Butterflies & Characters

by Liz Hsu

  That got a chuckle from him. “I’m not the best boyfriend and I didn’t call enough when you were in the hospital, but I didn’t cheat on you,” he said seriously. “I saw Jeffery giving me the stink-eye and I want to clear the air before he forgets to block for me and I get my ribs crushed in at the next football game. But Carolyn, that girl’s not your friend.”

  I stiffened. It made me burn more than a bag of Takis that Carolyn would do something like Jeffery said she had. And I trusted Jeffery. I should have trusted Jeffery when he warned me about her the first time.

  “I’m not the best, but I’m not the worst, either,” Ross said. “Even I wouldn’t cheat on a girlfriend in the hospital. Karma, pretty girl. I did like our time together. God, who else do you think I would go months without sex for? No one, that’s for damn sure. But I can’t do Michigan, not even for a jaw-dropper like you. Get better, ya hear?”

  I wiped my cheek. “You’re still a dog, just not a mongrel. Good luck this year.”

  His voice turned serious again. “I do hope you get better.”

  “Bye, Ross.” Stupid as I was, more tears slipped out. He’d been my first boyfriend, after all.

  “Bye, Rayanne,” he whispered and the phone clicked off.

  I looked around my tiny bedroom in the downtown condo and realized this wasn’t just the guest room. Now it was my room. I got my sketching supplies back out and poured my emotions onto the page for hours, crafting a self-portrait of running at the beach. This would be the only way I’d be running in the sun for a while.

  I drew until Dad came home with a late lunch. He looked at my puffy eyes and opened his arms. I was happy to sink into them, realizing how much I was starting to miss all the hugging from my little sisters and Jeff.

  “Chrissy will be going to the lawyer tomorrow, and they’ll submit something early next week to change the custody,” he said, still holding me close. “Make sure you let her know anything else you want from home and I can pay for it to be shipped. Week after next we can go to Rosalind Franklin High School and get you enrolled in classes.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I hugged him tighter for a minute, then stepped away.

  He scratched his neck. “And before my school starts up, I’ll move my office out here and we can buy you a desk and whatever else you need to make it feel more like home in there.”

  We both glanced around the tiny condo. It would be tight, but he could make space somewhere in the living room, or even in his bedroom.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I like seeing your books. You can leave the ones you won’t use this semester.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to watch Charles’s band practice tonight at his place.”

  “Yeah?” Dad said with a growing grin. When he smiled, it warmed up his whole face. “Charles is a fantastic kid. I’m glad you’ll have some friends here when you start the school year.”

  I nodded mutely, but smiled. Charles had known me for years and always been kind. I trusted he’d help me settle in. There was something steady and comforting about him. I just hoped his friends were as nice.

  “But still, take it easy, okay?”

  I assured him I would. It wasn’t like I had too much around here to do—just think about the changes in my life.

  “Maybe we could do something too?” he said. “They have an architecture Brown Bag tomorrow morning. It’ll be, um, professors and graduate students talking about their research projects. One of the students in my Economics of Urban Planning course mentioned it. I’d like to go and, if you’d like, we could both go.”

  “You’d take me?” Not only would it be something to do, but Dad was inviting me.

  He blushed like my question embarrassed him. “Of course. Maybe it’d be boring for you, but it’ll be about architecture.”

  “I’d love to go,” I assured him, and gestured to the takeout he’d brought. “Now about this phở . I’m starving.”

  I opened the door to Charles’s Forester that evening, trying to fake a bravery I didn’t feel. “I’m staying,” I announced.

  Charles gave me his familiar lopsided grin with one dimple showing, and a little tension eased out of me. “That’s great,” he said as he backed up the car. “What did everyone say back home?”

  I fiddled with the seatbelt strap. “Mom and Dad worked it out, or I guess their lawyers are going to. My best friend was glad because he wants me to be healthy and, well, my boyfriend said okay, but he wouldn’t be my boyfriend anymore.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry to hear that.”

