She shakes her head, then

Takes a long drag of my Diet Coke.

She barely has time to breathe before

She fills her mouth with more food.

I’ve known Jacey for years, and

I recognize the signs of

A) her stress-eating, and

B) her tactics to keep a secret.

“Jacey,” I warn. “You’re going to run out of tots in about four seconds.

Then you’ll have to tell me.”

She slows her chewing, but

The inevitable still comes.

When her food is gone,

She sighs and leans back into the couch.

She closes her eyes,

Another method she uses to prolong the silence.

“Spill,” I tell her, and

She jerks her eyes open.

“Okay, but just hear me out, okay?”

She leans forward,

Earnestly.

“So we know Trevor still likes you.

The real question is:

How do you feel about him?”

She holds up her hand

When I open my mouth to speak.

“I know, I know.

You don’t think you guys can be together.

But be honest with yourself, Livvy.

If you don’t like him, fine.

If you do, well…”

She trails off, but

There are too many ways to end that sentence.

“You’re not related.

That’s all I’m saying.”

“HOW ARE THINGS GOING WITH GRAMMA-LINDA?”

My mother sits at the bar in

The Youngblood’s kitchen,

A cup of steaming coffee in front of her.

“Fine,” I tell her as I open the fridge.

I don’t know why I came downstairs when

Dad bought ice cream bars for my tiny freezer upstairs.

Still, I poke around in this foreign fridge

For something good to eat.

I find nothing.

I should’ve known better.

Mom’s never been one to stock pudding, or

Anything that tastes remotely good.

Mom sips from her cup,

Taking little bits of my soul,

As she continues to analyze me.

I’m not facing her, but

I can feel the weight of her stare

As I rummage through kale,

Cabbage, and

Eggplant.

I close the fridge and

Turn to face her.

“Can we order pizza?”

Her eyes pinch for only a moment, but

The photographer in me

Sees it.

“Sure,” she says.

“AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO TAKE A MATH CREDIT,”

I finish.

I’ve—surprisingly—

Told Mom most of what Gramma-Linda is making me

Do for homeschool.

Between her,

Me, and

Rose,

We’ve eaten almost two whole pizzas.

Mom even bought soda and

Cookie dough,

Which I’ve just put in the oven.

With Rose sitting between us,

I don’t feel such tension from my mother.

She catches my eye and

Smiles.

I return it before I can stop myself.

I can see it makes her immensely happy, and

I suddenly feel like crying.

I stand abruptly and

Leave the kitchen.

I’m halfway up the stairs when

Rose darts in front of me before

I can wipe my eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

Her face is so open,

Her tone so concerned.

I grab her in a hug, and

Hold on tight.

“I don’t know,” I whisper into her golden hair.

But I do.

I just don’t know how to say it in words, but

I know I’m crying because

I’ve been such a beast to my mom.

I’ve been so removed,

So angry,

So cruel,

That a simple smile from me

Makes her entire evening.

I release Rose and

Sprint up the rest of the stairs and into our room.

I close and lock the door before

Leaning against it,

The tears flowing in waves

Down my face.

YOU STILL UP?

My phone buzzes against my chest,

Waking me from the half-sleep

I’ve fallen into.

I check the text to see who it’s from.

Trevor.

I consider ignoring him, until

I remember the look on my mom’s face, and

The way my attention influenced her.

Unfortunately, I text him.

What’s the harm in a text? I think.

Nothing, I answer myself,

If he wasn’t the guy you used to date, and

Exactly who you want to be alone with again.

You wanna shoot tomorrow? he asks.

No, I do not want to shoot tomorrow, I think, but

I don’t type that into my phone.

My plans for tomorrow are blank,

The whole day wide open for Mom to

Take me shopping, or

Sigh loudly at the shortness of my hair, or

Ask me to clean some random corner of this house I barely live in.

What time? I text,

Wondering if I’m allowed to go back to Dad’s

On my mom’s weekend.

Afternoon, he answers.

I have weight training in the morning.

Can you get my camera gear on the way over?

“YOUR DAD SEEMED SURPRISED TO SEE ME.”

Trevor unshoulders my camera pack and

Hands it to me as I step out of my bedroom and

Into the hall.

“I texted him,” I say, trying not to take a deep drag of Trevor’s cologne.

He smells like his typical musky aftershave, something

I’ve always been attracted to.

Now, my only defense against him would be to

Glue my nostrils shut.

I spend a few seconds admiring him.

His dark brown hair,

His blue eyes,

His football physique.

I turn away before

The situation becomes awkward.

“He should’ve known you were coming.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t.”

He follows me as I start down the stairs.

“And might I say that I really like the new paint color in your bedroom.”

My step stutters;

I grasp the railing for support, because

The breath has left my body.

“You went in my bedroom?”

I can’t even remember what condition I left it in, but

I know I didn’t clean it before

Coming to the Youngblood’s.

“I had to.”

Trevor moves past me down the stairs,

Glancing at me as he does.

“Your dad had no idea where your camera bag was.”

“What else did you see in my bedroom?”

An image of the stack of journals on my nightstand

Makes my stomach turn.

I’ve been leafing through the diaries every night before

I fall asleep.

“Nothing,” Trevor assures me.

“Your dad came in the room with me,

Hunted around until we found it.”

My cheeks feel hot, and

I have no hair to hide that fact.

I close my eyes in a long blink,

Clench my fingers around the banister,

Until I feel like I can breathe again.

“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” he says.

“What’s the big deal?”

“Stop it,” I say.

“You know what the big deal is.

And—”

I point at him though it jostles the

Already-balanced-precariously camera bag on my back.

“—The one time you’ve been in my bedroom was

Simply to get my phone off my desk.

Nothing happened.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, and

I can suddenly hear him telling me he wants to sleep with me.

The heat in my cheeks is no longer from panic.

I brush past him with my face turned so he can’t see the blush and

Head for the garage.

“You have a car, right?” I call over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, “But I thought we were shooting here.”

I glance up at the vaulted ceilings,

The antique furniture,

The marble, silk, hardwood.

“Too stale,” I declare.

I turn to face him.

“You’re not stale. We need…”

I glance around like I’ll be able to find what he needs here,

In this lousy mansion,

A sorry excuse for a home.

“We need something…more exciting.”

“Are you saying I’m exciting?”

He gives me that sexy half-smile and

Steps closer.

“I’m saying get your keys and

Let’s get out of here.”

“DO YOU EVER MISS HER?”

Trevor won’t look at me, but

Focuses out the window,

On the road, or

Something.

I can’t really see his eyes anyway, because

He’s wearing sunglasses.

“Miss who?” I ask.

“Your mom.”

Instantly, I feel an invisible wall

Go up between me and

Him.

The same barrier that’s been between me and

My mother

For the past year and a half.

His car feels ten times colder, and

The low music from the radio is now too loud.

I don’t answer.

I don’t know if I miss my mom or not.

“I miss my dad,

Sometimes,” Trevor says.

I let myself look at him.

Click, click, click.

The need is raw on his face,

The tension evident in his shoulders.

“I mean, he hasn’t been around for years, but

I still miss him.

Watching you with your dad at dinner the other night is

When I realized it.”

I wish I knew what to say, or

That I could reach for my camera and

Capture this moment in pixels,

Forever.

“Where to?” Trevor asks

After a few minutes of silence.

He’s been driving aimlessly,

Turning right, then

Left, then

Right.

I wish I had long hair like I used to, so

I could hide behind it

Like I used to.

“Wings?” he says

Just as I say,

“I miss her.”

“I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU,”

Were Mom’s parting words to Rose

When she moved out of our house and

In with Darren Youngblood.

I didn’t know until that day that

My mom was a coward.

She waited until Dad left on a business trip

To move out.

She packed all day the first day,

Her face as still as stone,

Her voice mute.

The second day,

The moving van came,

Taking her boxes,

Her wardrobe,

Her jewelry, and

Her photos.

She called in Gramma-Linda

On the third day.

She bent down and hugged Rose.

“I will always love you.”

Gramma-Linda had stood sentinel

Near the front door.

She’d smoothed my hair,

Held me close, and

Told me everything would be all right.

Mom barely looked at me,

Barely spoke.

And then she left.

COWARD

Is what I wrote in my journal

That night.

I knew my mother was one, and

I wondered if I was too.

Why didn’t I say something sooner?

Why didn’t I do anything?

Maybe I could’ve saved my parents’ marriage.

Maybe I could have—

The entry stops there, but

I’m still wondering if I’m brave enough

To do hard things.

Gramma-Linda stayed with me and Rose

For a week after Mom left,

Before Dad returned from his business trip.

She talked all the time,

Telling Rose that Mom still loved her,

That she would always love her,

That just because she didn’t live here anymore

Didn’t mean she’d stopped caring.

