After some negotiation, he got started. Ms. Camille brought him a ladder from the back closet, and he popped open the paint cans to reveal a striking green.
When the brush first hit the bricks, Benji’s hand shook. The obnoxious neon color left him laughing on the ladder. As silly as this idea seemed in his head, he was glad he went through with it. With every stroke of the brush over the gloomy building, he painted away his stress. He forgot about death. About time. All he thought about was green.
Ignoring the crowd of adults that had formed around his ladder, Benji pictured one of his old drawings, a silhouette of a town at night. At first he chose to leave it in shades of gray, but he eventually took the risk and attacked the page with bright watercolors. He decided he’d made a mistake, that he should have shaded it and left it at that. But the painting grew on him, and now it was one of his favorites.
Watching the building fade green in front of him, he imagined his dark gray sketch morphing into a bright image. Once you paint bricks, you can never go back. They can be painted over again, sure. But they can never revert to their natural brick color. It was the same as his drawing. He couldn’t change his mind. He had to live with it.
All of Wishville would have to live with his choice today. Whether or not coloring the tiny building in the center of a blank canvas was a mistake, they had no say in the matter. This was a permanent change, and although small, it made Benji powerful.
He wasn’t sure how long the painting took. By the time he finished, the crowd observing him had vanished, and the sun lay on the horizon. All Benji remembered while he worked was Ms. Camille emerging from inside the shop once in a while, biting her fingernails and facing the wet paint with raised brows. But once he had finished, stepped off the ladder, and observed his work, Ms. Camille handed him a cup of coffee from Seaside Cafe.
“You know, I have to admit that it’s growing on me.” She set her hands on her hips, gazing at the neon building of hers. “In fact, it might even help me with business.”
Benji took a sip of coffee. It was bitter, not a drop of sugar inside, and he did his best not to pucker his lips. He forgot that Ms. Camille was a black coffee fan. “Thanks.”
“I should be the one to thank you.” She eyed his clothes. There were splatters of green all over his black sweatshirt, and his jeans had a few drips on them. “Look at you. You’re a mess.”
“I’m a mess in a lot of ways.” Benji pulled at his sweatshirt, measuring the damage. “I think I kinda like it, though. Has an artsy feel.”
Ms. Camille laughed with him. It was the first time he had a real conversation with the woman. Most of their interactions took place when Rebecca stopped by and he happened to be with her, or a quick hello on his way to Seaside Cafe on the rare occasion Ms. Camille stood outside. But today was different, and it was pleasant.
“Please, come in.”
Benji shut the door behind them.
“You know, for a teenager you’re not too bad.” Ms. Camille rushed around the room, searching for a worthy flower. She finally settled on a pot with a mustard yellow orchid and handed it to him. “Deliver this to Rebecca for me, will you?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
“And if I may ask, where’d this idea come from?”
“Thought it’d be fun to spice up the square a bit.”
“You’re not doing this because you feel guilty for breaking my window, are you?”
Benji shook his head. “I swear—that was all Jett!”
“Oh, I’m just messing with you. Those Griffins are always causing problems. But you’re quite the creative kid.” She scooped her keys from the counter, preparing to lock the shop. “A lot like your father. We should both head home. It’s getting late.”
Before leaving the square, Benji stood by the fountain in the courtyard, observing his work.
“Interesting.”
Mayor Perkins emerged next to him. He had a hand on his chin as he studied the neon building. “I heard you’re responsible for this. Is that true?”
Benji didn’t look at him. “I had permission from Ms. Camille. You can ask if you want. I wouldn’t just paint it without—”
“I’m not accusing you of a crime.” The mayor laughed. “I found it odd, that’s all.”
“Yeah it’s a weird color.”
“Have you and Sam made up lately?”
Benji tightened his grip on the pot.
“I hope you can forgive her for what she told us. Really, she did the right thing.” Benji flinched as Mayor Perkins wrapped a hot arm around him. “Leaving town is dangerous. She only told us because she wants to keep you safe.”
Benji stepped away as casually as possible, nearly running into the fountain. “I know.”
“We forgive you for what you tried to do, and we know it won’t happen again. But I still can’t help but be concerned.” He paused, and his carefree voice deepened. “Look, if something is going on with you, I want you to talk to me. The last thing I want is Sam or the others getting pulled into some kind of danger.”
Benji forced himself to loosen his grip on the pot, worried about breaking it. “Danger?”
A gust of wind rushed past them, and the sky darkened a shade. They shivered in unison.
“You can’t walk home in this weather.” Mayor Perkins zipped his jacket. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
* * *
Rebecca stood in the dining room when Benji arrived, arms crossed. He had already been expecting a lecture for coming home late, but when he shut the front door behind him, her face softened. “Your clothes.” She eyed the paint splatters and smudges on his arms. “What happened to you?”
“I painted Ms. Camille’s shop.”
She uncrossed her arms, her stance loosening. “You painted what?”
“I painted the flower shop.”
