3 Sides to a Circle

by Janna Watts

“Why did I just wait in that massive line?” I say, juggling the three cups of suds.

  Libby lifts a shoulder and smiles. “I don’t know,” she shouts. “I haven’t waited in line for anything since I was in seventh grade and wanted to camp out for Buffalo Tom concert tickets.”

  I quickly choke down the suds before putting the cups down against the edge of the wall. Honor looks like she wants to puke. So I guess she feels the same way about parties that I do. Libby is the exact opposite. It’s like she’s absorbing all the energy in the room. Her eyes are buzzing and traveling everywhere.

  “What are we doing here?” Honor says. Screams, really.

  “Just wait,” Libby says.

  And then my gut drops when Libby points to Mr. Handsome-and-Perfect painter walking out the back door. God fucking dammit. If Libby came to get Honor and him together, that could have happened in a million more convenient ways. And now I’m trapped in a house with a shit headache, a manic pixie, and a horrified Honor.

  Chapter Nine

  Honor

  I’m shaking from just being here and grab a beer cup of foam to drink down before my nerves take over my body and I forget to speak.

  Libby knows everyone, and her stupid idea of pretending to by my girlfriend isn’t as stupid as I thought it would be. I’m not sure how to keep guys from grabbing me, but Libby does. She’s saving me, and I hate her for bringing me here, but love her for protecting me, which is sort of how she works. Or we work.

  “Go!” Libby’s pushing me toward the door, and I glance back at Toby, but I’ve already lost him in the crowd. A pang of worry hits me but then I remember he’s a guy and will be fine.

  But Sawyer’s here.

  Suddenly another girl kiss is preferable to whatever kind of embarrassment Libby’s going to put me through when we step into the backyard.

  A few more people high-five Libby on our way out, and I’m trying to figure out how one girl can know so many people.

  Now that we’re on the porch and in the cold night air, she may not find Sawyer out here because not only is the backyard huge, there are almost as many people out here as in the house. Plus, we’re not exactly in summer weather anymore and I’m not that interested in getting frostbite for a guy.

  “Well, shit.” Libby pauses on the edge of the porch, cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Sawyer! Anyone seen Sawyer? Hot painter? Sawyer!! Paging Hottie Sawyer!”

  “Libby, please,” I beg.

  “Honor.” She turns and grabs my shoulders. “You like this guy, right?”

  I nod.

  “And you keep bailing on him, yes?”

  I nod again.

  “You can do this. Being with him is better than being in the house, yes?”

  “Yes!” I yell. “Fine.” And now I’m the one who feels like a petulant child, but all I’ll have to do to keep from freezing up is know that I could be back at this stupid house.

  Libby hollers again, making me wish I’d have begged her to stop yelling a moment ago.

  “Sawyer!” she yells.

  This is not happening. I half wish I could allow the porch to suck me up, so I don’t have to be the one with the crazy yelling girl next to me.

  I grab the back of her shirt to pull her inside as a few more people yell her name in recognition, though I don’t want to be inside. I want Toby to take us home. Why isn’t Toby out here yet?

  Finally, someone stands up on a picnic table and waves.

  In spite of my panic, I’ve never been so relieved to see a person in my life. Sawyer.

  “Go get him.” Libby pushes me down the stairs.

  I try to slow my steps so I don’t trip, but she’s strong for being so short and follows me down.

  “Libby, I…”

  “I’m not leaving. Not yet. You need an escort home, and he’s the perfect guy for the job.” She laughs loud and gives me one final push before running back into the party and screaming, “Libby’s in the house!”

  I swear the house goes into a collective shout, and my heart starts to race because I’ve lost sight of Sawyer, which basically just tells me how much I want to see him again after I was pulled from in front of him when I totally froze up again at the coffeehouse. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. And now I’m a little okay with Libby kissing me because without her influence, I don’t think I’d stand a chance with this guy—or I’d definitely not even try. And I can’t believe how much has happened in one day, though with Libby, I probably shouldn’t be surprised.