Dad called every night and

Told us about Chicago and

How good the hot dogs were.

Rose cried on the phone every night and

Asked me if Dad was really coming home or

If he’d leave us the way Mom did.

I soothed my sister with songs and

Hot chocolate.

I did not lie to her the way

Gramma-Linda did,

The way Mom had.

Because she didn’t love us,

At least not as much as she loved Darren Youngblood.

“THERE.”

I point across my body,

Almost jabbing Trevor’s arm.

“That house. It’s perfect.”

Trevor pulls over and

Squints at the structure.

“It’s one wind storm from falling down.”

“Like I said,

Perfect.”

I get out of the car,

Shoulder my bag, and

Step around the NO TRESPASSING sign.

“Wings, you can’t be serious.”

Trevor hurries after me.

“We could get in trouble.”

“Are you worried?”

I toss him a smirk over my shoulder.

“Yes,” he says.

“If I get in trouble,

I can’t play football.”

I pause, considering.

Playing football to Trevor

Is like breathing.

If he can’t do it,

He’ll die.

The porch of the dilapidated house

Sags;

The paint on the front door is

Peeling;

The brick is weathered and

Crumbling.

“This has character,” I say,

Almost a whine in my voice.

“It’s perfect.”

Trevor comes to stand beside me.

“So you’re saying I have

Perfect character.”

I roll my eyes,

Knowing I’ve got him,

At least for a few minutes.

“I’m saying we better shoot this

Before the cops come by.”

“JUST ONE MORE,”

I tell Trevor.

“You’ve said that at least ten times.”

I’ve taken at least two hundred shots

Of him, but

I don’t have the right one yet.

I got him sitting on the porch, and

Leaning against that blue door, and

Posing in front of the textured brick.

I’ve used the flash, and

Opened the aperture, and

Adjusted his clothes.

We’ve been here an hour, and

He was done after the first thirty minutes.

“I can’t use any of these,” I tell him, and

He glances skyward as if

God will grant him patience.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Come on,” I say.

“Just a couple more.”

I step toward the front door,

Wondering if it’s locked.

“Whoa, we’re not going in there.”

He moves to block me.

“Yes, we are,” I say,

Swatting his outstretched arm out of my way.

I scan him from head to toe.

“It’s the ideal juxtaposition.

You, all put together and…whatever, and

This house all falling apart.”

“So you’re saying opposites attract.”

I brush past him and test the door.

It swings open, and

I enter.

“I’m saying persistence pays off.

Now get in here.”

“Persistence,” he mutters behind me.

I smother the smile that rises to my face

When I hear his footsteps.

The living room is picked pretty bare, but

There’s an old dining table in the kitchen.

“There.” I direct him to the table and

Have him sit down.

“No…stand back up.

Maybe just sit on it…

Not all the way on it,

Just one cheek…

Yeah, like that.”

He crosses his arms, and

A strange glint has entered his eye.

I lift the camera,

Adjust the focal length, and

Snap the picture.

“Will you go out with me?” he asks as

I step to the side to get a different angle.

I almost drop my camera.

“What? No.”

My hands shake the slightest bit, but

I manage to get off a few more shots.

The pictures are the best I’ve taken, but

It’s not because of the lighting, or

The technique, or

The lens.

It’s because Trevor is finally in the moment.

His mind is alive,

Seething,

Working through how he can get me to go out with him.

I can see it through my one-hundred twenty millimeter lens, and

I don’t like it.

Not one little bit.

“CRAP.”

Trevor isn’t the only one who hears the sirens.

We hold each other’s eyes for a long moment, then

We spring into action together, like

We’ve rehearsed every getaway scenario

Together.

He helps me pack my lens and

Flash equipment before

Jumping in the driver’s seat.

“Go,” I say as I fling myself in the passenger seat.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He flips the gearshift into drive, and

Floors it.

I turn toward the window and

Smile, because

It feels like Trevor and I just got away with something dangerous.

Together.

“WE COULD JUST GO SEE A MOVIE,”

He says after putting ten minutes of driving distance between

Us and the abandoned house.

“No funny business, I promise.

Friends go to movies together, you know.”

“Right,” I scoff. “On Saturday night.

That’s not a date or anything.”

I stare determinedly out my window,

My smile gone,

My arms folded.

“Not a date,” he confirms.

“You’d go with Jacey, right?”

I tighten my jaw as

I tighten my arms.

“My mom will be mad.”

“Like you care if she’s upset.”

“I do,” I say,

Suddenly very,

Very angry.

“You have no idea what I care about.”

I suddenly hate myself for saying those words, because

I’ve heard my mom say them to my dad.

I hated her when she said them too,

When she told him he didn’t know her,

Didn’t make an effort to like what she liked, and

Therefore, she couldn’t be married to him anymore.

I hate the things I see in myself that come from her, including

Wanting to be with a Youngblood.

“I know you come alive behind that camera.”

Trevor doesn’t slow down enough for the right turn he takes, and

I almost fly into the window.

“I know you care—”

“Shut up!” I yell.

“You do not know what I care about, or

Don’t care about.”

My chest heaves, and

I feel hot everywhere.

“You have not been part of my life for

A long time, and

You do not—

Know me.”

“I know more than you think.”

His voice is tight,

Controlled,

Unlike mine which

Has pitched too high and

Come out too loud.

He’s driving so fast, and

I’m so furious, and

For a few terrible minutes,

I think that’s it,

That he won’t say anything else,

That he’ll simply speed to his dad’s and

Drop me off.

Then he slows,

Turns away from the Youngbloods, and

Picks his way toward my house.

He stops in the driveway, but

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

It’s my mom’s weekend, and

She’ll be pissed if I stay here.

“You’re wrong,” Trevor says to his window.

“I do know you;

I know everything about you,

Down to the pencil-thin lines on your toes, and

The reason you cut your hair so short.

I know you do that to make your mom mad, and

I know you get tattoos to teach yourself a lesson.

I know you love Rose more than anything, and

I know you blame your mom for more than you should.

I know you have a strange affinity for lemon sorbet, and

I know you adore absolutely everything about photography.

You’re a good cook;

A good student;

A good friend.”

His voice finally wisps into silence, which

Is only broken as

I start to cry.

“DID JACEY TELL YOU ABOUT THE TATTOOS?”

I ask after I’ve managed to stem the tears.

I’m not sure if I was crying because

He does know me, or

If I’m angry he knows about my lemon sorbet fetish, and

My tattoos, and

That I blame Mom for not just some things, but

For everything.

He doesn’t understand;

Jacey doesn’t either.

I will not be like my mother, and

Every time I see her,

I’m reminded of how much

I am exactly like her.

“Well? Did she?” I ask again,

Hoping for something else to focus on besides

The fact that my mom—a beast—left my dad—a good guy.

Beasts do not deserve good guys, and

I will not destroy Trevor

The way my mom ruined my dad.

Trevor shakes his head,

A movement I can barely see, because

Darkness has descended.

“I know you, Wings,” he says.

“Whether you like it or not,

Whether you’ll admit it or not.”

He turns toward me now, and

There is nothing between us.

No secrets.

No lies.

No masks.

No camera.

I wish I could see inside his mind and

Find out what he’s thinking.

Right now, he looks vulnerable,

Yet strong.

“I want to be with you,” he says,

Laying it all out.

Click.

I see the desperation in his face.

Click.

I see him wipe it away,

Shut himself off.

“Another thing I know:

You want to be with me too.”

I open my mouth to protest, but

The words die.

He’s already seen into my soul

And my soul

Doesn’t lie.

“You should set up that camera

To take some selfies,” he says,

The self-assured Trevor returning as

He smiles.

“You’re always bragging about how you can

See the soul through your lens.

Maybe then you’d be able to see yourself and

What you really want.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I say, but

The words have no anger behind them because

He might be right.

He’s been right about so much already.

“So I’ll wait,” he says,

Reaching for the keys and

Starting the car.

He pulls into the street and

Makes his way to his dad’s.

“I can be patient… and

What did you say?

Persistent.”

“I HATE HIM,”

I whisper to myself as I lean away

From the computer.

The picture I’m working on came out of the camera

Nearly perfect.

Trevor, half leaning, half sitting

On that beat-up kitchen table,

Grinning at me like he knows he’ll get what he wants

One way or

The other.

His arms are crossed, saying

Say what you want,

We’ll still be together.

At the same time,

The skin around his eyes is puckered because

He’s thinking really hard about

How he can get what he wants.

The contrast between what his body is saying and

What his eyes are conveying

Is sheer perfection for my portfolio.

The table is stained,

Dirty, and

Drab in every way.

Trevor is polished,

Clean, and

Exciting in every way.