  I tried to brush it off. “No worries. It’da been tricky to stay together here anyhoo. And honestly, the writing’s been on the wall a few weeks, but I hadn’t taken the plunge yet…” I let my voice trail off. A part of me was even relieved. Ever since prom, I’d asked myself more often why I was even with Ross.

  Kaleo’s “Automobile” came on the stereo, and rather than continue the inquisition, I said, “Can I turn it up? I like this song.” And I was done with the conversation.

  Charles chuckled and turned it up. “Me too. We saw them in Grand Rapids last spring. They’re amazing in concert.”

  We rode in comfortable silence except for the radio until we reached his place, where the worry I’d make the wrong friends, like Carolyn, or even to some extent Ross, surged again. I’d hated starting high school. What if these people didn’t like me? Charles was, like, a genius. What if all his friends were too, and thought I was ignorant or country? I winced as my shorts frayed a little shorter before I jerked my hand away from the hemline. Oh, heck. At this rate I’d need another pair by the end of the week. I closed my eyes, suddenly afraid to get out of the car.

  When I opened them, Charles gave me a small smile of encouragement, and we exited the car together. His light gray, two story Dutch Colonial house was almost as familiar to me as Dad’s condo. His mom was super friendly, if overwhelmingly concerned about my health. I had to reassure her four times at the shoe rack I didn’t need anything before she went back into her office.

  I gestured toward his huge grand piano in the living room. “Will you play me your competition songs?”

  Charles looked stunned by my request, but he nodded and sat down. “This is Liszt’s ‘La Campanella’ from the Grandes Etudes de Paganini.” Then he rolled his wrists and took a deep breath before his hands came alive.

  I watched him, transfixed, as his agile fingers flew across the keys. As I observed the passion and complete concentration with which he played, it hit me that Charles was beautiful. He didn’t look like a Calvin Klein model, like Ross had, but he’d matured into his tall, lanky frame and angular cheekbones even since last January, and his skin was a vibrant gold. His shaggy black haircut suited him. His hands and the sound they were making mesmerized me—I’d never seen or heard anything like it.

  Unbidden heat coursed through me as I imagined what those dexterous fingers would feel like, playing across me, sliding across my skin. Would they hold that much skill and passion? I hoped I wasn’t blushing. This was Charles, my only friend here, and yet suddenly I couldn’t un-see it: Charles was handsome.

  When he finally finished and looked up at me, I hoped he couldn’t read my thoughts. Heat still sizzled through me. Despite my best intentions, I twisted the hem of my shorts again.

  “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen or heard,” I whispered, still half-transfixed. “I hope you win.”

  It was his turn to blush. When he glanced down, he looked more like himself—the Charles I’d built Legos and snowmen with. Yet now, I couldn’t un-see him as anything but attractive as he looked back up at me with his keen, almond-shaped eyes. He was striking in a way no one from my small island in South Georgia was, or at least no one I’d been friends with.

  “It still needs work,” he said modestly.

  “Are you g
oing to introduce us or what?” someone asked, breaking our stare-off. I turned to see a short, black haired guy standing there holding a guitar case littered with decals. He wasn’t smiling. Nor did he look friendly.

  Behind him walked in Knox and a guy so stinking cute with wicked hipster black-rimmed glasses, close-shaved hair, and wearing a fitted charcoal shirt that just showed so much yum. Two adorable dimples popped when he flashed a blinding smile at me that contrasted even more beautifully with the backdrop of his ebony complexion.

  “Yeah. Basement?” Charles asked scrambling out of the piano bench.

  Oops. I hoped he didn’t see me checking out his friend, but goodness me.

  Knox bumped my shoulder and said, “Hi, Ray,” as we got to the staircase.

  “Hiya, Knox.”

  As soon as we reached the basement, Knox indicated to the guy with the guitar case decorated with decals in what I assumed was Korean, judging by the South Korean Flag one. “Kevin the bass guitarist.”

  “Hi. Ray,” I said with a wave.

  He just grunted.

