Eye of the Beholder (Stone Springs Book 1)

by Gracie Ruth Mitchell

  She’s quiet again, and then she beams. “Great. I’ve been eavesdropping on Cohen, and you guys are doing tutoring stuff tomorrow? You can come over here. I’ll see you then!”

  Still smiling, Lydia hands me the phone, stands, and waltzes out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  “Uh,” I say into the phone.

  “She’s persuasive,” Mina says.

  “More persuasive than me, probably.”

  “You told her about Jack.” It’s not a question.

  “I did,” I say, feeling nervous. I should have thought of that; girls don’t like people talking about their crushes. “Because I wanted her help. I really want to try the teaching thing. But…I should have asked. Sorry,” I say sheepishly.

  I’m surprised at how I’ve latched on to this teaching idea. But it would be cool to teach someone how to do something, even if it’s just teaching her how to get Jack to ask her out. Plus, I really hate feeling like I’m getting charity, and if I don’t do something for her, that’s how this tutoring thing will feel.

  “It’s fine,” she says. “But no one else, or it won’t be fine, Cohen.”

  “Understood.” I hesitate, and then I say, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Mina. If you’re going to feel like you’re being forced to do this, it’s not worth it. I do want your help tutoring. If you just want me to pay you with money instead of all this stuff about Jack, I can.”

  I cross my fingers, waiting for her response, but there’s only silence. Finally she speaks.

  “I do want to do it. I want to be more social. I want people to know I exist. I’m just…scared. And not very good at branching out.” She hesitates, and then, her voice small, she says, “And what if we do all this and nothing changes? What if I’m still just Wet Willy?”

  “This Wet Willy thing really did a number on you, didn’t it?” I say, frowning. “But that was years ago, Mina.”

  “Don’t tell me to just get past this, Cohen,” she says, sounding…upset? “No one has ever made fun of you.”

  I frown. “Sure they have. I’ve gotten ‘you can’t fix ugly’ before.”

  “Someone said that to you? ‘You can’t fix ugly’?”

  “Yep,” I say.

  “Recently?” She sounds skeptical.

  I squirm uncomfortably. “It was a long time ago,” I admit.

  “See?” she says. “You’re funny and popular. No one makes fun of people like you. But people called me ‘Wet Willy’ until ninth grade. Virginia called me that every time she saw me. Usually she threw in jabs about my eyes. For two years, Cohen. Until she finally reached peak arrogance and no longer noticed the existence of others. And Marcus? He still calls me that.”

  “He does?” I say, surprised. I’ll come back to the “funny and popular” part later.

  “Yes,” she says, sounding weary through the phone. “Everyone else seems to have forgotten about me, which I’ve gone out of my way to make happen. I just fade into the background. I’m fine with the Jack thing. I want to do it. I need to. It will be good for me to come out of my shell. But I’m allowed to be scared about it.”

  She’s right. “You are,” I say. “Sorry. You totally are, and I get it. When did that happen?” I say.

  “Seventh grade.”

  “I can’t believe Marcus still calls you that,” I say. “That’s so…”

  “Juvenile,” Mina says, and for some reason I picture her nodding. “He says a lot of things, though, so it’s fine.”

  I frown. “What does he say?”

  She makes a noise that sounds like a derisive snort. “The same things he says to all females everywhere, I’m sure. Baggy clothes and boring colors do not fool Marcus. He is disgusting and probably spends far too much time on more inappropriate parts of the internet.”

  I feel a twinge of anger. “I didn’t know that.”

  “How do you not know this? He eats lunch with you every day,” she says, sounding disbelieving.

  “He’s sort of like the friend that no one likes,” I say, shrugging. “I try not to pay too much attention to him.”

  “Ask him about a girl walking past and just listen to what he says.”

  I’d rather not, but I have a feeling I’m going to do it anyway. “Okay, well, do you want to come over tomorrow afternoon? Is four okay?”

  “That works,” she says.

  I’m struck by a sudden thought; I’m going to call it inspiration, but Mina’s not going to like it. “And do you remember how you said that you needed to see where I was on the ACT stuff before you could help me? So you could see where I needed the most work?”

  There’s a pause.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Great. We need to see where your social skills are so I know what needs the most work. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow. See you then!”

  I hang up before she has a chance to protest. Then I fling myself off my bed and go back to Lydia’s room.

  “What does Marcus to say to girls?” I say.

  She doesn’t look up from her magazine. “To girls? A lot of really disgusting things. To me? Nothing, anymore.”

  “What did you do to make him stop?” I say, torn between a sense of pride and a sense of foreboding.

  She flashes me a charming smile. “Nothing a little therapy won’t fix.”

  I feel a ghost of a smile myself. “Good.”

  9

  Cohen

  When I get up on Saturday morning, I feel nervous before I even figure out why. It’s an anticipatory nervous. I have no idea how Mina’s going to tutor me, but I assume she knows what she’s doing.

  I’m partly just worried she’s going to make me take an entire ACT practice test. She did say she wanted to evaluate my problem areas; I said as much to her about the Jack thing.