I captured the exact right moment,

With the exact right specs,

With the exact right model.

A thrill shoots through me, and

I know: Trevor was right.

I do absolutely adore everything about photography.

I mutter again,

“I hate him.”

“NO SCHOOL TODAY,”

I announce to Gramma-Linda

As soon as Dad leaves for work.

“You’ve been working me to death.”

I hold up my camera.

“Let’s go shoot something.”

Gramma-Linda looks up from the pile

Of supplies she’s brought.

“No school? Shoot something?”

She slips her glasses off and

Peers at my camera.

“It’s Friday,” I whine.

“I’m sick of reading, and

History, and

Chemistry.”

I hurry toward her to help her stand.

“I’m all caught up. Please,

All you have to do is wait in the car.”

I glance over my shoulder to the front door.

“But I have to get out of here.”

This week has been a bear, with

Boring days and long lessons, an

Absence of Jacey as she studies for midterms with Mason, and

Only Rose to drive to dance now and again.

I haven’t heard from Trevor at all,

Not even a text.

I never hear from Mom, so

That’s not new.

Dad compliments my cooking and

Checks with me about school, and

That’s it.

“Oh, all right,” Gramma-Linda sighs.

“But it’s cold out there.

Get a sweatshirt.”

I don’t care that she’s being overprotective.

She wants me to wear a sweatshirt?

I’ll wear a sweatshirt.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME,”

I complain.

I’d only gotten about two dozen shots of

Gramma-Linda before she noticed I was

Taking her picture.

“Just do what you were doing.”

She resumes watching the wind blow through

The leaves, but

The shots aren’t the same.

She knows I’m shooting now.

It’s the moments when people don’t know

I’m clicking away

That I want to capture.

The look of contemplation as they consider something important, or

Worry about money,

Their children, or

Their job.

As they live life.

The thrill of seeing a dragonfly, or

Listening to the trees sing, or

Whatever it was that had brought

The gentle joy to Gramma-Linda’s face.

I sigh as I lower my camera.

I can only hope one of the first few shots I got

Will be good enough.

“Brunch?” I ask her as we get in the car.

“I’ll buy.”

“You will not,” she says.

“You don’t even have a job.”

I laugh, and

Suddenly wish I was nine,

Like Rose, and

Could snuggle up to Gramma-Linda,

Breathe in her powdery smell, and

Tell her I love her.

“Okay, you pay,” I say,

My voice only slightly choked.

“And, Gramma-Linda?”

She swings her face toward me.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

She pats my knee and

Says, “Of course, honey,” which

I know means,

I love you and want you to be happy.

“MMM,”

I moan as I eat the last bite of my pancake.

I remember when Mom used to look at me

With the same fondness in her eyes

That Gramma-Linda has watching me scrape

The strawberry syrup from my plate.

The small shake of her head,

The slight lift in her mouth,

Showing that she’s happy

I’m happy.

Showing that she loves me.

“Good?” she asks,

That love loud in her voice.

I nod and

Reach for another slice of bacon.

“Gramma?” I start.

“Do you think my mom still loves me?”

The peaceful expression on Gramma-Linda’s face

Disappears,

Gets covered with worry and

Tension.

“Of course she does, Livvy.

You know she does.”

I lean forward,

Resting my elbows on the table.

“Do I?

How would I know?”

Gramma-Linda picks up her fork,

Something she’d abandoned ten minutes ago

When she’d claimed she couldn’t eat another bite.

She begins pushing the cold eggs around her plate.

“She’s your mother.”

“So what?” I challenge.

“That doesn’t mean she loves me.”

“She does,” Gramma-Linda says.

“She’s your mother.”

“She doesn’t call me,” I say.

“Or text.

Or know what my grades are, or

If I’m home by curfew, or

What I like to do in my spare time.”

As I speak,

I realize that Gramma-Linda knows more about me than

My mom does.

“Well, for one thing.”

Gramma-Linda points her fork at me.

“She puts up with your attitude.

If that doesn’t take love,

I don’t know what does.”

I cock my head to the side,

Almost smiling at her.

“Okay, fine. She puts up with me.

I put up with the wind, and

The rain, and

Mosquitoes.

But I certainly don’t love them.

In fact, I hate them and

Only tolerate them because

I have no other choice.”

I slump back in the booth.

“That’s what she’s doing too, isn’t it?

Putting up with me because

She has no other choice.”

“No,” Gramma-Linda says forcefully.

“Now stop it.

Your mother loves you, because

You’re her daughter and

She cares about you.”

“She left me to live with Darren Youngblood.”

My voice is barely-there,

A whisper in the crowded restaurant.

“Well, everyone makes mistakes,”

Gramma-Linda says airily.

“But you make no mistake about it.

Your mother loves you.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Because I’m a mother, and

Until you become a mother you don’t

Understand how deep love can go.”

She replaces the fork carefully on the table.

“That love is endless, honey.

No matter what my children do—

No matter that your mother abandoned you,

Rose, and

Her husband—

No matter if I think it was the biggest mistake of her life—

I still love her.”

She pauses.

“It’s what mothers do.”

“STOP SQUIRMING,”

I tell Rose, who

Can’t seem to hold still for longer than four seconds.

“Are we almost done?” she asks

For the third time.

“Susie should be able to play now.”

“Fix your belt, and

We’ll do a couple more shots.

Then we’ll be done,

I swear.”

I lift my camera as

Rose checks her belt.

Click, click, click.

I don’t want these pictures of

The top of her head, but

I do want to catch her

Innocence when she glances up,

Preparing to get ready for the shots.

I want to see her in that pinch of time.

It happens fast, but

My camera takes eight pictures a second.

In one nanosecond,

I see the beauty of being nine years old,

Without social pressures,

Worries, or

Problems, and

I can only hope my camera captures it.

“Liv-vy,” she whines.

“I wasn’t ready.”

“Done,” I announce,

Already removing the lens so

I can store it in my pack.

“I LOVE HER,”

I whisper to myself as I edit the

Photo of Rose.

Her fingers are still lingering

On her belt.

Her face is open,

Unsmiling, but

Absolutely pure.

Her hair is windblown and

Wispy—one hundred percent

Rose.

This is how I see my sister when

She knocks on my bedroom door and

Wants to read to me.

Or when she asks Dad if

She can swing in the backyard, or

When she runs to Gramma-Linda

For a hug.

I lean away from my computer,

Well-aware of

How much I love my little sister—

How I will always love her.

Maybe Gramma-Linda is right, I think.

Maybe Mom could love me.

“STUPID PHONE,”

I mutter.

I haven’t gotten a text from anyone in a couple of days,

Not even Jacey.

My phone’s on and

Working, but

There’s no new messages.

I consider texting Jacey

Just to see if she’s still alive after her midterms, or

Trevor

Just to see…something.

I tap on the phone’s camera and

Set it so I can see myself,

Trevor’s words echoing in my mind.

It’s been over a week since he said them, but

I can’t get them out of my head.

I study myself for a long moment before

Slamming the phone on my desk.

I want to text Trevor and

Tell him he had no right to lecture me about

Who I am or

What I want.

But that might be something Mom would do, and

I don’t want to be like her,

Don’t want to ruin one of the only good things in my life.

So I mute the notification sound on my phone and

Settle onto my bed with an old journal.

“LIVVY?”

Dad’s voice comes through my closed door

Later that night.

“Yeah,” I answer,

My fingers still flying through keyboard shortcuts

To erase Gramma-Linda’s few errant hairs,

To make the leaves less sharp,

To add clouds to the sky.

The door opens, and

He comes in.

“Have you got a minute?”

I pull my attention away from the photo

To focus on my father.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Dad fiddles with something in his pocket,

His eyes trained on the floor.

I snatch my camera from the desk and

Fire off several shots before he looks up.

Click, click, click.

His apprehension is as noticeable as

A scent on the air.

I set my camera on the desk

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

He smoothes his hair down with his hand, like

He can just as easily wipe away what he really wants to say.

“You’ve just been up here all day, and

Rose wants to watch a movie.”

“SIX PICTURES.”

I can’t believe my portfolio already has

Six pictures in it.

Three are of Trevor:

Resting on my couch,

Fishing off the dock, and

Leaning against that old kitchen table.

I’ve added The Innocence of Rose, and

The Elderly Watching Wind, and

A Concerned Father

To the mix.

They seem to fit together, but

Only to me.

The important people in my life,

I think, and

Immediately startle at the realization.

Trevor is important to me.

I close the folder housing the photos and

Reach for my cell phone.

He’s left me alone for long enough.

ARE YOU IGNORING ME?

I text him, then

Send the same message to Jacey.

I know they’re at Copper Hills while

I’m here, alone, and

Who knows what schemes they’ve been planning.

