It hasn’t been too hard so far, because he’s been up on stage, and I’ve been tucked back here on this white plastic chair. We’re too far away to even make eye contact, which is great, because I’ve been able to stare at him freely for the last hour straight.
But when Principal Jeffers introduces Mitchell, my heart starts pounding and my leg starts bouncing. Leah grabs my knee to make me be still and gives me a look that clearly says pull it together.
Mitchell takes the podium like he’s been giving speeches all his life. Like speaking in front of over two thousand people is no big deal. Like he does it all the time. I can see that familiar lazy grin, the easy posture and relaxed shoulders. He looks like the Mitchell from a month ago, before his mom left his dad. Before I knew he was more than just that carefree smile. When our whole relationship was based on car rides to and from school. Before we held hands, before we slept overnight in his truck, before we made out in backseats and discovered secret caves. Before we were us.
“My name is Mitchell Morrison, and I’m honored to have the opportunity to speak to you all this evening.”
He stops to clear his throat, and I realize I’m leaning forward in my chair, mesmerized. It’s only been two days since I last heard his voice, but it feels like an eternity.
“I’m going to keep this short, and I’m going to keep this sweet.” His gaze sweeps over the stadium. “I know what a good graduation speech is supposed to be. It’s supposed to be follow your dreams and find your passion and you can do anything you set your mind to, with a few congratulations and we did its sprinkled in.” A murmur of laughter ripples through the audience. “But I know all that, and I suspect you all know that as well. So instead of thinking about the places you’ll go, take a moment to think about the place you’ve been.” He pauses. “Take a moment to think about home.”
My heart catches in my throat. This does not sound like the Mitchell I know. This doesn’t sound like the Mitchell from two days ago.
“We are all going on to exciting futures and new opportunities, moving on to the proverbial bigger and better things. But with that in mind, remember that the only reason we’re prepared to move on is because of the place we came from. Our families, our friends, our hometowns—these are the things that made us who we are today.” His voice softens. “These are the things we can never forget.”
“So let’s take a moment, right now, and appreciate the people who made you who you are today. The people who are your home.” He grips the sides of the podium. “The people who have painted on the canvas of your life.”
A loud whistle comes from somewhere in the crowd at this, piercing and solitary and familiar. Ned. Of course he came. And of course he whistled at an inappropriate time.
“So if I leave you with any one profound thought, let it be this: No matter where you go, never forget where you came from.”
He looks up, and for one split second I swear he’s staring straight at me.
“Never forget your home.”
There is a long pause, and then he smiles and nods. “Thank you.”
Loud applause fills the stadium, and somewhere up front a group of football players starts chanting, “Mitchell! Mitchell! Mitchell!”
As Principal Jeffers takes the microphone again, urging everyone to settle down, I let out a long, slow breath. Leah nudges me, concern in her eyes, and I find her hand and squeeze it. I’m okay.
The next few speeches fly by, and before I know it, roll is being called. All the speakers and administrators gather onstage as the A’s start lining up.
Abel. Adorno. Aggy. Alvarez. Each one crosses the stage, shaking hands with the long line. This is going to take forever.
And then the next thought comes tumbling on the heels of the first: Oh, god. I’m about to shake Mitchell’s hand.
Chapter Forty
Mitchell
I pulled off my speech okay, which was my second biggest task of the day. Now comes the first biggest: facing Josie for the first time since we ended things.
And not just facing her. Shaking her hand in front of a stadium of thousands and trying to act like a normal person about it. Shaking her hand, not hugging her or kissing her or asking her what went wrong or begging for her back or telling her that I’m leaving tomorrow.
Just shaking her hand.
Hundreds of students go by before her, but it all passes in a blur—hundreds of handshakes, a couple of jocks slapping my back, a few girls I know reaching out and giving me a quick hug, Cord hugging me so tight that he practically strangles me. It must take forever, but it feels like a minute passes. Maybe even less.
And then, all of a sudden, she’s here. Her hair is out of its usual braid and tumbling around her shoulders, and she must be wearing heels because she comes up to my chin instead of just my chest. Her eyes meet mine, she bites her lip, and she looks so beautiful and lovely, and all I want to do is kiss her.
But I’ve been rejected by Josie enough the past few days; I’m not sure risking another rejection is a good idea, especially not so publicly. And besides, we only have a few seconds. So I settle for a handshake. But when her small hand is clasped in mine, I can’t help it; I hold on a beat longer than necessary and slowly, deliberately, rub my thumb over her palm. And the way her eyes widen, the way a small smile tugs at her mouth, the way she blushes? It’s better than any kiss. And it gives me a tiny, tiny glimmer of hope.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. The line of students finally ends, and the whole class begins the procession out. I’m one of the first to leave. As I walk past the stadium seats, I hear a particularly loud wolf whistle. A bunch of screams. A few familiar voices. I look up, and there they are—Myra, Ned, Bernie, the MacPhersons, my mom and dad, Josie’s family and a bunch of other Paintbrush people—whooping and whistling and clapping and cheering and making a hugely embarrassing scene in general. They’re the loudest people in the stadium. They stick out like a sore thumb. They’re obnoxious and crazy and out of their minds.
