I finish my homework before lunch and decide to take my bike for a cruise.
I throw my jeans on under my splattered tank dress and zip up my boots. Once I’m on my bike, I consider pedaling to Nick’s.
No. There’s somewhere else I want to go. I start pedaling.
I’m off to the gallery, Ballard Art Collective. It’s closed on Sundays, but I want to peek in at Maye’s work.
I roll up onto the sidewalk and sit there, looking in.
Maye’s dolls are meticulously made. Each one of them has its own personality. They’re bigger than I expected, each about three feet tall.
It’s like they’re alive. Some are sad and some are delighted and at least one is in love.
Still, I wonder. If I didn’t know Maye, and I was just passing by, would I be impressed by what I’m seeing through the window? Would the dolls make me think? Make me feel?
In a way, they’re not much different from a still life. They represent different moods, and they’re well made, but are they really art? Do they have layers? In a way, it’s kind of like they’re the same thing as my strings, only on a larger scale.
Part of me wishes they could talk or something. After spending time learning about the Guerrilla Girls and Jason Sprinkle, I’m beginning to see that messages matter.
What’s Maye saying with these dolls?
I sit still on my cruiser, feet to the sidewalk, just looking.
When I get home, I check my phone again.
No messages.
*
Monday comes too fast, as always, but this week I don’t mind. The faster Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday pass, the sooner I get to go back to Palette.
I wake up with this weird feeling because I still haven’t heard from Holly. I want to tell her about Palette. It was killer waiting around all day Sunday to hear from her.
I miss her. So much.
I tie on a yellow string and pedal off through the mist.
When I meet up with Nick outside of school, the first thing he says is, “Holly told me about the note.”
When did they even have this conversation? I don’t think they’ve ever hung out before, or talked, or anything, without me.
It’s so none of his business. I hope I look … tough. Annoyed. “And?”
“And what were you thinking? You went way too far!” Outraged. As if I haven’t already heard this from Holly. And Mom. And in the back of my own head.
“You know as well as I do that she wasn’t going to do anything on her own. She was wasting time.”
“If she didn’t do anything, she would’ve had her reasons.”
“You knew about the plan! You’re the one who helped me figure out who Wilson even is!”
“I thought you were planning something low-key, like running into him somewhere. Something natural. But this? A declaration of her feelings? Without even talking to her about it? Maybe she wasn’t ready.”
“It wasn’t a declaration! It was subtle!”
But she should be ready. She’s great; can’t she see that? I can. Nick can. Now Wilson can too.
I get to class early, plop into my seat, and think.
People need to open their eyes and look at themselves. If Holly were confident, she’d have Wilson and she wouldn’t be mad at me. If Nick could get over being different or whatever, he wouldn’t be waiting for college to find a boyfriend. If Mom would stop seeing herself as old before her time, she could have a life. Grampie’s pretty much the only person I know who does mostly what he likes, when he likes. And he looks like he might be forced to slow down soon.
Me? I need to go after James. He’s like sunshine to me for a reason: I don’t know him, but I sense that we’re perfect for each other. It doesn’t matter that I’m a little younger. I’m ready for him. I’m ready for anything.
Ten
I’m not even sure if Nick will show up for lunch, but then he sits with me at our usual table, and says, “About Holly. I understand you didn’t think you were doing anything wrong.” I can tell he still thinks it was wrong, though. “Man, I hate to see you with that yellow string. Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Let it go. I don’t need two friends mad at me.
“Holly will forgive you.” He pops open his soda. “If you apologize.”
Maybe I should. Just get past it. But that would mean admitting I was wrong, when I think good things will probably come. Wilson did ask her out. “We’ll be fine,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “You guys have been friends for a long time.”
I really do not want to talk about Holly with Nick. He and I are already dangerously close to another argument. “So,” I say, biting my apple. “Someone put up a poster at Palette on Saturday. In the window, you know? Pride Parade is coming up.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I saw that in the Weekly.”