Neither of them responds immediately, which

Normally wouldn’t be suspicious.

But when I get nearly identical texts from them,

I suspect they’ve collaborated before answering.

Trevor: Of course not.

Should I be?

Jacey: No.

Why would I be?

I tap my phone against my palm,

Trying to figure out how to respond.

Me to Trevor: I haven’t heard from you

In a while.

Me to Jacey: I don’t know.

When will midterms be over?

Trevor: Are you saying you

Miss me?

Me: Yes. Wanna shoot this week?

I’m rewarded with a phone call.

“AM I HALLUCINATING?”

Trevor doesn’t even say hello, just

Launches right into his questions.

“Did you just admit to missing me?”

I can’t tell if he sounds hopeful, or

Not.

“You…might be hallucinating,”

I tell him.

“But I need more pictures for my portfolio.

I don’t have all year to finish this, you know.”

“Tell me when and where, and

I’ll be there.”

I know that’s not true.

He has football practice and

Weight-lifting

He can’t miss.

“Tomorrow?”

I bite my lip,

Surprised at how excited I am to see him.

My phone cuts out,

The indication that I’ve gotten a text.

I’m sure it’s from Jacey.

“Tomorrow, when

Tomorrow?”

Trevor asks.

“You tell me,” I say,

“I don’t know your schedule.”

“Yes, you do, Wings,” he says,

Real low, and

If I didn’t know better, I’d say

Flirty.

Maybe he is flirting with you.

My heart beat spikes, and

My chest feels cold inside.

“Six-thirty,” I say into Trevor’s waiting silence.

“I know you’ll be done with training by then, and

You’ll have time to shower.”

“It’ll be dark by then,” he says.

“Don’t you have a golden hour?”

“We can do some cool flash techniques

In the dark.”

“Sounds fascinating,” he says, and

I can’t quite tell if he’s being sarcastic or

Not.

“See you tomorrow at six-thirty.”

MIDTERMS ARE OVER TOMORROW,

Jacey has texted.

Come get me after school and

Let’s go get a caramel apple at

The mall.

Me: Can I take your picture?

Her: Um…why?

I thought you were shooting Trevor

For the portfolio.

Me: I’m branching out.

I want you in the portfolio.

I need a good picture of her—

Not the lame one I took a couple of weeks ago—

So my portfolio will include everyone I care about.

It might not win, but

I don’t care about that

Anymore.

I want to create something beautiful, and

Meaningful

To me.

Jacey: He told me he asked you out.

Me:

Jacey: He said you said no.

He won’t give up, though.

I’ve tried to talk sense into him.

A little shiver runs up my neck because

Of her words.

Her: Liv?

Me: I’m here.

I take a deep breath,

My thumbs flying.

Me: Tell me what to do about Trevor.

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD GO OUT WITH HIM.”

That’s what Jacey said

When I called her.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Well, what could it hurt?” she asks.

“It could…I don’t know.”

I moan and

Start plucking at my eyelashes.

I used to do that all the time when

I was nervous.

Seventh and eighth grade were the worst when

I was trying to fit in,

Trying to find the right friends.

Before I told anyone about

Mom and Darren Youngblood,

I was practically lashless.

It was Trevor who first noticed.

“Why do you do that?”

He’d asked me without

Any condescension in his voice.

When my mom caught me doing it,

She lectured me about maintaining my looks.

Trevor simply wanted to know.

I’d told him it was a bad habit,

Something I did when I was nervous.

He’d taken my hand in his and

Stroked his thumb over my wrist.

“What are you worried about, Wings?”

I shook my head, and

Lied. “Nothing.”

“Good,” he said.

“When you’re with me,

You don’t have to worry.”

Then he’d kissed me, and

I really did feel safe.

“OKAY,”

I say,

Forcing my hands away from my eyelashes.

“Say I go out with him.

Then what?”

“Then maybe you like it,” Jacey says,

“And maybe you guys get back together.

What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?

Runs through my head.

I hadn’t been able to answer Jacey, so

I told her I’d pick her up the next afternoon and

Hung up.

It’s the next afternoon, and

Her words haven’t left my brain.

I’m a few minutes late, and

Jacey’s waiting on the bench when

I pull into the pickup lane.

“Hey,” she says as she slides in.

She sighs and leans her head against

The back of the seat.

“I’m so glad midterms are over.

You’re so lucky you don’t have to deal with them.”

I think of Gramma-Linda and

How she showed up this morning

Thirty minutes early so

“We could make up for our lost day on Friday.”

That revelation had earned me a glare from Dad, and

Incessant begging from Rose to be homeschooled too.

“Yeah, lucky,” I say to Jacey.

We go to the outdoor mall,

Buy caramel apples, and

Find a shady spot under a tree so

I can make Jacey pose with her treat.

She has that same happy-go-lucky nature today that

She did at the Ferris wheel.

I realize now that Jacey

Is exactly as I’ve captured her.

Carefree,

Optimistic, and

Happy.

A thread of jealousy snakes through me.

I think of how I looked at myself

In the camera on my phone and

Couldn’t force myself to smile.

“So…Trevor,” Jacey finally says when

Her apple is almost gone.

“I’m shooting him tonight.”

I look into the horizon,

Not to see something awesome, but

To avoid looking at Jacey.

“What do you see when you shoot him?”

She asks.

I shrug. “Lots of things.”

“Like?”

“He’s funny,” I say, feeling a wave of adjectives come.

“Serious.

Smart.

Athletic.

Kind.”

I exhale, and it sounds like a wistful sigh.

“You know, he’s perfect.”

Which makes me wonder why

He wants to be with me.

Jacey’s eyes have gone wide.

“What do you feel when you’re with him?”

“Lots of…things.”

I pin her with a look that means

Don’t make me list them all.

She remains quiet for a moment, then

She says, “My best advice is to be spontaneous.

Don’t think, just react.”

HE’S PERFECT

Echoes through my head,

In my own voice.

I can’t figure out why he likes me.

I’m not very nice to him;

I’ve told him flat-out there will never be an us, and

Yet, he still calls,

Texts, and

Asks me out.

Why? I ask myself.

What does he see in me that I can’t see in myself?

“I KNOW I’M NOT EASY TO LOVE.”

My mother’s words.

She said them when she finally told the truth,

When Dad finally found out about her affair with Darren Youngblood,

When I finally told her I’d seen them at the dock.

She said those words to me.

Rose got, “I will always love you,” and

I got, “I know I’m not easy to love.”

Because I see so much of myself in her,

Those words transferred to me.

I suddenly felt like I wasn’t easy to love,

That maybe Mom felt that way about me, and

That’s why she needed more than the family she already had.

I haven’t told anyone this, but

I look at Jacey.

“Do you think I’m hard to love?”

I don’t look at her,

Can’t witness her reaction.

“Is that why you won’t go out with Trevor?”

She wipes her hands on her shorts.

“Because you think he can’t like you?

The guys gets a million texts a day from

A hundred different girls.

He ignores them all.

The only person he can think about is

You.”

Jacey’s words thaw a cold spot in my heart,

The one I’ve kept frozen for so long,

The piece of myself I’d given to Trevor a long time ago.

“If he wanted a girlfriend,

He could have one,” Jacey continues.

“I’ve seen the guy when he looks at you,

When he talks about you.

Trust me when I say he likes you.”

“But am I likeable?”

I meet her eye,

Feeling naked,

Exposed,

Without a lens to hide behind.

Jacey draws me into a hug.

“Of course you are, Livvy.”

“Then why did my mom leave?”

Jacey releases me,

Her eyes filled with compassion.

“Because she’s selfish, which

Has nothing to do with you.

Remember how you brought me my homework when

I had pneumonia?

Or when you made breakfast in bed for Rose when

She turned nine?

Or that you used to decorate Trevor’s locker on

Game days?”

She glances away,

Focuses on something else in the outdoor mall.

“You’ve just…lost your way.

It’s okay;

You’ve had a rough year.”

She pins me with a look.

“We’re just waiting for you to come back.

We know you will,

Eventually.”

I nod,

The only thing I’m able to do unless

I want to start crying right here in the mall.

Jacey stands up, like

It’s time to leave—

This conversation or

The mall,

I’m not sure which.

“Just because you can’t trust your mom

Doesn’t mean you can’t trust Trevor.”

I’M SORRY,

I text Trevor when I get home from the mall

Him: Why?

Me: You know, for being lost.

Him: We're still on for tonight, right?

I love that he doesn’t make me explain more,

That he doesn’t need further explanation.

Me: Yeah, if you still want to.

Him: Planning on it.

Him, a few minutes later: I am looking for you.

“DAD, I’M GOING OUT WITH TREVOR.”

I stop short when I realize what I’ve said.

