Paintbrush

by Hannah Bucchin

  I’d never think of myself as the type of guy to be friends with some disgustingly rich kid. But when I met Cord freshman year in gym class, and he came out of the swimming locker room dressed in full on scuba gear when everyone else was wearing the required red bathing suit and white t-shirt, I knew I’d be friends with him. We hang out with the same crowd of athletes and student council and all-around involved people at school—they like me because I’m fun and easygoing, and they like him because his fuck-it attitude is both hilarious and contagious. But we both know that while those people are our acquaintances—people we occasionally have fun with on weekends and at lunch—our friendship is different. No bullshit, no games, no drama. It’s real.

  I hop in the shower while Cord gets ready. His bathroom is like a hotel bathroom, with fancy soaps lining the counter and a giant shower with three different nozzles that I can never quite figure out. When I get out, I wrap myself in this enormous fluffy towel. I like being in Cord’s house, but not just because of all the fancy stuff. It’s just nice to be able to escape sometimes into a world that’s so totally different from Paintbrush. In every possible way.

  I told Cord all the stuff that happened yesterday when I first got here. He listened to it all and nodded—and didn’t say a single word. And at the end, he clapped me on the back, and all he said was, “It definitely sounds like you could use a party.” Which was the perfect response, and also why he’s my best friend.

  We leave the house at 9:30. I’m driving, and Cord is next to me smoking a bowl to get himself “in partying mode.” I’m dressed in jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Cord is dressed in cut-off jean shorts—“Jorts!” he announced happily—purple socks that go halfway up his shins, an orange tank top with a giant T-rex on the front, and a visor. He looks like a country club golfer who went off his meds. But somehow, it works.

  We’re walking up the front lawn when Cord nudges me. “Aww. Mitchell’s first date.”

  I roll my eyes. “Right.”

  But I guess it kind of is. I’ve never made plans to meet a girl anywhere before. I’m really not that excited about it.

  Hopefully when I see Katrina, I’ll change my mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Josie

  It’s not as weird as I thought it would be, being at this party. Being in Bobby Jenner’s house, of all places. Bobby is this hulking football player who wears camo shirts and keeps a rifle in his trunk. Just in case he spots a deer to kill while he’s driving around, I guess. I had health class with him last year, first period. He came in late one day, and when the teacher asked what his excuse was, he pulled a squirrel skin out of his backpack—still kind of bloody—and stapled it to the wall. He’s a treasure.

  And, of course, exactly the kind of guy Leah would date. Which she did, for a few weeks sophomore year. Though the relationship clearly wasn’t meant to last, they somehow managed to remain friends. So when I texted Leah after the big Paintbrush community meeting and asked if she knew anything about this party, I shouldn’t have been surprised when she showed up on my doorstep thirty minutes later.

  I’ve been holding this red plastic cup in a death grip for the last few minutes, but I’m starting to relax. Leah alternates between scanning the room for cute boys and babbling on about my family.

  “I swear, if I tried to leave the house the way Libby was dressed tonight, I’d be dead. Not just dead—I’d be buried already. Six feet under the ground, with my mother shoveling dirt on top of me and hollering about hell and damnation.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder.

  “It’s been like that for the past couple months. Everything she leaves the house wearing is either tight to the point of breaking her ribs or completely see through. She might as well drape herself in plastic wrap and call it a day.” I take a sip of the warm punch in my cup and immediately wrinkle my nose. Gross.

  “And then when your mom asked where she was going, and she just said out? And your mom said have fun? That’s the part where I would have gotten locked in my closet.”

  “And your mom would call up all her church friends and ask them to pray for you. Like that time she caught you looking at Cosmo in the grocery store.”

  “You better believe it.” She sighs. “I wish I had your mom. She didn’t even ask us where we were going. My mom practically interrogated me.”

  The party is getting louder as more people arrive. There are lots of familiar faces, but no Mitchell.

  “Weirdly enough, talking about my mom and her lack of parenting skills is not what I want to do on a Friday night.”

  “Okay, okay.” Suddenly there’s a gleam in her eye. “Then we’ll move on to finding a guy for you.”