  “And James is the vocalist,” Knox said not missing a beat. “He’s even cooler, which was already cooler than these robot nerds—”

  “—Knox,” Kevin interrupted.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Robots are awesome. Anyway, James is even cooler than he used to be being a Freshman at Michigan now.”

  “Nice to meet you Ray,” James said with a firm handshake. His large, warm hand dwarfed mine. My skin suddenly seemed even more pale in his grasp, and was a stark reminder of my time this summer avoiding the sun and my new lupus diagnosis.

  Knox pointed to Charles, “You know our lead guitarist-slash-occasional keyboardist. And school prodigy.” He pointed to himself. “And yours truly on the drums. Now you have met The Snowblowers. Be ready to be awed by our awesomeness.”

  “Honored,” I said with a laugh grateful Knox broke up my nerves of meeting new people with his strange humor.

  The guys set up their equipment, which took time because Knox moved the drums back and forth between his house and Charles’s. I took out my sketchbook and drew until they were ready to play.

  No one from back home played an instrument and I certainly never had. It was kind of amazing to watch the coordination and practice it took to make one song work. They had a rock vibe, and Kevin and Knox anchored the band perfectly. James had a stunning deep voice that rocked the vocals. And Charles, and his deft hands, created the most melodious sounds.

  I couldn’t forget the look on Charles’s face as he’d played the piano for me earlier. I found myself recreating it on a page of my sketchbook as I listened to their practice. As I smudged those intense eyes, a hum of heat rolled through me and I glanced up to see those eyes on me, laced with concern. I gave him a half-grin, suddenly shyer around Charles than I’d ever felt. Self-consciously, even though he was too far away to see what I was sketching, I flipped the page and started drawing a large Georgia O’Keefe-style flower. I’d finish the Charles drawing later, when I was alone.

  I eventually fell into a comfortable, cozy rhythm, drawing and listening to them practice. Maybe living here wouldn’t be too bad.

  “I’m going upstairs for a pop,” said Kevin, interrupting my—hopefully discreet— checking out of Ray, who’d joined us again for band practice. “Anyone else want one?”

  A chorus of ‘no’s went around the basement, and Ray stood and stretched. Her long legs were sculpted. Despite a few weeks indoors they still held some glow from having lived in Savannah and wearing shorts, at least for running, most of the year.

  “Emory is my top school, you know?” Knox was saying. We’d been talking about college.

  “Why Emory?” Ray asked.

  Knox pushed his thick hair away from his eyes. “They have a good pre-med program. And maybe I’m tired of snowblowing. Atlanta is cool as shit.” When Ray didn’t immediately respond, Knox pressed, “Don’t you think so, Ray?”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “Atlanta seems nice. It’s so much bigger than Savannah or Ann Arbor. But…” She shrugged. “I don’t know it that well. Michigan and Tech have always been my top choices because they have great architecture programs. That’s Georgia Tech—sorry, we all call it just Tech back home. It’s in downtown Atlanta.”

  She’d referenced Michigan and Georgia’s most difficult-to-get-into state schools. It didn’t surprise me, given how smart she was. I wondered whether her dad would pay her tuition, like mine certainly would. She’d never mentioned private colleges like the rest of us.

  “I applied to Tech, too. They have a good robotics program. I’ve dreamed of Caltech forever, but I could stomach Tech or Michigan.” I stood, indicating by touching my thumb to my cheek that she had a smudge from her charcoal pencil.

  She blushed and rubbed her cheek. Her top school was my backup school. My own cheeks heated. Crap, that sounded rude. I hoped she hadn’t thought so.

  She looked down and mumbled, “I mean, they aren’t Caltech or anything, but I’d still be delighted just to get into one of those. Even Georgia.” She pulled on the threads of her shorts, just peeking out the bottom of the sweatshirt she’d put on when she entered the chilly basement. She looked bottomless and it was damn distracting. She pivoted back to Knox. “Why Atlanta?”