Dad’s eyebrows go up.

“Wow, that didn’t come out right,” I say.

“I’m shooting him.”

I close my eyes and

Breathe deep.
“That sounds bad too.

I’m taking his picture.”

I hold up my photography pack and

Flash kit.

“Be back in a bit.”

“IT’S REALLY DARK OUT HERE,”

Trevor comments as he

Pulls his jacket tighter.

He peers toward the highway behind us, where

There are very few cars.

I continue fiddling with the umbrella so

It won’t blow away in this wicked wind,

Hoping I can pull off this technique before we

Freeze to death.

Twenty minutes later,

I think I’ve got the shot I want, and

Trevor and I are huddled in my car.

He was the perfect model this time,

Doing exactly what I said with his hands and

Feet and

Body.

I put the flash behind him, so

His facial expression didn’t matter.

He’s blowing on his hands;

I’m sitting on mine;

The heater is taking forever to warm up.

The radio is on low, and

We’re done shooting, but

I don’t want to go home yet.

Trevor doesn’t seem to be in a hurry either.

“How were midterms?” I ask.

“Fine,” he says.

He lowers his hands and

Sits so still.

The air is charged with tension.

I recognize this feeling,

This awkward anticipation.

I’ve felt it before with Trevor.

Before he asked me out.

Before he kissed me.

Before I found out Harris had defaced my locker.

I’ve felt a lot of things with Trevor, and

I’ve been brushing them away for months—

Eighteen of them.

But now, I hold onto my feelings,

Acknowledge them,

Embrace the spontaneity of them.

Don’t think, just react.

“What’s wrong?”

I turn toward him, finally relaxing as

I feel the first inklings of heat from the vents.

I pull my hands from under my legs and

Rest them in my lap.

“Nothing.”

He shifts toward me too, and

The heat I feel is suddenly coming from him.

It’s dark, but

I can see the outline of his face.

I can see his hand as he moves it toward me.

He fumbles a little bit but

Manages to wrap his fingers around mine.

My first reaction is to sigh and

Close my eyes,

Enjoy the warmth of his skin and

The firmness of his fingers around mine.

Don’t think, just react,

Jacey had said.

I squeeze his hand—

My next reaction.

He squeezes back.

WHY DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT WITH ME?

My midnight text gets sent late so

Trevor might not see it until morning.

My heart jumps when my phone vibrates.

I smile, though

I try to hold it back.

Him: Do I need a reason?

Me: Yes.

I mean, I’m not very nice to you.

I’ve told you no.

And—

Him: You don’t act like I’m king of the world.

I stop typing, reading and

Re-reading his words.

Me: And

So you like me because I don’t act like

You’re the hottest boy ever born?

Him: Are you saying I’m the hottest boy ever born?

Me: Haha

Him: Seriously, Wings.

I like you.

I don’t really want to qualify it against

Someone else’s reasons for why.

Me:

Him, only seconds later: I want to be waiting for you when

You find your way back.

I brush away the tears threatening to

Spill out.

Him: That’s why I’ve put up with your attitude.

;)

Me: I’m sorry.

Him: Don’t be.

When I get lost,

I’ll be counting on you

To find me.

“OLIVIA, DARLING, I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU.”

Mom’s voice on the message sounds pleasant,

Unrushed.

“Trevor is staying at the house again this weekend.

His mom got a new job, and

She’s traveling more than she used to.

I hope that’s okay.

Your dad mentioned that you don’t like it when he’s here, and

I want you to be comfortable.

Call me, okay?”

I delete the message,

Marveling that Mom called because

She…

Cares how I feel?

I call her back, and

Tell her it’s fine if Trevor’s there, and

Ask her what she has planned for the weekend.

She sounds surprised that I’ve asked, and

A twinge of guilt stabs through me.

“Maybe we could go shopping?” she asks.

I wrinkle my nose and

Suggest, “Movie instead?

Maybe pizza after?

Rose will beg for ice cream too.”

Mom laughs, and

I can’t remember the last time I heard her do that,

Especially not because of something I’ve done.

My chest feels so tight,

So tight.

“Mom—” I start and

Find I can’t finish.

Tears prick behind my eyes and

I suddenly hate this wall between us.

Mom doesn’t seem to notice that

I’m on the verge of a break-down, because

She says, “See you tonight.

Movie date on Saturday!” and

Hangs up.

“HEY, WINGS,”

Trevor says when

Rose and I arrive at the Youngbloods

On Friday night.

He’s lounging in the kitchen,

A plate of food in front of him.

“My mom sent dinner tonight since

Our parents have that country club thing.

You guys hungry?”

Rose looks at me before

Bounding over to Trevor.

They’re not best friends or

Anything, but

He’s always been nice to her and

That’s all Rose cares about.

“Mmm, spaghetti,” she says.

“Does your mom cook every night?

Livvy cooks for us.”

“I know,” Trevor says.

“Remember I ate with you guys a couple of weeks ago?”

He places a piece of garlic bread in front of her and

Turns to heat up her spaghetti in the microwave.

I lean against the doorway,

Watching them.

“And my mom hardly ever cooks,” he continues.

“I’m really good at ordering pizza and

Going to a drive-through.”

Rose smiles at him and

Then at me.

“Come eat, Livvy.”

So I do.

“BUT MOM IS TAKING US TO A MOVIE TOMORROW,”

I protest when Rose wants to do

Movie night tonight.

“I like the stay-home movie night,” she insists.

“There’s popcorn in the cupboard, and

I brought a box of hot chocolate from Dad’s.”

I sigh,

Knowing I won’t win against my sister.

I can’t stand to see her unhappy, and

She wants a stay-home movie night complete with

Popcorn and hot chocolate.

“Fine,” I concede. “What movie?”

“Something we all like,”

Trevor says as he enters the family room with

A huge bowl of popcorn.

He’s carrying two additional bowls and

A stack of napkins.

“You’re staying here?”

This night is moving toward something

I’m not sure I’m ready for.

“I have no other plans.”

He sets the popcorn down and

Turns back to the kitchen.

“Milk or water for your hot chocolate, Rose?”

“Milk,” she says,

Still searching for the right movie.

Ten minutes later,

I’ve strategically positioned myself in

The recliner instead of on

The sectional with

Rose and Trevor.

She’s happily slurping her hot chocolate and

Crunching on popcorn,

The beginnings of Bridge to Terabithia

Pouring from the huge TV.

Trevor seems content with his snacks and

The choice of movie.

He hasn’t looked at me once,

Hasn’t acted like he’s anything more than

My friend.

I clench my fingers around my mug of hot chocolate and

Try to focus on the movie.

“LOOKS LIKE SHE’S OUT FOR GOOD.”

Trevor’s voice interrupts my intense focus on

The tree house on the TV.

“What?”

I turn toward him and

Find Rose fast asleep on the couch.

My heart simultaneously drops and

Leaps.

I remember the way Trevor’s hand felt in mine,

I remember how I slowly drove him home after the shoot,

Holding his hand for a good fifteen minutes.

I remember how he’d whispered, “See you later, Wings,” and

Got out of the car without

Trying anything else, or

Asking me to go out with him, or

Anything.

He gets up and

Gathers his mug and Rose’s.

“You done?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I hand him my empty mug and

Half-empty bowl.

He leaves, and

I can’t stop the thoughts

Parading through my head.

I want to sit next to him on the couch.

I want to hold his hand again.

I jump from the recliner and

Listen for him to approach.

When I hear his footsteps,

I hurry to the built-in closet behind the couch.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“A blanket,” I say.

“I’m cold.”

He opens the door two down from me and

Pulls out a huge quilt.

He takes it with him as he moves back to his spot

On the couch.

I close the closet door slowly,

Watching him.

Is he inviting me to sit next to him?

Share the blanket with him?

I go to the cabinet where he got the blanket,

Not sure how to get what I want without

Admitting

How I feel.

“We can share,” he says.

“I don’t mind.”

“I DON’T MIND EITHER.”

I can’t believe I said that,

I think after

I’m settled next to Trevor on the couch.

I’m not touching him, but

I desperately want to hold his hand.

I can’t believe he didn’t say something like,

“Are you saying you like me?

Want to sit next to me?

Hold my hand?”

But he’d simply held the blanket aside until

I sat next to him.

Then he tossed it over my legs and

Let me take as much as I wanted.

I’m calculating how much time we have to be alone when

He leans toward me.

“This movie always makes me cry,” he whispers.

“I know,” I say without turning.

“I’ve watched this with you before.”

“Really?” he asks.

“I don’t remember.”

“Yeah.”

I turn toward him.

“Remember we watched it after—”

He raises his arm and

Gently pulls me forward until

I’m cradled against his chest.

“Ah, now I remember.