  “This doesn’t seem like your scene.” Sawyer rests an arm loosely over my shoulders. His hand starts to pull away, but I lean into him, glad to know someone here who is hopefully saner than my roommate. His arm relaxes over me and the beginnings of happy nerves settle in. I’m back to loving Libby a little.

  “It’s definitely not my scene.”

  “And you’re not running away from me tonight.” His breath hits the side of my face, smelling like something sweet. Edible maybe… And my eyes glance at his lips before my cheeks heat up and I turn away.

  I want to say something about how I don’t mean to run away from him, but can’t get it out. “Can you please take me home?”

  “Any excuse to get out of here.” His arm tightens a little as he moves us through the crowd in the backyard.

  Gratitude washes over me so hard my knees go weak. The night’s been too long. Then I worry about Toby and Libby again. “I hope they’ll be okay.”

  “Who?”

  “Libby and Toby.”

  “Libby’s fine,” Sawyer says before he pauses long enough for me wonder if something’s weird. “And who is Toby to you two?”

  “Just a friend,” I blurt, probably too fast.

  We take a few steps in silence, and I can tell he’s thinking. Sawyer’s mouth opens twice, but no words come out as he opens the back gate for me to walk through. I’m just about to break the silence when he speaks.

  “Is your brother okay?” Sawyer asks as soon as we start walking up the sidewalk.

  I freeze for a moment, trying to figure out what to tell him.

  “Oh.” His lips press into a thin line and he stops with me. “You don’t have a brother, do you? And it was probably an excuse to get away from me, which means you might want me to leave you alone.”

  Panic starts to scrape in and I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. I can’t do the whole panic blank out thing now. Toby said it really doesn’t help, and I already know that, but this is definitely not the time.

  “You know.” He scratches his forehead. “You could have just said you weren’t interested.”

  Now I’m scrambling to try and figure out what Libby said to him because I figured she was helping when she shoved me out the coffeehouse door, but maybe she wasn’t, and I’m not sure how to ask him or what to do with that information.

  “I’m interested,” I say. And then I feel like I’m suffocating on the rest of the words. “In you.”

  Sawyer’s smile is smooth but genuine. “Good.” He reaches out a hand, always splattered with specks of paint, and slides our fingers together. “Because I’m interested too.”

  He’s interested too. All the happy nerves turn into some kind of crazy happy flutters.

  The music quiets as we get farther up the street. “I think it’s shorter to go straight through there, isn’t it?” I point to the park that Libby dragged me through earlier.

  “Faster, but always stick to the main streets, Honor. Survival 101 near college campuses,” he teases. “Always stay under the streetlights.”

  “I guess.”

  “Tip number two. Don’t let go of the guy next to you.” He squeezes my hand and I lean into him again.

  “Wait. What did Libby say to you? At the coffeehouse?” I ask.

  He smiles a little. “That you’re shy. To not take it personally if you seemed a little distant. To probably not compliment you on your looks because you get weird. That you’re one of the most amazing people she’
s met, and that I wouldn’t be sorry if we were both…interested.”

  I want to hug Libby because it gives Sawyer more insight into me than I maybe want him to have, but at the same time, it’s good that it’s out there, and he seems okay with it. And I’m amazed again that she knows the perfect thing to say. Although I’m feeling a bit vulnerable because I feel like Libby laid out my hand, and I still don’t know his. I squeeze his hand and go for weather because I can be pathetic. “It’s cold.”

  “I wonder how much closer you’d let me get to you if it was freezing?” The corner of his mouth comes up in a smile.

  I try not to blush, guess he just sort of laid out his hand too. Or maybe that all happened back with the “interested” part of the conversation. But “interested,” and “I want you closer” are two different things.

  “So, you’ve been checking up on me,” he says. “Or Libby has on your behalf.”

