“I know you don’t want me to be a part of your life.”
“I never said that.”
“I know you’ll laugh if I say this, but I’m really an amazing person.”
I do laugh. And I press my fingers against my eyes because I don’t know what is going on right now. “Good for you, Mom. I have no opinion on this.”
“Yes you do,” she snaps. “That’s why you want to get out of the house so badly. Because you hate me. It’s almost like you’re jealous of me.”
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“I want to leave because you make me feel small and ugly and unlovable, and because you’re letting Uncle Max—Uncle Max, the reason Dad left us—live across the hall from me, and you won’t even let me put a lock on my door to keep him out!”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“I am not jealous of you!”
Her eyes float around the room. “So what do you and Jamie talk about? How horrible you think I am?”
“Oh my God, Mom. Why are you doing this?” I ask stiffly. “I came over here to talk to you about how I’m moving out. Why are you making this all about you?”
“I never make anything all about me,” she snaps. “I’m sitting here, trying to have a nice time. I bought you guys all this food, I’m trying to get to know your friend, and you’re acting like I’ve committed some kind of crime. I’m not some evil dictator.”
This conversation is spiraling out of control. I don’t even know what edge to grab ahold of to steady myself. My mind feels like it’s been caught up in a violent twister.
“I’m not suddenly going to be in a good mood because you bought pasta. And for the record, I never asked you to buy dinner. And I’ll pay you for it, because I don’t want you feeling put out.” My knuckles crack under my thumbs.
“I don’t want your money.” Her face is like stone.
“I’m in a bad mood because Uncle Max came into my room last night, drunk, and I don’t feel safe. If you don’t kick him out, I can’t live here anymore.” My chest is throbbing. My breathing is quick. My throat is tightening.
“You’re not an adult. You have to live here,” she says simply.
My hands shake. “Then I’ll call child protective services, or something. I’ll tell them what happened. I’ll get a restraining order.”
Mom laughs. “You’re such a drama queen.”
Tears burn my eyes. “This isn’t funny. I’m serious.”
Her face freezes over. “I can’t believe you’d even threaten that. Do you know what that would do to our family? This is a private family issue. You’re being unbelievably selfish right now.”
“Selfish?” My skull is pounding.
“Your words could ruin someone’s life. Did you ever think about that?”
I stand up, my whole body convulsing with anger. “You care more about Uncle Max than me. The only reason you don’t want me to leave is because people might ask questions and then you’ll look like a bad mom.”
She leans back. Our eyes radiate into each other’s. I can’t believe I actually told her what I was thinking. I got all the words out without tripping. It feels powerful.
And terrifying.
Because I told her how I feel. I told her what I’m really thinking, without worrying about how I should say it, without distorting my actual feelings to avoid making her angry. I feel like I’ve thrown my armor away, and I’m standing in front of her completely exposed. I’m vulnerable and unarmed, but I’ve told her the truth, and somehow that gives me a sense of strength I’ve never felt before. Maybe I don’t need weapons or armor if I have the truth.
I brace myself for Mom’s reaction.
“Do what you have to do. Put yourself above your family.” It’s not permission. It’s a taunt loaded with malice.
“I’m not telling anyone,” I choke. “But I am moving out.”
She closes her eyes and opens them again like she’s looking at the world for the first time—so innocent and pure. “You obviously need time to cool down. So go ahead—go and feel like a grown-up, if that’s what you need. I’ll forgive you when you come home, because I’m your mom and I love you.”
Inside my head, I’m screaming. I step away from the table and my eerily still mother. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Jamie is sitting there with his hands clasped together.
I smear my tears away with the edge of my sleeve. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head and swallows. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t know where to go.”
“I’m going to pack a bag,” I say with a weak voice. And then I try to smile, but it just feels sad. “I guess you’ll get to see some of my paintings, if you want.”
He nods, and I lead him upstairs.
Jamie looks through my canvases and my old sketchbooks. He studies the pictures I’ve hung on the walls and the unfinished pieces wedged under books. All the while he doesn’t say a word. He just investigates on his own like he’s in an art gallery.
I pack a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries. I pack Emery’s note. I pack two of my sketchbooks, and I even pack my unfinished portfolio full of photographs of all my paintings. I look around. I’ll never be able to fit everything in one bag. There are too many canvases and art supplies and books.
I’m aware I haven’t thought this through. I know Mom’s probably right—I’ll come back home eventually. Because all my stuff is here. Because I don’t have a long-term plan.
But I need to get out of the house before Uncle Max gets home. I don’t care if he was drunk or if he doesn’t remember it—if I stay, I’m saying “I’m okay with this” when I’m absolutely not.
I pack my best pencils and feel a horrible ache in my heart when I leave all my acrylics and brushes in the corner.
“These paintings are incredible.” His voice is so clear. It’s the light in all the darkness.
I look at the canvas in front of him. It’s a girl floating on top of the water, surrounded by fireflies and water lilies.
I meet Jamie’s eyes. “I didn’t get the lighting right on that one.”