  Lydia called it Operation Jack while I was eating breakfast, and as dumb as that name sounds, it’s already starting to ingrain itself in my brain.

  She came downstairs while I was in the middle of my second bowl of cereal—Raisin Bran with copious amounts of banana on top—already fully showered and dressed, looking like she’d been up for hours, while I was still in my plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt I’d hastily thrown on so I didn’t have to walk around shirtless. She was humming to herself. She then informed me that she was going to the drug store to pick up a few things for Mina, because, as she said, “I don’t know that Mina probably owns things like eyeshadow or brow pencils.”

  I still don’t know quite what a brow pencil is, but I agreed she was probably right.

  I go back to my room after I wash out my bowl and stick it in the dishwasher. For my part of Operation Jack—I still cringe at calling it that, but I think it’s stuck with that name—I have a phone call to make. Jack and I don’t really talk about girls beyond the very superficial layer, and I have no idea how this will go.

  I close my door behind me and then pull open my blinds. My walls are dark blue—a remnant of my childhood, but I don’t mind it—and they make the room look darker than it is. Then I sit at the swivel chair at my small desk. I cleaned it off at the end of the summer so I could use it for its intended homework-related purposes, but it’s already become more of a nightstand again. It’s cluttered with books, a couple empty water glasses, and a few unopened pieces of mail from my dad.

  I can’t explain even to myself why I haven’t just thrown those away. I guess I just keep thinking that I’ll do it later, even though all it would take is one quick trip to the trash can in the corner of my room. They don’t have a return address, but I recognize my dad’s handwriting, so I know they’re from him. He has a distinct way of writing his cs, and seeing my name in his writing feels like a little punch to my gut every time I look at it.

  I move from my desk to my bed so I don’t have to see them. The bed is more comfortable anyway.

  I’ve never been a conversation planner, but I try to think up a plan for this conversation, because I’m really only good at winging aw
kward conversations with girls. What excuse am I going to give for asking him what he likes in a girl? How do I even bring that up?

  I know the basics. Jack has a type. He likes blondes, for one, which I wouldn’t tell Mina if she didn’t have blonde hair, but she does. He tends to stay away from stick-thin girls. He likes confident women, but I think all guys are attracted to that. He likes a girl who will come cheer on him at his games. Past that, I have no idea.

  I’m already dreading this conversation.

  I guess I don’t have to do it right this very moment, do I? I should probably check and make sure Mina is still good for four this afternoon. If she’s not, there’s no point in talking to Jack yet. I pull up her number and call her.

  She answers on the first ring. “This is the second time you’ve called me in the last twelve hours,” she says, apparently feeling no need for the traditional greeting.

  “I don’t think that’s accurate,” I say. “It’s been more than twelve hours. Did I wake you up?”

  “It’s past ten,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept in that late in my life.”

  “You’re missing out,” I say, grinning. “Listen, are you still good for four today?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I be? I literally never make plans for Saturdays.”

  What would that be like? “I was just checking,” I say, groaning inwardly. I guess I’ll have to talk to Jack. “And hey—you’re not going to make me take a practice test, are you?”

  “Yeah, I am,” she says, sounding totally unconcerned.

  “No way,” I say, shaking my head even though she can’t see me. “That will take forever. Come to your window.”

  “I’m in my pajamas,” she says.

  I cross to my window and look out at hers, which is across from mine and a little to the left. Our houses are pretty close together.

  “I don’t care,” I say. “I’m in mine.”

  She heaves a sigh. “Hang on.” I hear some sort of shuffling, and then she says, “The only way I can evaluate where you need help is to evaluate where you already are.” I watch as the blinds to her room rise. And there she is, a robe pulled around her, her hair streaming over her shoulders. I watch her fold her arms. “And it won’t be a full test. I’ll do an abbreviated version.”

  I narrow my eyes. “How abbreviated? The test is like three hours. I’m not spending three hours taking an ACT I’m not going to get graded on.”

  “Do you want my help or not?” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “I’ll make it short. Thirty minutes at most. No writing section.”

  I pause, thinking quickly. This is my chance to bring it up. “In return,” I begin, and she starts to shake her head. “In return,” I say loudly as she opens her mouth to protest. “You and I are going to have to assess your current socialization techniques. Which will happen one week from today.”

  I watch as her face falls and her eyes become suspicious. “What’s one week from today?”

  I chicken out.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I say. “I’ll see you here at four.”

  “Fine,” she says, still looking suspicious. There’s a silence for a second, and then she adds, “I’ll bring you a number two pencil.”

  She smiles sweetly at me and hangs up.

  I just stare at her for a second, and then I can’t help it—I laugh. Her smile widens, she shrugs, and then she’s gone from the window.

  She’s funny. When did that happen?

  I try to think back, and I realize slowly that she’s always been funny—when she speaks. She just doesn’t speak very much.

  What else is in her head that no one ever sees?

  I sit back on my bed and stare at Jack’s number before calling him. Here’s what I’ll say: I’ve got a friend I think he might like. I’ll ask what he looks for in a girl. Done. Easy.

  I call him before I get a chance to put it off again, getting more comfortable on my bed as his phone rings. My eyes stray to my window again as I wait for him to pick up, but Mina is long gone.