  “Oh.” I stare at the sidewalk and the paint splatters on his shoes, suddenly wanting to know what he paints. “Libby. She’s crazy, but she really watches out for me too, you know?”

  And she has been watching him, and knew he and I were getting together today, and said all the right things, and told me more about him than I really needed to know without him telling me himself, but she did do it all for me. Maybe it’s her warped way of apologizing for making me insane during the times when she does, or maybe Libby doesn’t apologize and she’s just hot and cold. I still think it’s her way of keeping us close—I like Libby too much to want to be angry with her.

  “Anything else you want me to fill you in on? I think she’s interrogated half the art department.” He sounds more amused than anything, and I wonder if the interviewees’ reactions would have been the same if I’d been the girl asking and not Libby.

  I shake my head.

  “Nothing? Because there are probably an infinite number of things I want to know about you.” His blue eyes are bright, even in the dark, and more filled with sincerity than I’d expect from him.

  “I want to see your paintings,” I say before I can change my mind.

  “Like we could get together tomorrow…?”

  We take a few more steps and a smile starts to spread across his face.

  “Or…now…?” He sounds so hopeful.

  I can practically hear Libby screaming in my ear, Just do it. And I’m going to. Because if she can survive saying exactly what she thinks all of the time, I can survive saying exactly what I want at least some of the time. “Now.”

  Chapter Ten

  Toby

  I’m two seconds from leaving Blue Light House when Libby plows back in and makes a beeline for me.

  “Honor’s out. You gotta be my date.”

  “Libby, half this place thinks you’re together with Honor.”

  She shakes her head. “No, they don’t. Come on. It’s Honor. Who would ever believe she could be into girls? They all get that I was just protecting her.”

  “I’m not pretending I’m your date. I don’t even want to be here.”

  She bats her eyelashes and sticks out her bottom lip. “Puh-lease, Toby. Stay with me. I’ll be your best friend.”

  “No way. I know you. You’ll ditch me in five seconds.”

  She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the makeshift dance floor. “I will not. See? I’m going to dance with you.”

  I drag my feet. I suck at dancing. All through high school, I was one of those guys who just put their arms around girls and shifted from foot to foot during the slow songs. I never even attempted the fast songs. “I don’t want to.”

  “Sure you do. Trust me. I’ll lead.”

  I find myself in the middle of a sea of people with Libby’s ass backed up into my hips. She’s grinding and then flitting away, twirling, and then coming back to grind some more. I have no idea what to do. I grip her hips and try to shift with her, but there’s no holding on to Libby. One second she’s on me, all over me, really, then the next she’s gone, grinding up against another guy. Dancing with Libby is like everything else. Untethered.

  Two more twirls away from me and I bail. I feel like an asshole by myself on the dance floor. I head out the front door and I don’t even know if Libby’s noticed until I feel her arm wrap around me from behind in this strange Libby hug.

  “You can’t leave.”

  “Let go, Libby.”

  She snakes her other hand in and now she’s sort of reverse bear hugging me, only it feels more like when you see those parents trying to leave kindergarten on the first day and their kids are clinging to them.

  “Don’t go.”

  I swivel around and she releases me. It’s starting to get really cold outside, but Libby doesn’t seem to notice. People pass us and say hi to Libby on their way in. She waves but then keeps returning her gaze to mine.

  “This isn’t my scene,” I finally say.

  Her eyes dart to the side and then a giant smile lights up her face. “I know. Look.” She points to the stoplight half a block down. “Let’s climb that.”

  “Um, no.”

  She nods her head and claps her hands. “Yes. Do you see the rungs? It’s meant to be climbed.”

  “Those rungs are probably for workers when they need to fix it.”

  “No. There’s even a platform. It’s for college students who need to climb it.”

  Before I can respond to this, she darts out into the street. The street. Not the sidewalk. She’s running in the middle of the street like no cars will come when she’s on the road. And part of me thinks that, of course, cars wouldn’t dare take up the space meant for Libby.