And for once, I don’t mind at all.
Chapter Forty-One
Josie
Paintbrush looks amazing. All the tables have been dragged outside and covered in lacy tablecloths and are now sagging under the weight of tons of food. There is icy lemonade and sweet tea served with lemons in mason jars, bouquets of daffodils everywhere, and of course, a bonfire roaring off to the side. Ned and Bernie love any excuse to light things on fire.
The best part is the lights—delicate strands that blink like fireflies wrapped around every tree trunk and branch on the property. There are even strands of lights strung from roof to roof, crisscrossing all over and creating a glowing canopy that illuminates the yard under the dark night sky. It looks perfect, like from a movie or a magazine or a fairytale. It’s beautiful.
And it’s all for us. For Mitchell and me. The last time someone graduated from high school at Paintbrush was five years ago, or maybe even six, when the Willson twins lived here. But they were homeschooled by their parents and had only been members for two years. I was in middle school, but I remember that party, and it was nothing like this. Everyone just ate some cake in the Sanctuary. But Mitchell and me, we’re the originals. The first kids at Paintbrush. So tonight is special.
Leah touches my arm. “Hey. I have to get going.”
“Already?”
“I know. But my mom baked me a strawberry cake, and if I’m not there when she cuts it, my brothers will devour it all within seconds.” Her eyes gleam. “And you know how I feel about strawberry cake.”
“You’d kill your own family for some strawberry cake.”
“Exactly. And I don’t think murder is an appropriate way to celebrate my graduation.” She peers around at the crowd. “No Mitchell?”
I wave my hand. “He’s around. But I’ll be fine.”
Leah grabs my hand and squeezes. “Promise?”
I squeeze back. “Promise.”
I’ve already decided that trying to avoid Mitch
ell tonight would really just be a waste of time. It’s our party. People will notice if we’re weird, and then things will be awkward. Besides, something about the way he smiled at me at graduation, the way he touched my hand . . . It gave me hope somehow. Maybe he’s decided to stay this summer. Maybe the things I said to him were wrong.
“Hey, guess what?” She drops my hand, voice eager.
“What?” I’m wary. Leah’s guessing games can be dangerous.
“Myra just hired the first ever agricultural intern for Paintbrush.”
“Agricultural intern?” I squint at her. “How do you know?”
“Because it’s me.” She curtsies.
I double over in laughter, and she shoves me.
“I know, I know. Picturing me up here farming is ridiculous.” She grins. “And Myra’s said she’s paying me in fresh produce and warm hugs. Whatever that means.”
“It means exactly what you think it means.” I recover myself and throw an arm around Leah. “I can’t wait to witness this.”
“Hey, when I apply to those fancy New York schools in a couple years, they’ll see I’m well-rounded.”
“Get ready to get dirty, Leah.”
She glances down at her pristine white dress and sighs. “I’ll try.”
By nine, lots of people are already tipsy. Even though the party’s been going on for less than two hours. There’s a big semi-circle of chairs on the lawn, and for the past half hour people have been toasting to Mitchell and me. The toasts have ranged from cute, like Maddie brandishing a champagne glass full of sweet tea; to very long and sappy, like Myra tearing up as she described each year of our life in detail; to ridiculous, like Ned, ranting about his own high school years; to stern, like Bernie telling us to “not screw it all up.” After everyone settled down, Myra gave us each these huge homemade scrapbooks full of embarrassing baby pictures, awkward middle school pictures, and every goofy picture in between. But overall, it’s been fun.
My mom has been watching happily the whole time. She’s more chatty and cheerful than I’ve seen her in forever. It makes me happy to know that I’ve made her happy. Watching her smile makes me smile.
The toast-making crowd breaks up, and I make my way over to her. But I’ve only taken a few steps when she’s intercepted by Carrie. I stop and watch, hidden by the crowd milling around.
Mitchell’s mom has tears streaming down her face as she ducks in close to my mom. They whisper together before my mom pulls Carrie in for a hug. They wrap their arms around each other, and Carrie’s shoulders are shaking. It’s kind of heartbreaking.
I turn around and immediately make eye contact with Mitchell. I step back, startled, as he makes his way toward me. I don’t know what to expect. But as he gets closer, the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile, and his face relaxes. Relief washes over me in a wave.
But then he glances past me, focusing on something behind me, and his jaw tenses and his smile falls. I know what he’s looking at and I wince, scanning his face. I can’t tell if he’s sad or mad or just surprised. But before I can make up my mind, he spins on his heel and walks off in the other direction.
I end up talking to Wendy and Eric and playing with baby Lucy, so I lose track of Mitchell for a while. It isn’t until I hear a loud clanging that I look up to see Myra banging her fork against an empty mason jar, Mitchell standing sheepishly beside her. Mitchell’s dad is there too, his hand placed proudly on Mitchell’s shoulder. For some reason I can’t quite place, I get a sharp, sinking feeling.
“Attention! Attention!” Myra screeches.
Beside her, Mitchell winces.