  “Hey, man,” he says.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “What’s up? I have to go in a minute.”

  “That’s fine,” I say quickly. “I was just thinking and I realized there’s a friend of mine—a girl—I think you’d like.”

  Jack hesitates and then says, “What’s she like?”

  I need to turn this question around, because I don’t know how to answer. “Well, what do you like?” Even with how casual I’m trying to act, the question sounds stupid.

  “I don’t know,” he says, and I can picture him shrug. “I just want a cool girl. Pretty. Nice, I guess. Not annoying. What’s your friend’s name? In case things with Virginia don’t work out?”

  If he wants someone nice, things with Virginia definitely won’t work out, but I don’t say that. “Hey, sorry, someone’s on the other line—I’ll just talk to you later,” I say instead. It’s a lie, but it’s all I’ve got right now.

  “Yep,” he says. “Later.”

  I hang up.

  Okay, that went as well as I could have expected. It didn’t give me a ton to work with, but I got a bit.

  “Lydia,” I say, leaving my room and making my way downstairs. “Are you still here?”

  “She just left,” comes my mom’s voice. “Hi, sweetie.” She kisses me on the forehead and then bustles into the kitchen, carrying two large bags of groceries. “What are your plans for today?”

  “My tutor is coming over at four,” I say, smiling and stressing the word. “You owe me money.”

  My mother’s eyes twinkle. “I thought that would incentivize you.”

  It wasn’t just that, but I don’t say anything. I just nod.

  “Did you get Mina?”

  “Yeah,” I say as I pull groceries from one of the bags and start to put them away. “We’ll go to my room.”

  “Clean off your desk first,” my mom says. “And keep the door open, please.”

  I roll my eyes. “I will.” I decide against telling my mom about Operation Jack.

  When Lydia gets back some thirty minutes later, I say under my breath, “Mina is coming at four. She’s making me do a practice test. You can do all your”—I gesture at the bag she’s carrying—“girl stuff then.”

  “Perfect!” Lydia says. “You know, we’re going to have to teach her how to flirt.”

  That had occurred to me. “I know. We’ll figure it out later.”

  Lydia shrugs. “Okay. Well, I’m getting my nails done with Jade in a few. I’ll see you later.”

  ***

  Mina arrives exactly on time, which doesn’t at all surprise me. But, of course, it helps that she lives right next door. When I open the door to let her in, she looks as nervous as I feel. I wonder if she understands why she’s so nervous any more than I do.

  She’s carrying a bulky bag over her shoulder—floral, of course—which I can’t help but eye apprehensively, and while she’s wearing a baggy t-shirt, she is at least wearing the new pair of jeans she bought yesterday. They do really good things for her legs. I ignore that.

  She’s also carrying a bouquet of flowers.

  “Um,” she says, looking awkward. “My mom did a wedding this morning. So these are for you guys. She ended up with more than she needed.”

  “Oh,” I say as she thrusts the red roses at me. “Thanks.”

  I just look at them for a second, and Mina sighs.

  “You don’t know what to do with flowers, do you?” she says.

  “Not really, no,” I say. “Just put them in water?”

  “That’s fine,” Mina says. “Is your mom here?”

  “In the living room,” I say, gesturing.

  Mina heads out of sight and returns a minute later without the flowers.

  “Your hair,” I say, gesturing to the bun pulled tightly to her head.

  “What about it?” she says.

  “You may as well take it out now. Lydia’s not goi
ng to let it stay that way when she starts all her girly primping stuff.”

  Mina sighs and slips her shoes off, nudging them with her foot until they’re neatly lined up next to the front door. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting that.” She unwinds her hair, and it falls gracefully down her back.

  “We’ll let the shirt slide,” I say, smiling at her.

  “No, we won’t,” Lydia says cheerfully from behind me as she comes down the stairs. “But we’ll get to that.”

  “Right,” Mina says, clutching her bag closer as though it’s a life raft and she’s drowning. She shoots me a slightly worried look. I just smile.

  “Well, come on,” Lydia says, beckoning to us as she turns around and climbs the stairs again. “I’ll be in my room when you’re ready.”

  I nod, and we follow her.

  It feels weird to have Mina in my room, like two different worlds colliding. I watch her as she looks around. Then she looks back to me.

  “I feel weird being in your room,” she says, and I laugh.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” I say. “But you’re probably safer in here than you would be in Lydia’s room. She purchased an arsenal of beauty products this morning.”

  Mina groans and buries her face in her hands. “This is going to be a disaster,” she says.

  I quickly pull out the chair from under my newly cleaned desk and gesture to it. Mina sinks into it.

  “It won’t be,” I say as I sit on my bed, although I have no right to make that promise. “At the very least, you’ll come out of your shell. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

  “I do,” she says with a sigh, setting her bag on the floor at her feet. She looks around again. Her eyes linger on the stack of my dad’s letters in the corner of the desk, but she doesn’t say anything.

  I should have put those somewhere else. Like the trash can.

  “So this is your room,” she says. “I only ever see it through window. I thought it would be more…manly.”

  I frown. “It’s manly.”