Rebecca backed away from him, collapsing into a chair. “Painted the shop.”
“Are you mad?”
“No, of course not.” She leaned over in her seat and rested her face in her hands. “But why?”
Something about Rebecca’s reaction made Benji sick. He wanted her to lash out—to order him to his room and leave him in peace. But instead, she tried to understand him. And that was perhaps the scariest part.
“Don’t worry.” Benji sat in the seat next to her. “I got permission first.”
“That’s not the point. I want you to tell me what’s going on with you. You’ve been acting so strange lately.”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. You seem . . . distant.”
Benji wanted to tell her. He wanted to stand from his seat and scream that he wasn’t okay. That in four days, he’d be dead. That in four days, this would all be over. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t accept the thought of dying. That he’d been trying to enjoy his last moments, but the pain of leaving the world behind kept him from sleeping. That he’d lost his appetite since he opened the envelope. That he didn’t feel like himself anymore.
But instead, he leaned over to retie his shoelace. “That’s weird.”
Rebecca dropped her hands from her face. “I had this same feeling before your dad left.”
He bit his cheek.
Your new friends are a lie.
Your paint is a lie
Your new colors are a lie.
Benji bit his cheek harder, trying to force the thoughts from running through his head. The thoughts he’d been suppressing for the last few days. The thoughts that haunted him as he lay restless in his bed at night. But no matter how much blood dripped inside his mouth, he couldn’t keep the thoughts from flowing.
“Mom.” Benji relaxed his jaw and pulled a smile, but his eyes were on the back wall. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
She shook her head. “You never told me
you wanted to cut your hair.”
“I didn’t know I should have.”
Your hair is a lie.
“And what was with that nightmare you had last night?”
Your dream is a lie.
“It was just a normal nightma—”
“You haven’t had a nightmare like that since you were seven!”
Your life is a lie.
He folded his hands on his lap, crushing his fingers together until they were sore. “Relax, I’m fine.” He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to anymore—Rebecca, or himself.
She stared at him for a while, right into his untruthful eyes. Although his will ordered him to look away, he stared back. They held still, each waiting for the other to give in.
“Okay.” There were bumps in Rebecca’s voice. “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
As Benji watched her feel the fabric of her sleeve, he couldn’t keep his eyes from watering. He’d be leaving her soon. He’d have to say goodbye to the one person in town whose trust he valued most. Even if she didn’t believe his story—even if she never understood him—the thought of leaving her frightened him. It hurt because she was trying. She was doing her best. But her best wasn’t enough to keep him in Wishville.
Benji stood with another painful grin. “I better clean myself up.” As much as he tried to feel guilty for his lies, he couldn’t. The pride was overwhelming. Before this week, he had never been such a successful liar.
She pulled a loose thread from her sleeve.
“Goodnight, Mom.” He could still taste the blood from his cheek. “I love you.”
CHAPTER 20
liar
“Does Rebecca know you’re here?”
“Told her not to bother me while I studied.” Benji grinned. “She was overjoyed to give me some hours of peace.”
“You tricky fool.” Oliver shook his head with a stern look, but it dissipated with a dose of humor. He took a step back, holding the door open for Benji. “What are you standing for? Come inside.”
Benji stood at the entrance of Oliver’s home, trying to gather the right words. The man dropped his hand from the door handle and leaned against the wall inside. He was always great at giving Benji space.
Finally, the boy spoke. “Could we, maybe, stay out here today?” He turned around and took a seat on the highest step of the porch. The wooden boards crackled below him as Oliver shut the door and lowered his stiff body onto the wooden step.
Benji didn’t look at him. He watched the waves twirl in the distance through the heaps of redwood trees ahead of them. The vague echo of a song filled the back of his head, a song the ocean danced to. A song he was soon to meet.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Benji peeled his focus from the tantalizing waves and instead observed how the long wisps of grass in the clearing shivered in the wind. “I guess I realized the world will go on without me.”
“There’s no fault in the fact.”
“No, I guess not.” Benji took a deep breath, finally gathering the courage to say what he had come here to say. “Oliver.” He shifted himself in the man’s direction with a weak grin. “I came here to say goodbye.”
“Benji, you—”
“Really, I have to.” His voice trembled, so he turned back to the evergreen trees. It hurt less that way. “Through all of this, you’ve been the only one to understand me. So, thank you. For everything.”
Benji thought about how many needles each tree branch had, how many branches in a tree, and how many trees stood surrounding them. Then he shut his eyes, imagining how many grains of sand rested at the shore, how many droplets of rain filled the sea, how many insects were burying themselves into the dirt at that very moment.
“To think of how much there might be.” Oliver gave him a telepathic stare, and the two simultaneously burst into laughter. It was Oliver who helped him understand himself. It was Oliver who helped him understand the world. And it was Oliver whom he would remember as his most faithful friend.
Once their humor died, he set a firm hand on Benji’s shoulder. “Everything going according to plan?”