We used to watch a lot of movies like this.”

His heartbeat is galloping,

A gentle bumping against my cheek.

Don’t think, just react.

I smile and

Slide my arm around his waist.

“I don’t know what’s changed with you,” he says real quiet so

He won’t wake Rose, or

Maybe so he won’t scare me away.

“But I’m not complaining.”

“I’m trying to find my way back.”

“I know, but

What’s changed?

Two weeks ago,

You said I had no chance with you, and

Now you’re letting me hold your hand and

I’m thinking I could probably kiss you and

You’d let me do that too.”

My lips tingle just thinking about kissing him.

“Um,” I say.

“I’m working through some stuff, and

Jacey said I should just react and

Stop thinking so much.”

“Jacey is so smart,” he says with a chuckle.

I HAD A FUN TIME AT THE MOVIES WITH MY MOM.

I stare at the fresh journal page,

Completely shocked that I’m writing again.

I haven’t written in a journal since

Trevor and I broke up.

But I did have a good time at the movies with

Mom and

Rose.

We got popcorn and

Sodas.

After, Rose got her way, and

Mom bought ice cream.

Mom laughed,

Hugged Rose, and

Smiled at me like she used to before

I discovered her affair with Darren Youngblood.

I still blame her for leaving us and

Going off to live with Darren, but

I’m starting to realize now that

She didn’t replace us with a new family,

That she isn’t perfect, but

That she…loves us.

That she loves me.

TREVOR IS UNREASONABLY HAPPY TODAY,

Jacey texts on Monday during her lunch.

Me: So?

Jacey: You better tell me everything.

Right now.

I know you’re hiding something.

I’ve been holding onto the secret of

Trevor, of

Holding his hand, of

Listening to the beat of his heart instead of

Listening to the movie.

I hadn’t even cried like I usually do, because

I’d been so happy with Trevor.

Me: Okay, fine.

I may have held his hand last weekend, and

We may have watched a movie together on Friday.

Jacey: !!!

Gotta go,

Come get me after school.

Me: Don’t make a big deal out of this.

I’m just reacting,

Like you suggested.

Jacey doesn’t answer, because

She’s in class.

I flip my phone over,

Thinking about everything’s that changed since

I started shooting him.

Because of him,

I’m taking pictures again, and

I love it.

Because of him,

I’ve forgiven my mom—

Just a little bit—

But still.

Because of him,

I’m contemplating taking a picture of myself so

I can see who I really am,

How I really feel.

I thumb the camera on and

See myself staring at the screen.

I quickly tap the shutter button, and

The camera clicks.

“I HATE MY HAIR,”

I mutter.

I’ve never realized it until now,

Staring at myself on

The screen of my phone.

I see myself in the mirror all the time, and

I’ve cut my hair this way on purpose.

But looking at myself in this cheap,

Phone-taken

Picture,

I realize

I hate my hair.

“LET’S TRY AGAIN.”

I navigate back to the camera, and

This time,

I try to smile.

“I LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT.”

I can’t smile right.

It feels wrong,

Like I’ve forgotten how to do it because

It’s been so long since I’ve tried—or

Had a reason to smile.

I touch the shutter anyway and

Analyze the picture.

I see nothing in my eyes.

None of the happiness,

Joy, or

Amusement

You’d expect to see in a picture of someone smiling.

I don’t look annoyed either, or

Like the photographer has coaxed this smile from

Me by proclaiming, “Smile!”

I simply look…dead inside,

Like a girl who’s trying to smile because

A boy challenged her to take a selfie and

See what it said about her.

But this photo says nothing about me,

And yet,

It says everything.

It says how unhappy I’ve allowed myself to become, and

How far I’ve removed myself from living, and

How by trying to smile, I’ve made myself

Look like someone trying to be happy, but

Failing.

I think I feel happier, but

I’m an expert at analyzing pictures, and

This one says I’m not there yet.

This one says I still hurt,

Still need to heal,

Still need to

Forgive.

WANNA HANG OUT TONIGHT?

Trevor’s text interrupts my third attempt at

Taking a self-portrait.

Something shrinks in my chest at

The thought of simply hanging out with Trevor.

Hang out? I text back.

Or go out?

Whichever makes you most comfortable, he replies.

Friends hang out.

But boyfriends take their girlfriends out, I tell him.

Are you saying I’m your boyfriend?

I don’t think;

I press the call button.

“ARE YOU SAYING YOU WANT TO BE MY BOYFRIEND?”

I ask him when he picks up.

“And don’t you have class right now?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice real low,

Like he’s answered his phone in the middle of calculus.

“And yes.”

It’s all I can do not to drop my phone,

Surprised at what I’ve done,

The line I’ve crossed.

This whole reactionary lifestyle is

Something I could get used to, because

It’s helped me do things,

Say things, that…

Feel right.

I take a deep breath,

Determined to just keep reacting.

“So we’ll go out tonight,” I say.

“You can take me to one of those famous

Drive-through places

You were bragging about over the weekend.”

“Deal,” he says. “Gotta go.”

He hangs up before I can respond, and

I hope he doesn’t get in trouble for talking on the phone

During class.

6:30, okay? comes a text from Trevor.

I smile and

Quickly open the camera app and

Take my picture.

“DAD,”

I say,

Entering his office before dinner.

“Yep.”

He looks up from his paperwork.

“Dad, I—”

I close my eyes to make this easier.

“I’m going out with Trevor tonight.”

Dad shifts in his chair, which

Emits a high-pitched squeal.

“Oh.”

I keep my eyes pressed closed,

Seeing a bright red light behind my eyelids.

“See, I was sort of dating him when I found out about Mom, and

We broke up then, but

I still like him, and

He still likes me, and

We’re going to dinner tonight.”

I pull my eyes open.

“If that’s okay.”

Dad studies me for a few moments.

I can’t keep my feet still, and

My fingers keep twisting around each other.

My throat feels dry, and

I’m blinking way too much.

“You were dating Trevor Youngblood when Mom…”

Dad’s shoulders slump, and

He places both hands on his desk.

“No wonder you were so angry,

So withdrawn.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You lost more than a mother.”

He stands and

Moves around the desk to

Wrap me in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Livvy, and

Yes, you should go have a good time with

Trevor.”

I stand stiffly for only a moment before

I hug my father tightly.

“You don’t think it’s weird?

I mean, he’s my step-brother now.”

“Barely,” Dad says.

“He’s never there when you are.

It’s not like you guys are living in the same house.”

Remembering the bands on my toes,

The one that reminds me to be honest, and

I open my mouth again.

“Well, he’s been there twice in

The past couple of months.

He was there over the weekend.”

Dad pulls back and

Looks at me.

His eyes show

The questions running through his mind.

“Nothing’s happened,” I tell him.

“But he’s asked me out again, and

I…I want to go.”

Dad nods.

“I’ve seen you change this past little bit,

Since you’ve been homeschooled.

I thought it was because of the photography, or

Gramma-Linda, but

Maybe…”

He doesn’t finish, but

I know what he means.

Maybe it’s because of Trevor.

“CALM DOWN,”

I coach myself as

I wait for Trevor to arrive.

“You’ve been out with him before.”

I still feel jittery and scared,

My insides quivering beneath

My skin.

Finally, a knock lands on the door.

I whip it open to

Find Trevor standing there.

“You ready?”

His voice is steady and calm.

He’s wearing jeans and

A jacket,

Normal attire for February.

He’s freshly showered, and

He smells like mint and pinecones.

“Ready,” I say,

Glancing over my shoulder to find

Dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Have fun,” he says,

Smiling.

“Drive safe, Trevor.”

Once in the safety of his car,

I finally release the breath I’ve been holding.

When he joins me,

I start laughing and

Can’t stop.

Trevor backs out of my driveway,

Letting me go through my mania.

When he reaches over and

Takes my hand in his,

I settle into silence.

“Okay?” he asks, and

All I can say is, “Okay.”

“YOUR HOUSE?”

I ask when Trevor pulls into his driveway.

“What are we doing at your house?

Is your mom home?”

I feel sandbagged in my seat,

Weighed down and

Unable to move.

“She’ll be home soon,” he says,

“We’re eating dinner here.”

He gets out and crosses in front of the car to

Open my door.

I still haven’t moved.

“Come on, Wings, I’m not going to

Try anything, I swear.”

I take his hand and

Let him lead me into his house.

I’ve been here so many times I can’t count them, but

This feels different somehow.

His mom was never home then, and

I’ve kissed him in his kitchen, and

His living room, and

His basement.

But I know something I’m scared to vocalize:

I’m not ready to kiss him yet.

“Nothing funny,” I say as

He closes the front door behind me.

He only smiles in return, but

Ushers me into the living room, where

He collapses onto the couch.