The buzz dies down, if only a little bit. Lucy coos happily in my lap, her tiny hands grasping at my hair. She seems determined to stuff some of it in her mouth.
“Our graduate has an announcement to make,” Myra continues. “He didn’t want to make a big fuss. But I said what are graduation parties good for, if not for making a big fuss?”
She nudges Mitchell, who looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes.
He steps forward and runs a hand through his hair. Even from way back here, I can see that his face is red. “So . . . yeah. Turns out that I got a job for the summer.”
My back stiffens.
Myra nudges him again. This time he really does roll his eyes. But he also smiles.
“Okay, okay. I got a job at Canyonlands National Park. With their youth service corps.” He clears his throat. “And I leave tomorrow.”
His dad beams with pride as he throws his arm around Mitchell’s shoulder. Someone starts applauding, and then everyone follows suit. The crowd breaks up, people moving to shake Mitchell’s hand and clap him on the back, and the hum and buzz of the party starts up again.
I stay where I am and stare at Mitchell through the crowd. I don’t realize Lucy is squirming on my lap, kicking her little feet unhappily, until she lets out a wail.
“Sorry.” I’m not really sure who I’m talking to. I pass Lucy off to Eric.
“Good for him!” Wendy exclaims.
She bounds off to congratulate him, and Eric moves toward the food table with Lucy. And I’m left sitting in the grass, stunned.
I shouldn’t be stunned. I should have known this was coming. I did know this was coming. But I guess it didn’t hit me until right now. Mitchell—the Mitchell I grew up with, the Mitchell who was my first playmate, my first friend, my first classmate, my first kiss, my first everything, my Mitchell—is leaving. And I’m staying here.
Adrenaline floods my veins, and I inexplicably get the urge to run, to sprint, away from the party and this place. I stand, head pounding, just in time to see Carrie striding to her cabin, head down, shoulders slumped. For the first time in this whole debacle, I feel really sorry for her. I know what she’s going through. She’s getting left behind too.
I smooth my dress. Suddenly I don’t feel very pretty in my red dress, and I don’t feel like this party is a fairytale. I just feel lost. I start to make my way toward the food table but stop. I’m not hungry. I scan the crowd for Libby and Mae, but they’re sitting cross-legged on the grass, knees touching, laughing and talking. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Libby laughing like this. I don’t want to interrupt.
Just when I’ve decided to sneak back to my cabin, I see him. Mitchell. He steps right in front of me, a few feet away. I meet his gaze and hold it. And then he jerks his head slightly toward the side and strides off into the night, slipping out into the dark, off into the field behind the Sanctuary.
I wait one minute and then follow him.
He’s leaning against a tree, a big sprawling oak, his hair glinting in the moonlight. He’s staring up at the sky, but when I come around the corner, he straightens up and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks so tiny next to that giant oak, like he’s five again, like he’s the little boy I met the first day I moved into Paintbrush, the boy with skinned knees and dirt-streaked hands and a big, sloppy grin on his face. My Mitchell.
But then he steps toward me, and I see the broad slope of his shoulders, his perfectly messy hair, the way his button-down shirt skims the flat plane of his chest. He’s still Mitchell, but he’s different now. And I’m not so sure he’s my Mitchell anymore.
I go to tuck my hands into my pocket but then realize I’m wearing a dress. I settle for crossing my arms.
“Congratulations.” I mean it sincerely, but my voice comes out strangled.
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t say thank you. He just runs a hand through his hair. “I have something to tell you. Something to show you, actually.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
“Something you might not like.”
I hesitate. But one look at his face, sad and expectant all at once, and I give in. “Okay.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolls through something on the screen, squinting in the bright light. He finds what he’s looking for and holds the phone out to me.
It’s warm in my palm, a
nd there’s an email pulled up on the screen.
Dear Josephine Sedgwick,
Congratulations! You have been accepted into the Youth Service Corps at Canyonlands National Park.
My heartbeat speeds up, until I can feel my pulse pounding in my head, in my fingertips. I skim the rest of the email. Then I hand the phone back to him.
Mitchell’s face is wary.
“You applied for me?” My voice is even, emotionless. Probably because I don’t know what I’m feeling.
He pockets the phone. “Yeah.”
“Without asking me?”
“Yeah.”
“Mitchell.” I close my eyes. “Is it really so hard for you to accept that I want to be here, at Paintbrush? That my place is here?”
“I just wanted to give you an opportunity. That’s all.”
“I don’t need an opportunity, Mitch—”
“What are you so scared of, Josie?” He steps closer to me, his jaw clenched.
“Me?” I step closer too. “What are you so scared of, Mitchell? You won’t even try to talk to your mom.”
He glares at me. “That’s a totally different thing, and you know it.”
“Maybe I’m scared of leaving, but you’re scared of staying. You’re scared to forgive her, for some stupid reason.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “I don’t know if you think it’ll make you weak or too attached or what. But I know you’re scared, and I think it sucks.”
“Well, I think it sucks that you broke up with me. I think that really, really sucks.” He practically spits the words out.
“Please.” My face heats up. “We weren’t even really together.”
He stares at me. “What are you talking about?”
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