I narrow my eyes at him. “Summer?”
“Yeah. That sounds right.”
I shrug. “Skating’s not really her thing.”
Annoyed with Dennis, I skate into the park and text Mark and Abigail. I tell them the good news; I’m cast free and back at it.
I spend the next twenty minutes skating around the park, testing out the simpler tricks I know. I promised Mom I wouldn’t break anything today, so I play it safe. Finally, I see Mark and Abigail walking under the arch from the parking lot. I skate over to the entrance to greet them.
“Wow, that’s so gross,” Abigail says, her gaze fixed on my wrist and lips curled in disgust. I glance down and shrug. My skin is pale and peeling. The foul odor clings to my skin, though not as strong as it was on the cast itself.
“It’s only been free for like, an hour,” I tell her. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”
“I hope so, because I don’t want to eat lunch with that thing nearby.”
20
Summer
I’m a little anxious today. School itself was fine, and I actually slept well last night, which is good, but today I have plans with Abigail. As promised, she meets me after school to go dress shopping. Mark was planning to surf anyway, so he drove us to the boardwalk, and from there we walked to a row of boutiques in search of formal wear for Homecoming.
“I hate everything,” Abigail declares, holding up a green beaded formal dress. She glares at it in disgust.
“That dress isn’t that awful,” I say.
“Sure, if you look good in booger green.”
I laugh. “Okay, but aside from the color, it’s not that bad.”
Abigail scrunches her nose and shoves the offending dress back on the rack.
I pull a yellow strapless dress from the rack, and immediately return it. The dress selection isn’t awesome, but it’s also not as bad as Abigail is making it out to be.
“Are you looking forward to the dance?” I get the feeling she’s not really into school dances and wonder why she’s even going.
“I don’t know, it might be fun,” she says, eyeing a black satin number. “School dances aren’t usually my thing, but…” She shrugs. “What about you?”
I turn away from her and feign interest in another booger-green dress—seriously, who decided this color was in this season? I keep my back to Abigail. If she sees my face right now, she’ll see that I’m not entirely sure about going to homecoming. School dances were supposed to be a part of the old life I gave up, but somehow Kane has pulled me back.
“Sure,” I finally say, when I’m sure my voice is steady. “What’s not to look forward to?”
“The awful music. The B.O. The overly sweet punch. Need I go on?”
I laugh and turn back to her. My gaze lands on the dress she’s still holding. It’s simple, but elegant. “You need to try that on.”
“You think?” She looks at the dress again. “I suppose it’s not awful.” A devious grin appears on her lips, and she meets my eye. “I’ll try it on, but only if you try on the booger green one.”
I laugh. “No way! If I’m going to try on that hideous dress, you need to try it on, too.”
“Deal.”
We both hasten our search of the racks, picking out the ugliest dresses we can find for the other to try on. I pause when I come across a whimsical pale blue number in my size, then add it to the pile. When our arms are full, we find the fitting rooms and try on the ugliest dresses first, modeling for one another. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.
“Wait, we need to capture this moment,” I tell Abigail, when we both step out of our respective rooms wearing the booger-green dresses. I grab my phone from my purse hanging on the door and we pose in front of the mirror while I snap photos.
We lean over the screen and inspect the images. Abigail breaks into laughter. When she finally recovers, she says, “You should send that to Kane and tell him that’s what you’re wearing.”
“No way! What if he buys me a snot corsage?”
Abigail loses it again, and we retreat to our respective rooms to try on our next dresses. I realize I’m out of ugly dresses, and I’m left facing the blue one hanging all by its lonesome on the wall hook. I slip it on and stare at my reflection in the mirror. It’s perfect. The fabric is a silky, baby blue satin with a sweetheart neckline and a mermaid cut. From the top down past my hips, the material is ruched and studded with scattered rhinestones. From there, it cascades to the floor in soft billowy layers. It reminds me of the ocean waves rippling toward shore. It fits me like a glove, and I hope my medication doesn’t cause me to gain any weight, because this is the dress I’m wearing to the dance.