“Let’s go.” I don’t know if he’s ever been to a Pride event, but it’s the perfect opportunity.
I can’t read his face. But he nods. “Could be fun.”
Grampie’s in a great mood this week, happy that he can get outside and garden. It may not seem like your usual hobby for a career longshoreman, but Grampie loves working with the earth almost as much as he loved working near the water.
The weather is glorious. Not too hot, but the sun comes out almost every day, for hours at a time. If Holly weren’t locking me out, I’d invite her to hang out at Golden Gardens.
Jewel and Alice hold hands as they leave school, walking home together every day. I try not to watch. I think of James, and how he and I could make the perfect couple.
*
The longer I don’t hear from Holly, the more school feels like a prison. So much of my real life is out there. But I’m stuck behind a desk, in a shuffle, at my table in the cafeteria.
By Wednesday, I can’t handle being away from Palette any longer. I’ve had only one shift, and I’ve already started to think of it as the only place where I can actually breathe. It’s even better than art workshop.
When I get there, Maye is in her Starbucks apron behind the coffee bar.
James—hallelujah—is standing at the counter, his board propped up on the stand.
Oscar’s reading a magazine at the main register.
I can feel my cobwebs shaking away.
“Hey, Vanessa,” Oscar says.
“Chica!” Maye says.
“Hey,” I say.
“Anything up?” Oscar asks. “You’re not scheduled today.”
“Just felt like getting out of the house. Grab a hot chocolate. How are you guys?”
“Sick,” Maye says, rubbing her belly. “I partied a little hearty last night.”
Oscar sticks his finger in his mouth and makes a puking motion.
“Beautiful,” I say.
James stirs packet after packet of sugar into his mug. “Hey, you gotta live.”
Maye starts steaming milk for my chocolate. “You like a little coffee with your sugar, James?”
He gives me a smile that could melt icebergs. “Sugar is one of the finer things in life,” he says. “Nice to see you again.”
Why is my heart pounding like this? He’s just a guy.
“You too.” I pretend that it’s just a conversation.
“So, Miss Maye, we’re still on for later, right?” James asks.
“You mean Miss December,” Maye says, and does a sexy little move with her shoulder, batting her eyelashes. “Yeah, we are.”
James turns to me. “I’m producing a calendar.”
“Pinup girls,” Maye says.
“And she’s the star.”
Maye strikes a pose with her mouth all puckered, like Betty Boop. Then she rubs her temples as if she has the world’s worst headache.
“Cool,” I say. And a little raunchy. But what’s wrong with that? She said pinup girls, not nudes.
“I’ve got setting up to do. Fuzzy dice to buy. A big-time trip to Archie McPhee,” James says. He means the crazy p
arty supply/kitsch store down the road.
James chugs his coffee as if it’s a beer. And he’s off, on his skateboard, through the store and out the door.
I wish … Yow. Get a grip.
“So your show opening was fun?” I ask Maye.
“So much fun!” she says. “Everyone was really into it.”
“Congratulations.” I straighten the napkins. “I was passing by on Sunday, and I looked in. Your dolls are amazing.”
“Thanks!”
“They look alive. That’s what I like about them. They seem as if they could wander around on their own.” It’s true. But I’m still wondering—does that make them art?
“I’m pretty sure they do, when I’m not looking,” she says, chuckling. “Seriously, thanks. I spend so much time and energy on those dolls, it means a lot when people take the time to look at them.”
“I loved seeing them.” Also true.
“So, what are you working on, artwise?”
“I need to get something ready for the next school show, but I’m kind of blocked.”
“Oh, yeah?” She’s wiping down Betty, slowly.
“Yeah. I want to do something sort of guerrilla-ish. Some street art or something.”
“Remember, it’s all about the statement. What would you like to say?”
That’s exactly what I’m not so sure of. “I’ll get back to you on that. Um, you look kind of green.”