  I tear after her, but by the time I get there, she’s already up, standing on the platform with her arms spread like in Titanic. I grab the bottom rung and follow her up. There’s barely enough room for the two of us on the platform, and she teeters as she makes space for me. What the hell am I doing?

  She’s super close. To the point that I can smell everything about her: sweat, and chocolate-covered espresso breath, and beer, and Libby-ness. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes me in a hug.

  “You’re here with me. On top of the world. At college. With everything ahead of us.”

  I wrap an arm around her, the other hand still clinging to the stoplight. “Yes. I am. Can we get down now?”

  “I sort of wish I could kiss you. But I think it would fuck up this magic.”

  “Libby…”

  “Shh…we’re on top of the world. Quiet. Look around you.”

  We’re not on top of the world. We’re twenty feet in the air on a stoplight, but Libby makes it feel like its Mount Everest. I close my eyes for a second and feel her. I want something, but I’m not sure what. I’m almost overwhelmed with possibility and fear. This girl, this moment, it doesn’t belong to me. It’s not mine to have yet.

  “You can go now,” she says and releases me.

  “Are you staying up here?”

  She nods. “For a few more minutes.” Her voice is strange and quiet and worries me.

  “I’ll wait with you,” I say, holding tighter to the stoplight post.

  “I didn’t ask you to wait. I told you to go.”

  Her words hit me hard in the gut. I don’t even know what to say to them. “But…”

  “Go, Toby. I’ll be fine.”

  Her dismissal scrapes at me, and I start moving too fast down the rungs. I slip on one of them and I hear Libby gasp from above, but I’m too angry to look up. The whole night has been too much, and I’m not up for the challenge of deciphering Libby’s world.

  Chapter Eleven

  Honor

  Sawyer and I walk up his apartment steps, and he stops before pushing open the door. “Okay. So I was dragged to that party by the other people who live on my floor, and never intended to bring a girl home because I never thought I’d see you there…” He cringes. “Not as though I would have planned to bring you back… I’m screwing this up. Shit.”

  And then it hits me—he’s n
ervous. Maybe almost as nervous as me, which is crazy since he seems impossibly perfect. I don’t say anything, wanting to hear what he’s thinking.

  “My place might be messy. I get distracted when I paint, and my living room is my bedroom because the light in this apartment is good, and I’ve lived here since I started school three years ago, and I paint a lot, so…” I love how his words sort of tumble over each other.

  “Let me in,” I tease as I bump him with my elbow. The charge of energy between us fuels my confidence.

  He pushes open the door and flips on the light, and I was not at all prepared for canvasses to be stacked against the walls, and hanging on every inch of wall space, which must be ten feet high because he’s on the top story. Tarps cover the floor except in the corner where his bed is. I’m frozen, staring at how personal it all is. His space. His room. His art. His mess.

  It would be a cool apartment without the art supplies stacked everywhere, a little dated with the light fixtures and cabinets in his miniature kitchen, but with the art? It feels almost sacred. Special.

  “We could go in anytime.” He chuckles.

  I step in, a bit overwhelmed with color and the stifling sense of artistic passion and of Sawyer.

  They’re all portraits, but…

  His paintings make me feel something. They’re not precise pictures. They’re emotion with shape that hit me so hard I have to know what he feels when he paints them. Does the canvas magnify what he feels? Or does he feel so deeply that I’m just seeing the leftovers? Do people behind the camera lens feel this much? Maybe that would help me relax and understand that what they do is art, just like what Sawyer does is art.

  “Okay. Now I might have a million questions for you,” I say as I glance over my shoulder at him.

  Our eyes meet, and it takes a moment for his expression to turn from strained to a little more relaxed.

  “Good.” His smile is wide. “Because I still have a million for you too.”

  I’m sure people come in here and scan the walls and make polite comments, but right now just absorbing the paintings seems so much safer, so I do. I’m guessing that he won’t mind if I take my time. It is the reason I asked to come back here.