I step out of the room and knock on Abigail’s door across the aisle. “Are you dressed yet?”
Abigail opens the door and my mouth falls open when I see her. The black dress clings to her curves, and the contrast with her red hair is striking. The only embellishment on the dress is a row of ruby beads along the sweetheart neckline.
“What?”
I shake my head and find my words again. “You look amazing.”
Abigail smirks, then, rolling her eyes, says, “You’re still not my type.”
I grin. “Buy that dress. You were born to wear that dress.”
“You really think so?” She turns this way and that in front of the mirror. The corners of her lips turn up in a smile. “I guess it’s not bad.”
“Now we need shoes.”
Abigail groans, abandoning the mirror and returning to her fitting room. “You’re buying that blue dress,” she calls through the door.
Grinning, I return to my own room. I look at my reflection once more, pulling my hair up to better envision my Homecoming look. I drop my hair and reluctantly pull off the dress.
Once back in our own clothes, Abigail and I hang our rejected dresses on the return rack and venture to the wall of shoes. Abigail chooses a pair of black strappy sandals. I shake my head and take them from her. After checking the size, I place them back on the shelf and grab a nearly identical pair in red. She cocks an eyebrow at me, then tries them on, holding the dress in front of her.
“Done,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest to solidify the finality of my statement.
“I do like the red. Your turn.” Abigail throws the shoes back in the box, tucks it under her arm, and turns back to the shoe selection.
“Oooh,” she squeals. Her back is to me, and her body is blocking whatever she’s found. Turning, she shows off a pump in the horrid snot green color.
A snort escapes my lips and we both fall into a round of laughter.
“It’s fate. Put back the blue dress and go grab the green.”
“Not if it was the last dress on earth,” I say, struggling to breathe through my laughter.
Abigail puts the shoe back, and once I’ve recovered, she holds up a pair of simple silver glittery sandals. “These?”
“Yes,” I say, taking the shoe from her. It’s not my size, but I find my size and try them on. Holding the dress in front of me, I stand in front of the mirror and scrutinize my appearance. “These are perfect.”
We stop by the accessories department and find a cute black and red clutch for Abigail. I have a silver one at home, so I don’t buy one for myself. After a stop at a nearby jewelry boutique we’re set.
We exit the shop and step into the sunny afternoon. I slip my sunglasses on, and I follow Abigail's lead.
“Want to come over the day of the dance and do hair and makeup together?” I’ve been working up the courage to ask her this all day. It’ll be weird getting ready for a school dance without Rachel, but maybe it’ll be less weird if Abigail takes her place?
“Sure,” Abigail agrees. “But only if you get a tattoo with me.”
I freeze in place. Get a tattoo? Sure, I’ve always wanted one. But right now? Today? My parents would absolutely kill me if they found out. I bite my lip and try to slow my racing heart.
Abigail realizes I’ve stopped moving and pauses. Looking over her shoulder, she scrutinizes my reaction, and says, “Kidding.” Her own sunglasses shield her eyes, but she’s grinning. “I’ll get ready with you whether you get a tattoo or not.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and adjust the shopping bags on my arm. “So, where are we heading next?”
“My brother has a friend who is training to be a tattoo artist. He’s doing them super cheap. His apartment is in walking distance.”
My jaw drops and my eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you’re getting a tattoo from some guy in his apartment? Doesn’t this sound a little dangerous to you?”
Abigail shrugs. “He’s my brother’s friend. I’ve met him before, it’ll be fine.” Her voice is both casual and confident. Clearly, she sees nothing sketchy about this situation.
Reluctantly, I follow. Though I’m still not sold on this being a good idea, I’d rather stay with her. Safety in numbers and all that. We walk a few blocks, make a few turns away from the coast, and stop in front of a sketchy looking apartment building.
Abigail presses a buzzer and a voice through the speaker says, “Yeah?”
“Yo, it’s Abz. Let me up.”
