moment in time into something I could keep, without a camera. This is not Black Arts or something freaky.
This is me . And he doesn’t like it.
“Wren, please, you need to understand—”
I can hear his voice breaking, but it doesn’t mean anything. His fingers twining around mine don’t mean anything. I worked hard on the photos I took, because I wanted him to love them. But giving him this moment? That’s what I was looking forward to. The magic I could share with him, and only him. That I wanted to share with him.
I stare into his eyes, dark gray now, the color of storm clouds and slate, the color they turn when he’s upset, concerned about me, trying hard to do the right thing.
But maybe it’s just the evening’s darkness. Maybe his eyes don’t really change shades with his moods, and it’s just a trick of the light.
Maybe it’s all just a trick of the light.
“I understand,” I say, and I’m proud that my voice is steady. “I understand everything. Good night, Gabriel.”
I don’t know when he and Olivia leave. I turn off my light and put my headphones on as soon I get to my room, and I stare at the wall beside my bed for hours, music unheard, more staticky noise in my head.
In the morning, sometime just after dawn, I take my phone out of the drawer in my bedside table and check the contact list.
I find J. BAYLISS there, and FIONA .
And I know exactly what I’m going to do today.
Chapter Ten
MOM IS STILL IN HER PAJAMAS WHEN I’M getting ready to leave the house at noon. Curled on the sofa with a book, she looks up when I clatter into the front hall. “Going out?”
She sounds casual, but I know better. She was understanding enough not to bother me last night, and she still hasn’t said a word about me blowing up the stairs without saying good night to anyone, but she’s watching me. She’s my mom, she gets to do that, and I understand that she’s worried, but I don’t want to talk about it yet.
“Yeah. I have my phone.”
She puts her book down and stands up, grabbing her empty mug off the coffee table. “Meeting Jess and Dar?”
Damn it, I knew I wasn’t going to get away without at least a couple of questions.
“Maybe later.” I pick through the coatrack, looking for my other scarf, mostly so I don’t have to face Mom. “I was going to meet some other people first. For pizza,” I add, and could kick myself. Extra details are always a bad idea. I’m going to have to remember that I was supposed to be going to Cosimo’s if she mentions it later.
“Should I ask if Gabriel is part of this plan?”
The fringed end of my green-striped scarf brushes my fingers when I push aside Robin’s soccer jacket, and I grab it before I turn around. Mom has moved over to the front door, and she has her back to it now, as if she has all day to slouch there chatting. I sigh.
“It would be cool if you didn’t. Ask, I mean.”
She considers me for a minute, arms folded over her chest, her empty mug dangling from one hand. Her hair is piled on top of her head with a butterfly clip, messy and unbrushed, and in her robe and her old plaid pajama pants, she looks like a Sunday morning. Warm and comfortable and full of time. For a second, it’s tempting to walk into her arms and let the whole ugly mess spill out.
But a part of me doesn’t want to have to admit that Gabriel is more narrow-minded than I expected. And a smaller part—minuscule, atom-sized—maybe doesn’t want my mom to think less of him, because as mad as I am, I’m not ready to call him an asshole and start a smear campaign.
Anger is hot and bright, burning through everything it touches. You can warm your hands in the flames, at least for a little while.
A broken heart just hurts.
Mom sighs and comes over to hug me anyway, just long enough that I feel a little better but not ready to give in and burst into tears. “You know I’m here. And we can talk whenever you want, if you want to.”
All I can do is nod.
This is me . And he doesn’t like it.
“Wren, please, you need to understand—”
I can hear his voice breaking, but it doesn’t mean anything. His fingers twining around mine don’t mean anything. I worked hard on the photos I took, because I wanted him to love them. But giving him this moment? That’s what I was looking forward to. The magic I could share with him, and only him. That I wanted to share with him.
I stare into his eyes, dark gray now, the color of storm clouds and slate, the color they turn when he’s upset, concerned about me, trying hard to do the right thing.
But maybe it’s just the evening’s darkness. Maybe his eyes don’t really change shades with his moods, and it’s just a trick of the light.
Maybe it’s all just a trick of the light.
“I understand,” I say, and I’m proud that my voice is steady. “I understand everything. Good night, Gabriel.”
I don’t know when he and Olivia leave. I turn off my light and put my headphones on as soon I get to my room, and I stare at the wall beside my bed for hours, music unheard, more staticky noise in my head.
In the morning, sometime just after dawn, I take my phone out of the drawer in my bedside table and check the contact list.
I find J. BAYLISS there, and FIONA .
And I know exactly what I’m going to do today.
Chapter Ten
MOM IS STILL IN HER PAJAMAS WHEN I’M getting ready to leave the house at noon. Curled on the sofa with a book, she looks up when I clatter into the front hall. “Going out?”
She sounds casual, but I know better. She was understanding enough not to bother me last night, and she still hasn’t said a word about me blowing up the stairs without saying good night to anyone, but she’s watching me. She’s my mom, she gets to do that, and I understand that she’s worried, but I don’t want to talk about it yet.
“Yeah. I have my phone.”
She puts her book down and stands up, grabbing her empty mug off the coffee table. “Meeting Jess and Dar?”
Damn it, I knew I wasn’t going to get away without at least a couple of questions.
“Maybe later.” I pick through the coatrack, looking for my other scarf, mostly so I don’t have to face Mom. “I was going to meet some other people first. For pizza,” I add, and could kick myself. Extra details are always a bad idea. I’m going to have to remember that I was supposed to be going to Cosimo’s if she mentions it later.
“Should I ask if Gabriel is part of this plan?”
The fringed end of my green-striped scarf brushes my fingers when I push aside Robin’s soccer jacket, and I grab it before I turn around. Mom has moved over to the front door, and she has her back to it now, as if she has all day to slouch there chatting. I sigh.
“It would be cool if you didn’t. Ask, I mean.”
She considers me for a minute, arms folded over her chest, her empty mug dangling from one hand. Her hair is piled on top of her head with a butterfly clip, messy and unbrushed, and in her robe and her old plaid pajama pants, she looks like a Sunday morning. Warm and comfortable and full of time. For a second, it’s tempting to walk into her arms and let the whole ugly mess spill out.
But a part of me doesn’t want to have to admit that Gabriel is more narrow-minded than I expected. And a smaller part—minuscule, atom-sized—maybe doesn’t want my mom to think less of him, because as mad as I am, I’m not ready to call him an asshole and start a smear campaign.
Anger is hot and bright, burning through everything it touches. You can warm your hands in the flames, at least for a little while.
A broken heart just hurts.
Mom sighs and comes over to hug me anyway, just long enough that I feel a little better but not ready to give in and burst into tears. “You know I’m here. And we can talk whenever you want, if you want to.”
All I can do is nod.
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