His house is clean, which

Means he got out the vacuum and

Sprayed the air freshener.

I know his mom works too much for her to have done it.

I’m more impressed by this fact than

That he’s so good-looking, and

So calm, and

So gentle with me.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask

As I perch next to him on the couch.

“I think you adore pizza,” he says,

“And it just so happens that I do too.”

He grins at me and

Opens his arm for me to settle into his side.

In my mind,

I see the shot I took of him that

First day at my house,

On my couch.

He had his arm up to

Claim the girl who would be sitting next to him.

I realize now that I’d hoped

To be that girl, so

I slide into the space,

Flashing him a smile as his

Hand settles on my shoulder.

“So how is homeschool,

Really?”

I shrug.

“It’s okay, I guess.

My gramma is intense sometimes, but

It’s better than Copper Hills.”

“I miss you there,” he says quietly,

Dipping his head closer to mine.

I almost lean into him before

I remember that I’m scared out of my mind.

I can’t make out with him on his couch,

Not on the first date,

Not even if he stirs the fire in my core.

I swallow to quiet the storm of bees in

My chest.

“There are some things I miss about Copper Hills,” I say.

“But mostly I’m glad I don’t have to go there and

Remember things I’d rather forget.”

“Harris hasn’t come back,” Trevor says,

Like that means everyone won’t stare, or

Whisper behind my back, or

Invent new rumors to spread.

“I don’t want to talk about Harris,” I say.

“How’s the portfolio coming?”

He guides me closer to his side.

I sigh. “Good, I think.

You know I’m not objective about my own work.

I think it all sucks.”

He laughs deep in his throat,

A sound that urges the fire to seethe under

My skin.

Before he can say anything else,

The doorbell rings.

I sigh with relief as he gets up,

Opens the door, and

Pays the pizza delivery guy.

Saved by the bell.

“HEY, MOM.”

I follow Rose into the Youngbloods and

Drop our bag by the front door.

Mom frowns at it for a moment.

“I wish you wouldn’t pack a bag.

We have everything you need here.”

“I need my…stuff,”

Rose says,

Glancing at me.

She means her stuffed Snoopy, but

She doesn’t want to tell Mom that.

“And I need makeup,” I say.

Mom humphs and

Asks Rose about the spelling bee before

Badgering me about the photography contest.

“Don’t you need to turn it in soon?”

“I have a few more weeks,” I say.

I don’t say that it’s not ready, though

I’ve been editing and re-editing

The photos for the past two weeks.

“How close are you?” she asks,

Going right to the question I don’t want to answer.

“I need two more pictures,” I tell her and

That’s totally true.

I have four of Trevor:

The one of him on my couch,

Claiming that space next to him.

The one of him at the dock,

Fishing.

The one of him in the dilapidated house,

Leaning against that kitchen table with

That smirk on his face.

And the one of him in the dark,

Really only a profile,

A shadow with

Secrets and

Intrigue.

I have one of Rose when

She’s first glancing up from fixing her belt.

I absolutely love that photo though

I haven’t told anyone that truth yet,

Not even Trevor.

I have the one of Dad when

He came to my bedroom and

Showed his concern.

In the picture,

He doesn’t look mad or

Annoyed, but

Parental and

Distinguished.

I have the one of Gramma-Linda

Admiring the conversation between

The trees and the sky.

My eighth picture turned out to be of

Jacey.

I’d decided to include a photo of

Everyone that’s important to me.

Trevor,

Dad,

Rose,

Gramma-Linda,

Jacey, and

…

Mom.

“I WANT YOU TO BE IN THE PORTFOLIO.”

I don’t dare look at her to

Gauge her reaction.

The silence says it all.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO CHANGE A THING.”

She’s now patting her hair and

Has slicked on a pound of lipstick.

“Mom, seriously,” I say.

“I don’t want you to look all made up;

I just want you to look like you.”

When she tries to change her clothes,

I put my foot down.

“No, you’re going to ruin it.”

“Did you bring your camera?”

I hold up my camera, which

I retrieved from my car ten minutes ago.

She probably didn’t notice because

She was freaking over her chipped toenail polish.

“Where do you want to take it?”

She sounds nervous, which

Sort of surprises me.

Mom is always perfectly composed,

Both in attitude and physical appearance.

The only other time I’ve seen her act flustered

Was when she finally came clean about her affair.

Then, I heard her voice shake with emotion;

I saw her makeup run down her face;

Felt the reverberations of her anger as she slammed the front door and

Never came home again.

“MOM, SERIOUSLY. STOP.”

I like to capture people in their natural element,

Doing what they’d do if no one was watching, and

Mom finger-combing her hair and

Brushing on five pounds of blush is

Totally not natural.

“Where do you want to sit?”

I glance around,

Suddenly realizing that I don’t quite know what

My mom likes to do in her free time.

A pang of sadness sings through me,

Reminding me that the wall between us,

Though crumbling,

Is still there.

“How about the sun room?” I suggest.

“You love reading by the big windows.”

Right? I think, but

Don’t vocalize.

She smiles, and

I wish I had my camera ready so

I could seize the vulnerability in her eyes and

Never let it go.

I take several shots as Mom settles into

An overstuffed recliner.

Her favorite chair?

“I’m not ready,” she complains.

“Just testing the light,” I tell her though

I want to catch her unaware, before

She paints over the real emotion and

Hides who she really is.

I’ve seen her do that lots of times, and

I’ve learned to watch her in those pinches of time so

I can find out how she really feels.

I move around the room,

Snapping shots to “test the light,” and

Find the best position.

The windows are black, and

I like the contrast of them against

The brightness of my mom.

I settle for a position that allows me to get

That darkness on my right and

The halo around my mom.

She’s got her feet tucked beneath her, and

If she had a cup of coffee,

The image would be perfect.

“Hold that pose.”

I dash back to the kitchen.

I grab the cup but

Leave the liquid behind.

No one will know the difference anyway.

“Pretend.” I hand her the cup.

She looks at me blankly, and

I raise the camera to

Fire off as many shots as I can get before

She wipes the confusion away.

I re-position myself near the door and

Instruct Mom to look out the window

Like she’s hoping to see a comet fall from the sky.

Click, click, click.

I don’t know what I’ve got, but

Looking at my mom,

I think it’s something good.

“ONLY NINE PHOTOS?”

Trevor says over the line.

It’s Monday night, and

He left twenty minutes ago only

To call me as soon as he got home.

“Only nine,” I say, “And

You’re not in every one, so

You should be happy about that.”

“I was supposed to be in every picture.”

His amused voice makes me smile.

“Are you saying you’re breaking our deal?”

“Shattering it,” I say.

“Who else is in the portfolio?”

He sounds too interested, and

I know he’s going to ask to see the photos before

We hang up.

“Rose,

Gramma-Linda,

Jacey,

My dad, and

My mom.”

“That’s five,” he says.

“All the people I care most about,” I say,

Barely above a whisper.

I’ve thought such a thing before—

Thought that I care about Trevor—

But I’ve never said it out loud.

It’s true, I think.

I do care about him.

A lot.

Maybe you could kiss him soon—

“And there’s four of me,” he says,

Interrupting my almost spiraling thoughts.

“Which totally means you care about me four times as much.”

“More than Rose?” I tease,

Wishing my heart didn’t try to

Beat out of my chest at the

Sound of his sexy chuckle,

Wishing I wasn’t thinking of

Kissing him next time I saw him.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

Thankfully, my voice doesn’t betray

My thoughts,

My rippling pulse,

My desire to kiss him.

“Oh, it’s possible,” he says.

“How’d the picture of your mom turn out?”

“Good,” I hedge,

My emotions quieting.

“The contrast is perfect, but

I might have to crop it so

It’s the right aspect ratio.”

“When can I see them?”

“When I submit them,” I say,

“So I can’t work on them anymore, and

All you’ll be able to tell me is how awesome they are.”

“I already know they’re awesome.”

“WHO SHOULD BE IN THE TENTH PICTURE?”

I lean away from the computer,

Already knowing the answer in

My heart, but

Not wanting to admit it out loud.

“I’M NOT IN LOVE WITH HIM,”

I tell Jacey that weekend.

“So we had a nice dinner at his house.

His mom was there, and

He ordered pizza.

It’s not like he baked me anything.”

She swirls her straw and

Won’t look at me.

“Any kissing?”

“No,” I say,

Clearing my throat.

“This is lame, but…

I’m afraid.”

Her eyes finally meet mine.

“Of what?

You’ve kissed him before.”

“Of falling in love with him,” I whisper.

“THAT’S STUPID,”

Jacey says.

“Falling hurts,” I say, “And

What if he doesn’t fall with me?”