The door buzzes and Abigail yanks it open, holding it for me to enter first. I slowly step through the doorway and enter a dimly lit hallway. It smells like sweat and stale smoke. And Abigail was complaining about the impending smell of B.O. at the dance?
“Third floor,” she says, leading me to a stairwell at the end of the hall. I keep my shopping bag and purse clutched tightly to my side. I can imagine the types of unsavory characters who probably reside in this building. I also note that it doesn’t have an elevator.
We take the stairwell—which smells worse than the first floor hallway did—up to the third floor. Abigail pounds on the door of number 302. We hear footsteps inside, then the door swings open.
I expected to be greeted by a large man in his thirties or forties, covered in tattoos and wearing a beater. Probably with a full beard and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. So I’m surprised by the man who opens the door. He can’t be older than his mid-twenties. He’s Hispanic and wearing a gray t-shirt. He sports no facial hair, and I can see a single tattoo on his bicep. My anxiety level instantly decreases.
“Come on in,” he says, smiling at Abigail. His gaze lands on me and he eyes me curiously. “Who’s your friend, Abz?”
He holds the door open and Abigail enters. I follow close behind, taking in the apartment decor. It’s clearly a bachelor pad, but not dirty. There’s a brown sofa in the corner and a large screen TV with a jumble of video games and controllers on the floor. Not much different than I’d expect to see in any guy’s house. The kitchen is off to my right. Aside from a few dirty dishes I can see poking up from the sink, it’s fairly clean and ordinary. My anxiety is almost completely gone now.
“This is Summer. She’s a friend from school.” Turning to me, Abigail says, “This is Aaron Mendez. He went to school with my brother, Jared.”
“Nice to meet you, Summer. You here for a tattoo as well?”
“Uh…”
Abigail laughs. “She’s just here to watch.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” He turns his attention back to Abigail. “So, you know what you want?”
“Yep. But let me take a peek through your book again anyway.”
Aaron pulls out a binder and sets it on the kitchen table. Abigail takes a seat and flips through pages of tattoo designs. I look over her shoulder. “Did you do all of these?” I ask.
“Yep. See anything that catches your eye?”
The designs are good. When Abigail said he was training to be a tattoo artist, I'd assumed he’d suck. Quite a few of the designs catch my eye, but my attention lingers on a dragonfly on the current page.
“This is the one,” Abigail says, stabbing her finger in the book and pointing at a seahorse on the same page as my dragonfly.
“Cool.” Aaron reaches out to take the book from her.
“Can I look through that?” I say quickly. I’m fascinated by the artwork in the book.
Aaron cocks an eyebrow, then hands the book to me. I take a seat in the chair next to Abigail, while Aaron prepares the materials for the tattoo. His portfolio contains a diverse variety of tattoos. There are skulls and dragons, but also more dainty designs like the dragonfly, seahorse, and flowers. I keep coming back to the dragonfly.
Abigail sucks in a breath, catching my attention. I realize Aaron has started, and I watch as the tattoo machine traces a line across the flesh of Abigail’s hip. Blood bubbles up and Aaron wipes it away with a cloth, then continues with the design. The buzz of the tattoo machine is almost hypnotic. When he finishes, Abigail’s skin beneath the black ink is red, but the tattoo looks awesome.
“This is so cool,” Abigail says, twisting her torso to admire her new ink. Aaron hands her a hand mirror and she stands, adjusting the mirror to get a better look.
“Change your mind?” Aaron asks. His smile is warm and inviting, and I think, what the hell?
Pointing to the dragonfly on the open page, I say, “How much for this one?”
Before I know it, I’m sitting in Abigail’s vacated seat with my bare hip exposed, waiting for the needle to begin injecting ink into my skin.
“You’re braver than I thought, Swanson,” Abigail says. She’s standing nearby, admiring the little seahorse on her hip.