“Kiko, I’m serious. You are unbelievably talented.”
I scratch at my arm because I don’t know how to respond.
“Thanks,” I say to my duffel bag. I yank the zip and seal away the compacted version of my life I’m going to be living with.
“Are you going to take any of these?” He’s still by the canvases.
“There’s no room. I still don’t know where I’m going.” I feel rattled. I’m afraid Uncle Max will come home and yell at me for upsetting Mom. I’m afraid to look at him at all.
We go back to Jamie’s house. I don’t tell my mother good-bye.
• • •
I draw a girl on a train, surrounded by empty seats.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m looking at apartments on my phone, getting more and more disheartened by the cost and the fear of the complete unknown, when Jamie groans from the other side of the room.
“My cousin is at Harry Potter World right now,” he says, flicking his thumb over his phone screen. “He keeps sending me pictures to make me jealous. That place is amazing.”
“I want a Harry Potter wand so bad.” I sigh. “Like, I want to show up and have the wand choose me.”
“Would it impress you at all if I told you I totally did that?”
“Yes. It absolutely would.”
“Well, I did. And I tried butterbeer.”
“You’re kind of the coolest person I know right now.”
“It doesn’t come naturally. I actually have to try really hard.”
I burst into a fit of laughter. He’s trying hard to keep his mouth flat.
“You live in California. At least you can go to a theme park whenever you want,” I say. “The most exciting place we have here is an outdoor shopping mall.”
Jamie’s face lights up. “You should come to California with me. We could go to Disneyland or Universal Studios. You know, to celebrate gradua
ting high school.”
“What are you talking about?” I roll my eyes. “I can’t go to California. I need to find an apartment.” And then I pause. My brain starts to piece something together—something that makes me nervous and excited and terrified all at once.
An idea. A beautiful idea.
I look up at Jamie. “Do you think,” I start, “I don’t know, maybe . . .” Should I really ask him this? Have I lost my mind? “Do you think I could look at art schools in California? Maybe some of them are still accepting late applications. Plus, California is cheaper than New York.”
My heart thumps like a bass drum. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.
When I catch the curiosity in his eyes, I raise a hand. “I don’t want that to seem weird, like I’m trying to follow you across state borders. It’s just, well, it’s someplace new, you know? A fresh start.” At least I’d know someone in California. Navigating through a new city wouldn’t be so scary if I had a friend there. Plus it’s hundreds of miles away from here. “I could go on a trial basis, for a couple of weeks. To see what the schools are like. What the area is like.”
Jamie’s eyes widen before snapping away from me. He looks like he’s struggling to say what he wants to, like all the words racing through his mind have just screeched to a halt on the tip of his tongue. Oh my God, he probably thinks I’m being ridiculous. He’s probably trying to think of a polite way to tell me I’ve lost my mind—that I can’t move to California to be closer to him. That we’ve only recently started to be friends again. That it’s too soon. That he doesn’t want me there.
My face gets hot, and I’m watching his eyes move around the room so quickly that I’m already trying to find a way to take back everything I’ve just said.
His gaze meets mine, and his mouth opens into such a huge smile that I feel the entire room get brighter. “You could stay at my house,” Jamie says, and everything inside me turns to air and happiness. “Until you figure out what you want to do or whatever. You know my parents already, so it wouldn’t be weird.” His blue eyes are wild with electricity. I think mine are like that too.
His dark lashes flutter just once before his pupils freeze like a cat in the street. We don’t have to speak, because we already know.
We’re picking up where we left off all those years ago.
Is that why it doesn’t feel fast? Is that why it feels so natural?
I know I should be thinking about this more. I know it’s reckless and unplanned and I’m choosing California because having Jamie there feels safer than being alone, but I don’t care.
It feels good to hope.
I swallow. It’s like a dream. I mean, not the first dream of being accepted into Prism, but it’s a perfect backup. It means I could spend more time with Jamie. We could be best friends again.
Jamie’s hand closes over mine. Sparks ignite in my core. I forget to breathe.
“Jamie.” My voice creaks. “I want us to be friends again.” I don’t mean it to sound indifferent, but it does. I don’t know how to use the right emotions when I speak—I’m just not good at speaking, period.
He pulls his hand away like he’s retreating.
If me and Jamie keep looking at each other with sparks and electricity and magic, there won’t be any turning back. I’ll be in love with him forever, and he’ll know it. And then there’s the chance I’ll lose him, and I don’t think I could handle losing Jamie. Not again. Not when I feel like I have so little control over my life as it is. There’s Mom, Uncle Max, Prism, and even the kiss with Adam—I’m suffocating beneath the weight of life inexperience. I don’t want Jamie to turn into the thing that breaks me.
He’s too important to me. Our childhood friendship is too important.
His expression softens. “Me too, Kiko.” Maybe I’m reading into everything. Maybe the sparks only exist in my head. Maybe he just wants to be friends too. “We are friends.”
The lump in my throat plummets to my stomach. “Okay. Cool.”