I shake my head,

Aware that I sound ridiculous.

I can’t help remembering how Harris had said,

“I am in love with you,” and how

I hadn’t understood it.

I’m still not sure I do, but

With Trevor,

At least I understand

Why people use the word falling

To describe love.

Falling is wild, and

Uncontrollable, and

Utterly breathtaking.

I can’t change how I feel about Trevor, even

Though I’ve tried for a long time.

I can’t stop myself from falling, and

I think I might’ve even taken that first step into

The unknown.

“Maybe falling is the awesome thing about love,”

Jacey says,

Bringing me back to

The picnic table at the outdoor mall.

“Maybe when you fall,

He’ll go with you.

Or maybe…”

She looks up at me from under

Her bangs.

“Maybe he’s been falling for a while, and

He’s just now starting to pull you with him.”

“OLIVIA!”

Mom yells from downstairs.

“We’ve been ready to go for ten minutes!”

“I know!” I call back.

“Five more minutes.”

I leave my laptop on my bed and

Dash to the top of the stairs.

Mom stands in the foyer,

Frowning.

“I’m uploading the portfolio,” I say.

“It’s due by midnight.”

She glances at her watch, though

She already knows what time it is.

She sighs. “We’ll be in the car.”

I hurry back to my computer.

Seven of the ten images are complete.

I watch the eighth one render,

Knowing it’s the one of Gramma-Linda.

I’ve labeled the portfolio “Something About Love,” and

I can only hope the judges will be able to see

The spirit I’ve captured in each image.

Trevor texts, but

I ignore it as the tenth picture begins it’s upload.

It comes up on screen, and

I stare into my eyes.

Wide, and

Blue,

I’m staring into the camera without smiling.

I look like I have important things to tell you, but

That you’ll have to work to get me to speak.

I look a tad haunted,

My hair laying in a jagged layer across my forehead, and

My left hand cradling my cheek.

I look like a survivor.

SENT

I text Trevor as Mom pulls out of the driveway.

His message that had come in during the upload had said:

Five hours! Have you sent it yet?

Him: Yes! I want my copy pronto.

I smile as I type.

Can’t. My mom dragged me out of the house

Immediately afterward.

We’re on our way to a concert in the city.

Overnight.

No Internet.

No computer.

Him: I hate you right now.

I laugh right out loud, causing

Rose to look over and ask,

“What are you laughing at, Livvy?”

“YOUR PICTURES ARE AMAZING,”

Trevor says when I answer the phone on

Sunday night.

I’ve been home maybe ten minutes,

Having just returned from the concert with my mom.

I glance at Dad, who’s

Watching me with interest.

I mouth, It’s Trevor, and

Head for my bedroom.

“You haven’t seen my pictures,” I tell him.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says.

“All the portfolios are online.”

I trip over my own feet,

My breath stalling in my throat.

“You’re kidding.”

I’m not ready for the world to see my pictures.

The Internet…everyone has access to the freaking Internet!

I throw my arm out and

Grip the wall for support.

A moan cuts through my throat.

“You are masterful with a camera,” he continues

As if I’m not dying a slow death right there in

My hallway.

“And I have to say,

That male model in four of the pictures is

Pretty dang hot.”

That elicits a laugh from me, but

It sounds breathy and

Weak.

“I’m out front,” he says.

“Come out, okay?”

He hangs up before

I can confirm.

I stand in the hall for another few seconds,

Trying to figure out why

I’m so scared people will see my photos.

I entered the contest.

“I entered the contest,” I say out loud,

Turning to go downstairs to meet Trevor.

“DON’T SAY ANYTHING.”

I hold up my hand as I fly down my front steps.

He’s leaning against his car, and

He pushes to a stand as I approach.

“I need to talk, okay?”

He nods, his lips pressed tightly closed.

“Thank you,” I say,

Forcing the words out.

“For making me enter that contest.

For letting me shoot you, and

Reminding me that I love taking pictures.”

“You’re welcome.”

He threads his fingers between mine.

“Done?”

“No,” I say, going with

My new reactionary philosophy.

“I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but

I think I have

Fallen

In love

With

Y

O

U.”

“IT’S ABOUT TIME,”

He whispers before

Bringing his arms around me,

Leaning down, and

Brushing his lips against mine.

My breath stalls, because

He pulls back so fast.

My eyes are closed;

My heart is skipping;

His kiss was too short.

When his mouth touches mine again,

He holds on, and

Kisses me like

He loves me.

“I DIDN’T WIN,”

I say,

Leaning away from the computer,

Where the results of the

California Junior Photography in Excellence award

Have just been announced.

My phone chimes several times, and

I reach over and mute the text notifications.

I don’t want to talk it through with Jacey, or

Read Trevor’s condolences.

Dad’s hand on my shoulder is

Heavy enough.

“Aiko Park had a beautiful portfolio,” I say,

My voice too high.

Hers was at least cohesive.

I should’ve known better than to turn in a portfolio

With four of the same subject.

The first runner up appears in the stream

Coming from the state site.

It’s not me.

Lucas Greene’s ten pictures float across the screen, and

They are stunning images of

Athletes.

The second runner up is Mikayla Sorenson.

She took masterful photos.

I don’t know why, but

I thought the love I felt for each of the people

In my photos would be evident.

Enough to capture the heart of

Anyone who looked at them.

I close my laptop,

Not caring to know who took third,

Knowing it wasn’t me.

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR $2500?”

Trevor asks when I finally pick up his call

Later that night.

“What are you talking about?”

I haven’t looked at my phone in hours, because

He and Jacey have been bombarding me with texts

I don’t want to read.

“You winning third place?” he asks.

“I thought you were watching the live feed.”

I sit up in bed,

My heart palpitating.

“Are you saying I won third place?”

“Are you saying you didn’t know?”

“Meet me at the dock,” I tell him,

Barely managing to hang up before

I scream.

After that,

The silence sounds so loud,

Like it’s not quite sure that I won third place either.

“DAD, I’M MEETING TREVOR FOR A FEW MINUTES.”

I rush past Dad’s office on

My way to the front door.

“Wait a second,” he calls.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the dock.

Ten minutes, I swear.”

I can’t stop smiling, and

I swear my heart has never beat this fast before.

“I won third place!”

His brow furrows for a moment, then

He yells.

“You won third place!”

He reaches for his jacket and

Calls to Rose.

“Let me drive you.

We’ll go celebrate.”

MY DAD IS WITH ME

I text Trevor, so

He’ll have some warning, but

I find I don’t care if

My dad is with me.

Trevor is sitting in his car when

We get there, because

It’s windy and cold tonight.

He either didn’t get the text, or

Doesn’t care, because

He leaps from the car and

Gathers me into a tight hug

Right in front of my father.

I hold onto his warmth,

Not caring who sees us here,

Hugging.

I don’t need to hide anything

From anyone

Anymore.

I give him a squeeze,

Hoping he’ll be able to take how I feel and

Recognize it.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and

He buries his face in my neck and says,

“I found you.

I love you.”

About Elana Johnson:

Elana Johnson is the author of the Possession series, which includes full-length novels POSSESSION, SURRENDER, and ABANDON, and short stories REGRET (ebook only) and RESIST (free).

She is also the author of ELEVATED and SOMETHING ABOUT LOVE, standalone young adult contemporary romance novels-in-verse.

Her Elemental series includes prequel novella, ELEMENTAL RUSH (which is free!), full-length futuristic fantasy novel, ELEMENTAL HUNGER, and a concluding novella, ELEMENTAL RELEASE (also free).

Elana wishes she could experience her first kiss again, tell the mean girl where to shove it, and have cool superpowers like reading minds and controlling fire. To fulfill her desires, she writes young adult novels. She runs a personal blog on publishing and is a founding author of the QueryTracker blog, a regular contributor to The League of Extraordinary Writers, and a co-organizer of WriteOnCon.

Find her on Facebook, twitter, tumblr, Wattpad, or her blog.

If you liked this book, please take a few minutes to leave a review for it. Authors (Elana included!) really appreciate this, and it helps draw more readers to books they might like. Thanks!

READ MORE OF ELANA'S BOOKS:

Possession

Surrender

Abandon

Resist (free)

Regret

Elemental Rush (free)

Elemental Hunger

Elemental Release (free)

Elevated

Something About Love

SOMETHING ABOUT LOVE

Copyright © 2014 by Elana Johnson

Published by AEJ Creative Works

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover Design by Erin Summerill Photography

Interior Design by AEJ Creative Works

Fonts used: Windsong - Fontsquirrel.com

Cover photograph © Andrekart Photography - Shutterstock.com

Find Elana on the web!

http://elanajohnson.blogspot.com

http://twitter.com/ElanaJ

Table of Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

About Elana Johnson

Copyright