  “My grandparents live there. In Toco Hills, near Emory, so I’ve been a lot.” He brushed his hair back again and teased, “A lot of people like me down there. You know Atlantians nickname their Krogers down there? Where my grandparents live is Kosher Kroger. You should see what Toco Hills looks like on Saturday morning—people walking everywhere.”

  Ray looked posed to ask more, but before she could, James said in his rumbling voice, “My sister wants to go to school in Atlanta too.”

  At the mention of James’s little sister, Knox flushed and dropped his sticks before hastily picking them up.

  Ray’s phone rang. “Hej, hej,” she said, then immediately hung up. “My dinner date has arrived. And he always pays for my meals, what a gentleman,” Ray joked, but I knew her smile well enough to know she loved the extra time with her dad. “Charles, you’re getting me again after work tomorrow?”

  “Yep,” I said with a wave.

  “Bye,” Ray purred in her Southern drawl.

  With damp palms, I watched her retreating figure. It was Sunday afternoon, just five days after Ray had agreed to stay. She’d been to most of our practices, which we’d had almost daily in summer. She’d always been laid-back nice, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by how well she’d settled in with the guys despite how nervous and shy she was sometimes. Well, most of the guys.

  “What’s up with you two?” Knox said, interrupting my pining. “You’re not dating, are you?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The idea of just about the prettiest girl I’d ever seen dating me, Charles the Geek: competitive pianist and Robotics Club nerd. It was comical.

  When I was finally able to control my laughter, I said, “Have you guys not seen her?”

  “Oh, we’ve seen her, all right,” James said. “That girl is walking jailbait. It’s unbelievable she’s fifteen.” He was eighteen and the only one of us who was going to be a college freshman next year. Luckily for us, he was going Blue.

  “No, we’re not dating.”

  “Does that mean—?” Knox started.

  “No,” I said firmly. “She just broke up with her boyfriend and is dealing with some personal things that are not my business to share. So yes, it would bother me if you tried to date her.”

  “What kind of things?” Kevin asked, coming downstairs and catching the tail end of the conversation.

  I shook my head and picked up the acoustic guitar. Out of everyone, he’d warmed to Ray the least. Her business was really hers.

  “Oh, no way!” James practically sh
outed, glancing down at his phone. “We got invited to play Thursday night in Detroit!”

  “Seriously?” Knox exclaimed, and after James gave us more details, we unanimously agreed to play.

  “You should invite Ray, Charles,” Knox said. Then he laughed. “Ray Charles. Whoa, I just got that.”

  Thursday rolled around, and I was sweating on my way to pick up Ray in the humid August heat. The storm earlier hadn’t helped the mugginess in the air. Tonight, my seventeenth birthday—lucky Chinese 8/8—would be the first time the Snowblowers played in Detroit. And Ray had wanted to go—like, really wanted to go. I still couldn’t believe it. I was glad the guys had goaded me into inviting her.

  I turned onto her street, unable to stop grinning even as I wiped my brow. I was sad she’d gotten sick, had lupus, but was so glad she was living here. She was a breath of fresh air in my boring life. Just thinking of her made me happy in a way it shouldn’t have—the way her lips curved up or her brow furrowed over her sketchbook. Her hair wasn’t as uniquely white-blond as it once was, but she still had an almost untouchable, ethereal beauty to her.

  She was waiting near the curb, her tall, slender form immediately catching my eye. I grimaced—I was five minutes late. Rather than her usual oversize long-sleeved shirts or sweaters and shorts, she was wearing skinny jeans and a black tank top, and it took a lot of willpower not to stare at her chest. Crap, where had she been hiding those? She wasn’t large chested, but she was skinny enough that what she had stood out.

  I inched forward in my seat, trying to get a slight breeze on my back as she entered the car. She was going to kill me tonight.

  She turned to me and held out a little cupcake. “Happy birthday!” she said with the brightest smile.

  I felt myself blushing. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to!” she said. “You’ve been a really good friend. I can’t believe I get to see you play in a bar. That is just so cool.” She bounced around, shaking the cupcake precariously. She must have thought the same thing because she thrust it toward me and said, “Here, eat up!”