  “Leah, no.”

  Leah yammers on about the merits of this boy and that one as I study the room over her shoulder. Leah’s been begging me all year to come to parties with her—actually, all last year too—but parties like this aren’t my thing. I’d like to pretend that it’s because I’m too cool for them. But really, it’s more like they intimidate me. I’ve never had a drink before—unless a sip of Ned’s homemade moonshine once counts, which basically tasted like poison. I don’t really feel cool enough for parties like this.

  But weirdly enough, as I stand here in Bobby Jenner’s house, holding a cup of some warm liquid that tastes like a thimbleful of fruit punch mixed with an entire barrel of vodka, I don’t feel out of place. Earlier Leah and I were chatting around the keg with Janie Summers, who Leah knows from band. They both play the flute, and Janie seems really nice. And I recognize a lot of kids from my honors classes. Across the room, Ted Perkins from my calculus class waves to me and starts to make his way over. It’s not just cool kids here, or even kids who think they’re cool. The house is packed, but everyone’s really just hanging out. I don’t feel like I stick out. I might even fit in.

  At least, that’s how I feel until I make eye contact with Mitchell as he walks through the front door. And he doesn’t exactly look happy to see me. In fact, the look on his face seems to ask me: What the hell are you doing here?

  Chapter Ten

  Mitchell

  I can’t believe she’s actually here. Not like it’s the worst thing in the world or anything, I’m just really surprised. Josie always seems so disdainful of high school shit like this. When we kind of parted ways at the beginning of high school, I always thought she was cooler than me. Like she didn’t need to validate herself by coming to parties like this, the way I need to. Seeing her here, surrounded by red plastic cups and dressed up cheerleaders and the distinct smell of cheap beer . . . it’s weird, but I almost feel disappointed.

  And, truthfully, I feel kind of bad. I invited her here, a place she’s never been before, full of people she doesn’t know, and I wasn’t even here when she arrived. Like I threw her to the lions. She even looks kind of out of place somehow, in a strange way that I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Also, who’s the guy she’s talking to?

  I realize I’m staring at her and then notice that she notices I’m staring at her, and that she’s staring back at me. I snap out of it and wave, but she turns away. Weird.

  I start to make my way over to her through the crowd, but before I even take two steps, a tiny red blur detaches from the crowd, launching at me and throwing her arms around my neck. Whoever it is has a surprisingly strong grip, and she also smells like fruity body spray. And alcohol. She really, really smells like alcohol.

  “You came!” Katrina exclaims. She leans back a little bit but keeps her arms around my neck so that our faces are very, very close. Her eyes seem like they’re trying to focus on my face, but apparently it’s too much work, because then she just closes them and sways in place.

  “Of course I came.” I gently try to untangle myself, prying her arms off me and lowering them to her side. “I said we would meet at the party.”

  Her eyes flutter open again. “And here you are!” She reaches toward me in what looks like an attempt to run her fingers through my h
air, but she ends up just poking me in the eye.

  I immediately clap my hand over my eye. Shit, that hurt.

  “Oh no!” Katrina gasps, horrified. “I am so, so, sorry, Mitchell.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. I try to smile at her, but I think it comes out as more of a grimace. Probably because of the throbbing pain.

  “I know what’ll make you feel better.” She flutters her eyelashes at me, and I’m very concerned about where exactly she thinks this is going. The girl can barely stand. But then she exclaims, “A drink! I’ll get it!” and stumbles away.

  I watch her go and sigh. So that’s how this night is going to go. I’ll stay and keep an eye on her for a little bit, make sure one of her friends is sober and planning to drive her home. And that’ll be it.

  I want to be disappointed, but I’m really not. Last week at lunch I heard her tell someone that her favorite book was something called Total Loser: Revenge of the BFF Clique Part Two. That should have been a sign that we weren’t meant to be.

  It’s too bad, because I could really have used a distraction tonight. And with Josie here, it’s going to be hard to avoid all the things I’m trying to avoid.

  I glance around. Where is Josie, anyway?