I’m too nervous to speak, so I smile instead. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I take a deep breath and try to relax. My parents would kill me if they knew. My doctors would probably lecture me too. But I’ve been feeling great and haven’t had a flare up in weeks. I’ll be fine. It’s just a tattoo. I'd researched on my phone during class after Abigail mentioned her tattoo at lunch. People with Lupus get tattoos all the time.
I flinch when the needle presses into my skin, but I clench my teeth and try to think happy thoughts. Like my new Homecoming dress. And how I felt when Kane was kissing me. It helps.
When he's done, Aaron plucks the hand mirror from Abigail’s hands and places it in mine. I angle it so I can see my tattoo clearly. It’s adorable, a black outline of a delicate dragonfly. It’s large enough to show detail in the wings, but small enough that I should be able to hide it under all my clothes. Including my bathing suits, if I ever go swimming again.
“That is so cute,” Abigail gushes, turning her attention from her tattoo and focusing on mine. “I would totally get that if I didn’t already have an entire ocean theme planned for my body.”
“Wait, what?” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
Abigail nods proudly. “Yep. My body is my canvas and I plan to display my love for all sea life on it.”
I shake my head. “I think I’m done.” I study her seahorse for a moment, Abigail’s pale skin is still red and raised beneath the black ink. I’d be worried, but I read that this was normal. I glance at my own dragonfly and notice my skin is reacting the same way.
Aaron takes the mirror from my hand and covers my tattoo with gauze. I’m sad to see it hidden, but I know it’s for the best.
“What’s next?” I ask Abigail. Gesturing to her body, I elaborate. “For your tattoos.”
“I don’t know what I’ll get next, but I know I want to get some scales, maybe behind my ear. I also want a shark somewhere, either a hammerhead or a great white, I haven’t decided. I’ll probably get a turtle, maybe on my foot?” She looks contemplative for a moment and I can tell she’s put a lot of thought into this. “I also saw a really cool mermaid tat online that went all the way down the girl’s side, from the top of her ribs to her hips. I need that. Maybe that will be my college graduation gift to myself.”
I shake my head. “Wow.” Abigail is so much braver than I am.
Aaron finishes covering my tattoo, and I snap the closure on my jean shorts. I wait for Abigail to have her bandage applied. We hand over our cash and Aaron walks us to the door, inviting us back any ti
me for more tattoos. The stench in the hall doesn’t seem as bad on the way out, but I’m still grateful when we step outside and I’m able to take in a big whiff of fresh air. Well, as fresh as the air in Southern California ever is.
“Want to grab some grub?” Abigail asks.
I shrug. “Sure. I guess I could eat.”
I fall into step beside her, as she sets off in the direction of the boardwalk. She continues telling me about her big tattoo plans, pointing out places on her body she wants to ink. It’s nice to have a friend again. Until Kane pulled me into his orbit, I hadn’t realized just how lonely I’d been.
A sudden pang of guilt floods through me. It’s not fair for me to make friends with Abigail and Kane. They’re nice people who don’t deserve to have to deal with someone as broken as me. It’s been weeks since my last flare up, which means I’m probably due for one any day now. And then what? I’ll probably be out sick from school, and all my new friends will figure out how broken I am. They’ll regret ever having wasted time on me. And it'll be my fault.
“Hey, are you okay?” Abigail asks, pausing mid-stride and looking at me in concern.
I shake my head and lower myself to the curb. “I think I need to sit down for a moment.” We’re almost to the boardwalk. I can see the beach at the end of the street, mocking me.
“You look pale.” Abigail chews on a fingernail as she studies my face.
“I’m fine. Sorry.” I quickly try to make up an excuse for my behavior that isn’t incredibly lame. “I think the excitement of the tattoo just caught up to me.”
Abigail takes a seat beside me. “I get it.”
“You do?” I look at her in surprise.
“Sure. You’re probably thinking of all the ways your parents will murder you if they find out.”
That wasn’t what I was thinking, but I am now.
“You’re a little more badass than I thought,” Abigail adds.
“So, am I your type now?” I try to joke, but it sounds hollow to my ears.
Something I'm Good At: A Sol del Mar High Novel Page 13