“Perfectly. Doesn’t seem like anyone suspects anything.” He fidgeted with his fingers. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
Oliver smiled. “Good.”
It was meant to be a peaceful silence, but it burned more than it soothed. Benji held back tears. There was no point in crying. One more day, and his life in Wishville would be dead and gone. All of this, everything that stood in front of him, it wouldn’t matter anymore. Those tree needles, grains of sand by the shore, and burrowing insects would be as insignificant as his old life here in this tired town.
“I think I’m ready.”
“You think?”
“I mean, I know.” Benji nodded his head. “I know I’m ready.”
“That’s more like it.”
They sat for a while longer on the porch steps. Two misunderstood men on top of an untouched hill. Two outcasts. Two crazies. They understood each other more than anyone else could. In a span of only a few minutes in the soft, salty wind, it was as though they had been speaking for hours. Enough had been said. This was the end.
This was goodbye.
Benji stood and offered Oliver his hand. He took it, using Benji’s support to get back on his feet. Their eyes caught for only a fraction of a second before Benji witnessed him disappear. One blink ago he had stared at his back, and the next he was faced with nothing but a wooden door.
After waving softly at the old house, Benji stuck his frosty hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and vanished in the trees of Eudora.
* * *
Benji believed this to be his last trip down Eudora Hill.
It was oddly eerie today. Twigs crunched beneath him like bones in a cave. The sky was darker, and although the moment with Oliver had been peaceful, he felt his heart pounding. He went from walking to running, the twigs crunching faster, wind smacking his face harder, his legs reaching—
“Benji.”
The voice had slipped into the air. Only a soft mumble. He couldn’t tell where it came from.
Benji froze, skidding across the dirt from his hasty deceleration. Someone was here, on Eudora? That didn’t make sense. Curiosity burned him from the inside, but fear overpowered him for once. After a deep breath, he calmed his nerves and continued walking. I’m imagining things.
“Benji Marino?”
He curled his fingers into fists, but when he turned around, his tense body relaxed. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same.” Chloe ran her hand along the trunk of tree, feeling its bark. “Except I know the answer.”
“Answer?” Benji chuckled and shook his head. “I felt like taking a hike, that’s all.”
“I knew it!” She ripped a piece of bark from the tree, still yet to look at him. “You can lie now.”
Benji tucked his hands into his sweatshirt. It was getting colder. “Look, I really have to get home—”
“Before your mom realizes you snuck out the window?”
Benji glued his feet to the hill.
“I saw you come down from Eudora yesterday. With those buckets of paint. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve hiked up this hill.” She tossed the piece of bark in the air, and it fluttered down to Benji’s feet. “You’ve been visiting Stricket.”
Benji sighed. “I can explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re letting him get into your head. I know he’s the reason why you’ve been acting so weird lately. The reason you cut your hair. The reason you haven’t been spending time with us. Don’t you see what happened to you? You’ve gone crazy, just like Stricket.”
“He goes by Oliver!” He loosened his jaw, realizing he had been clenching it. “We should both get
home.”
“You can’t expect me not to tell anyone about this. At this rate, you’re gonna get yourself killed.” She tied her hair into a low ponytail. “Of all people, you should be the most afraid of him. He’s the reason your father’s dead.”
“You don’t know the full story.”
Chloe scoffed. “I know enough.” She broke into a jog down the hill, her boot heels amplifying the crunch of twigs.
This was the end. Benji could picture it already. He could see his mom standing over him with a broken face. He’d be stuck here forever. Stuck here for his own good. And for his own good, he would die here, right where he was born. The image was unbearable. No, he couldn’t let this be the end.
He ran after her as fast as his legs would allow. “Wait!”
Their footsteps formed a steady beat. Crunch. Clack. Crunch.
“Please! I thought you could trust me.”
She stopped, and Benji nearly fell trying to avoid running into her. He regained his balance, standing with heavy breaths.
“All I want is for the four of us to be together again.” She faced him with red cheeks.
“Do you trust me?” Benji asked.
She kicked at a tree root.
“Chloe?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, I trust you.”
“Then please, don’t tell anyone about this.” He rubbed his arms, the cold reaching him again. “I’ll stop talking to Oliver, okay? In a few days everything will go back to normal. I promise.”
“Alright, deal.” There was something foreign within her hazel eyes. A certain flair he couldn’t understand. “But eventually, I’ll be expecting an explanation from you.”
“Thanks.” The relief flooded him, but he didn’t let it show. He walked down the hill, and after a few steps, glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and Chloe?”
Her eyes caught his with a jolt, as if he had interrupted a lengthy trail of thought. “Yeah?”
“Goodbye.”
CHAPTER 21
violin
Sam struck the bow against her violin with intense focus, but the notes she played were tangled and twisted beyond saving. She was playing underwater, playing while drowning, trying to keep herself afloat, trying to breathe, but failing. The notes were muted by the current. It was cold. Suffocating. Yet she kept playing.
Leaving Wishville Page 12