  I find her in the kitchen, still talking to that same guy, Ted Perkins. He’s one of the few in our class heading to an Ivy League next year. So we’ll both be in New England for college. For some reason, watching him talking and laughing with Josie, this thought annoys me. Before I know it, I’m standing next to them. Like my feet have been programmed on autopilot.

  “Hey, Ted,” I say, smiling.

  I reach out my hand and he grabs it, bro-style. Josie eyes me warily as she takes a sip from a red plastic cup.

  “Mitchell!” He grins back and motions toward Josie. “Do you know Josie?”

  I grin at her. “Yeah, we know each other.”

  She glares at me over her cup. Yep, definitely not happy with me interrupting her conversation.

  “Actually, that’s why I came over here.” I look at Josie. “Any chance you could spare a minute? I’ve got a question about English homework.”

  “Dude!” Ted shoves my arm. “It’s a Friday night. No school talk.”

  “Just a quick second, I promise.”

  “Okay, okay. I was about to go get a refill, anyway.” Ted looks at Josie. “You want one?”

  This guy is really annoying me now. She is perfectly capable of getting her own drink, I think to myself. Not that she should be drinking.

  But Josie just smiles politely back. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

  Ted nods, tipping his red cup back and gulping down the dregs of his drink as he turns and heads toward the back porch, where I’m guessing the alcohol is. Smart move on Bobby’s part, trying to minimize the mess from spills by sticking the drinks outside. Though if I know Bobby, it was probably just a fluke. He’s not exactly a forward thinker.

  Josie crosses her arms. “What?”

  I frown. “What? I came over here to say hi.”

  “Then why did you make up a lie about homework?”

  Good question. And I don’t have a good answer. I can’t exactly say Ted Perkins was annoying me for no good reason.

  So I say the first thing that pops into my head. “How’d the meeting go tonight?”

  Josie’s face softens at this. And I actually feel a little bit of tension leaving my chest and shoulders as I ask the question. I’ve spent the whole night so far actively not thinking about what may or may not have happened tonight at Paintbrush. It’s been exhausting.

  Josie’s voice is quiet as she speaks, so I have to duck my head to hear her over the party noise. “Myra and everyone else thought that it was really up to your dad to decide what he wanted. So they decided to give your mom and Joe a trial month of living together and staying at Paintbrush. And at the end, we’ll have another special meeting and your dad can decide whether he’s okay with it or whether he wants them to go.”

  I let this sink in. As much as I hate to admit it, it makes sense. Myra might be a crazy person, but she’s a good leader. I wonder what my dad will choose. I know what I want him to choose.

  Like she’s reading my mind, Josie adds, “Your dad spoke, too, just something really short. He said he thanks everyone for respecting his space and his feelings, and that once he gets a chance to talk to you in person, he’ll be able to make more sense of it all.”

  The guilt twinges in my stomach again, rising up in me like a wave. I texted him today to tell him I wouldn’t be home tonight, so it’s not like he doesn’t know where I am. But for all his hands-off parenting approach, I bet he’s still worried. My mom has texted and called me about a thousand times today. I haven’t answered her at all.

  I open my mouth to ask more questions when a body crashes to the floor in front of me. Katrina. I reach down to help her up, noticing that her knee landed right on top of Josie’s toes. To her credit, Josie doesn’t say anything, even as a grimace of pain spreads across her face.

  “Sorry, Mitchell,” Katrina says when she’s upright again. Her mascara is a little smeared, and her face is all flushed. She totally ignores Josie, who backs up a few paces with an amused expression on her face. “I got you a drink. But on the way back, I drank it.”

  Katrina looks so genuinely ashamed. She hangs her head, like she’s admitting to first-degree murder instead of drinking a cup of disgusting warm punch that I wasn’t going to drink anyway. It’s terrible, but I have to physically stop myself from laughing at her. I look up to see if Josie’s laughing, too. But she’s gone.

  I was ready to leave this party before it even started. Katrina fell asleep on a couch around midnight. I didn’t know a girl so tiny could snore so incredibly loud. I tucked her in with a blanket and then made sure one of her friends, Katie Everett, was looking out for her. Poor Katie. She was apparently the DD for Katrina and her whole group tonight and, as a result of being the only sober one, has already cleaned up vomit twice, broken up a catfight, and untangled an earring from a sobbing girl’s hair. Katie is in for a long night.