He raises a brow. “Friends and temporary roommates?”
I grin. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to California together.”
We’re both giggling with excitement now.
Even though I feel sick, I try not to let it show.
Because disappointment always follows excitement.
• • •
I draw a boy and a girl swimming through a sea of stars.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Icall the bookstore and tell the manager I’ve had an emergency. I don’t explain why, but I say I need to leave the area for two weeks. She tells me she can give out my shifts to some of the part-timers, but that I’ll have to use up my vacation days. I tell her that’s fine.
Of course it’s fine. I’m going to California with Jamie Merrick. I’m going to look at art schools and see the ocean for the first time. I get a break from Mom and Uncle Max. I’m going to find a new dream.
It’s more than fine.
I follow behind Jamie out of town in my own car. I don’t say good-bye to Mom. I don’t even tell her where I’m going.
She doesn’t call, either.
It takes a few hours to cross the first state border. The sights amaze me because somehow I never realized how ginormous the world really is. There’s so much earth everywhere. It’s like all the people migrated to these pockets of lights and noise, and they left all these miles and miles of nature completely untouched.
We keep our phones on speaker when we’re driving, so it sort of feels like we’re driving together. We play our game. We listen to Wilco, and The Smiths, and lots of other bands I’ve never heard of. We stop for lunch. Jamie laughs at how I go exactly the speed limit and not one mile per hour over.
We pull in for the night at a small motel in the middle of nowhere. We ask for a room with two beds. I try to pay for half of the cost, but Jamie keeps pushing my hand away. When he’s in the shower, I sneak the money into his suitcase. When I wake up in the morning, it’s back in mine.
We cross another state border. And another.
Jamie says we’ll be in California by the next evening. We find another motel, but this time when we ask for two beds, the man at the front desk shakes his head.
“Sorry, we’ve only got queen rooms left.” He taps his finger against the mouse button. He knows we’ll take it anyway—it would take a while to find another motel.
I shrug at Jamie. “It’s fine.”
I try to pay again, but he won’t let me.
When we’re in the room, I set my bag at the foot of the bed and twist my hair.
“I want to pay,” I insist. “I can’t let you pay for everything. It isn’t fair.”
“I would have had to pay for these rooms anyway. Taking your money would make me feel like I was trying to get you to pay for half of my trip,” he says. “Besides, you need your money for art school.”
It doesn’t make me feel better. “No. I want to pay. Please. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone.” My cheeks burn. I still have the money in my hand.
“It’s not being a burden. Let me do something nice. What’s the big deal?”
“I don’t want to owe you more than I already do,” I manage to say.
My words don’t sit well with him—he looks like I’ve said something hurtful.
But he doesn’t understand. I’m already going to California because it’s easier to be with Jamie than to be alone. I couldn’t have gotten this far if he wasn’t here with me—if he wasn’t letting me stay with him and his family. It doesn’t feel right to accept his money, too.
I know he’s not Mom—I know he wouldn’t hold it over me for the rest of my life. But he’s already doing me a bigger favor than he realizes. And people run out of favors eventually.
I don’t ever want Jamie to regret letting me follow him to California.
He takes the money. “Just so we’re clear, you are not a burden, and you don’t owe me anything. You never have.”
By the
time we shower and crawl into bed, I have ice in my lungs from my short, quick inhales that refuse to calm down. I’m worried he’s mad. I’m worried I’ve offended him. Why is it so hard to have a disagreement with someone that doesn’t mean anything? Do all disagreements have to mean something? How do people ever say no without fighting?
Oh my God, are Jamie and I fighting?
Jamie rolls over so he’s facing me. “Hey,” he whispers, like he can read my mind.
I roll toward him. Both of us are on our side, looking at each other in the darkness. I’ve been close to Jamie when he hugged me, but this feels even closer. It feels intimate.
He pauses. “What’s going on in your head right now?”
I fight to keep my shoulders from shaking. I can’t help how fast my heart is beating—when the anxiety starts, I can’t stop it. It has to run its course.
“I feel bad that we’re arguing on our second day together.”
“That wasn’t an argument, Kiko.”
“It feels like it.”
“It was a minor disagreement, maybe. But nothing serious enough for you to be having a panic attack.”
I know he’s right. Of course he’s right. But that doesn’t mean I can just reprogram the way my emotions work. Fixing me isn’t like fixing a loose screw or a little bit of rust. I’m like a giant mess of problems, all linked together and tracing back to my childhood. Back to when things got so complicated.
“Does it feel like a big deal to you? When we don’t agree on something?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Why?”
I think carefully.
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“Because disagreeing with my mom is the reason she doesn’t like me. I don’t want it to be the reason you don’t like me either.”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“I can’t really tell when people are mad at me.”
“It’s okay to say no to people, Kiko. Everyone does it. And trust me, they don’t feel bad about it. Do you think I would have felt bad if you had kept your money? Or if you had let me keep that first picture of you at the fair?” He props his head up with the heel of his hand.
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