  I was looking around for Cord to tell him it was time to leave when I spotted him talking to Josie across the kitchen. I’ve been watching her all night, out of the corner of my eye, in case she needed saving. But she was talking and laughing with different people all night, people I didn’t even realize she knew. Watching her now with Cord, I realize she doesn’t really look out of place. I must have underestimated her. I actually don’t see her much outside Paintbrush, so maybe I just wasn’t used to her in this type of setting. To me, Josie is Paintbrush and Paintbrush is Josie. One without the other throws me off a little bit. With her long hair out of its braid and flowing around her shoulders, wearing a pink shirt that matches the pink glow of her cheeks, she actually looks really normal. Well, not normal. She still sticks out. But not in a bad way, I guess.

  Something brushes my arm, and I turn to see Ted standing beside me. He’s looking at Josie, too.

  “She’s cool, right?” He nods at Josie.

  I don’t know what Cord is saying to her, but he looks pretty intense. I nod, hoping Ted will drop whatever stupid thing he’s about to say. This is not a conversation I want to have right now.

  “I might ask her out,” he continues. He takes another sip of his drink, spilling some down the front of his polo shirt.

  “Really.” I glance at him. It’s not a question, but he takes it as one.

  “I know. I never thought of her like that either. But tonight, I realized she’s kind of hot.”

  My annoyance with Ted is back in full force. Please stop talking, I think.

  “She’s just so . . . quirky.” He beams, like he’s pleased with himself for coming up with the word.

  “Quirky?” I roll my eyes. I can’t help myself. This guy is such an idiot. “Next you’ll be telling me she’s a free spirit. A dreamer. The kind of girl who skips around barefoot and braids flowers into her hair.” Incidentally, Josie doe
s spend a lot of time barefoot, but that’s not the point.

  He shrugs. “Maybe she does.”

  “Quirky is such a cop-out. Like, ‘everyone else thought this girl was just a big weirdo, but then I came along and found her.’ Like you’re the first guy to ever notice her. She’s a person, not a rare species or a dinosaur bone or something. It’s not like you made some kind of discovery.”

  He holds up his hands, and more drink sloshes to the ground. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t realize.”

  I stare at him. “Realize what?”

  “That you and her were a thing. Or that you have a thing for her. Or whatever.”

  “We don’t. I just—we’re friends. I just thought—” I’m sputtering. I force myself to pause, to take a breath, and then I force myself to smile. “Sorry, dude. Way too much to drink. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

  He laughs, a too-loud drunk laugh, and slings an arm around my neck. “We’ve all been there, right?” He drains his drink and then holds it up. “And speaking of.”

  He stumbles back outside, presumably for a refill that he certainly doesn’t need. When I turn around again, I see Josie and Cord face to face. Literally. Their faces are touching. My face goes hot. They don’t even know each other.

  Josie must be wasted.

  Chapter Eleven

  Josie

  Cord Cofax has his forehead pressed against my forehead, and I am ready to go home.

  I did what I came to do, which was check on Mitchell and tell him about what happened at the meeting. Now it’s past midnight, and more and more people are drunk, which means the party is getting messier and messier. Katrina is passed out on the couch, her hair in a mass of tangles around her head. Bobby and a few guys from the basketball team keep having rap battles. None of them should rap. None of them can rap. It was funny about an hour ago. Now it’s just annoying. I would probably find it funnier if I was drunk, but I’m still holding the same cup of punch Leah handed to me when we first arrived, and it’s still mostly full. She warned me not to drink much because it’s so strong. She’s off somewhere, deep in conversation with Diego, this super hipster guy from our class. They’re probably bonding over the fact that they both bring tea, still steeping, in little mason jars to class in the morning. When most normal people bring coffee in a thermos, or a Styrofoam cup. And the way they both wear scarves in the summer and glasses with thick black rims when I suspect they both have perfect vision.