“Totally and completely,” she says. “Kermit green.”
“Look, I’m here anyway. It’s slow. Maybe you should take a rest. I can cover.”
“Oh, would you really? Oscar’s lounger in the back has been calling my name.”
I grin at her. “Abso-snootly.” Whoops. Kid talk.
She grins back. “You’re the best.”
She plops Betty’s towel into the sink and disappears into the back room.
James comes back to pick up Maye for their photo session just before closing time. Oscar is counting down the big register drawer, Maye is hanging out on the couch, looking much better, and I’m scrubbing the coffee table in front of the couch.
I feel the whole world perk up when he glides in.
Maye stands up, grabs her purse. “Just need to stop home to change,” she says. “And redo makeup.”
“This gonna take all night?” Oscar asks.
“Should be fairly quick once the starlet is ready for her close-up,” James says.
“Meet you at the Tin Hat after, then,” Oscar says. He goes to put the money in the safe for the night.
James turns to me. “Will you be giving us the pleasure of your company at the Tin Hat?”
No one’s actually invited me. And I’m five years shy of being old enough to get into a bar. Then again, I don’t think he’s twenty-one either.
“Alas,” Maye says, “Vanessa is a young’un.”
“Obviously,” he says. What does he mean by that? Just how young do I look?
“But then again, so are you,” Maye says.
“My point exactly,” James says.
“How old are you?” I ask, bold.
“My ID says I’m twenty-two,” he says with a grin.
“Nineteen,” Maye says. “Barely.”
He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to me. A license with his photo and the name Michael Smith.
“Gotcha,” I say.
Maye takes off her apron and goes to the back room. Me and James. Alone.
“Too bad you don’t have an ID,” James says. “We could’ve had fun.”
I have never before wished to grow up so fast. To have fun with a boy who is … what? Sexy. He’s a man, and that means he’s not just adorable or cute or even hot. He’s sexy.
Awesome. And a little scary. But I can still have fun with him. Maybe even cross that line that Jewel and I got so close to. And if we go there, I’ll make sure we use protection. This can happen.
“Yeah, too bad.” But I can’t give up this easily. “I mean, maybe we can have fun. All I need is an ID, right?”
He absolutely grins. “And I’m just the person to supply it.”
I could get a tattoo if I had an ID. This is sounding better and better. “I don’t have the right kind of picture.”
“Good thing I have a camera,” he says. “I’ve got everything we need, actually.”
I smile. “Good thing.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a side business for me.”
A side business? In identity falsification? That’s not so cool. It’s actually kind of criminal. But you gotta live, like he said. And he doesn’t seem like an actual criminal. Plus, he just said we.
“I work open-to-close on Saturday.”
“Okay. I’ll be here for you at closing time on Saturday.”
That was so easy. “Sounds like a plan.”
A plan to be alone with James. All right.
Oscar comes out from the back. “Time to go!”
I toss the rag in the sink and grab my bag from behind the counter.
“Glad you showed up today,” Oscar says. “Big help.”
“You’re an angel,” Maye says.
They head to the door, but James lags behind. Waiting for me?
“You have a fun night,” he says.
“Thanks.” I’ll be … finishing my Spanish homework. That brings me back to earth.
Then we’re all out the door. They’re heading left and I have no choice but to turn right and go home.
I feel like they forget about me as soon as I turn the corner.
But it’s okay. Something has changed.
I’ll have my ID and I’ll get to go wherever they go.
Eleven
All Thursday, I’m thinking about Saturday night. James. My official ticket into the real world.
I need to look older for the ID photo, so I’ll shoot for sexy. I’ll be irresistible, and he’ll want me.
This is going to be so much fun.
Plus, spring break is coming up. Spring Semi, too, but I’ve barely thought about that.
Nick is being normal, thank the Goddess. I lay off the Pride thing, though. I planted the seed; now I’m giving it time so that I can be sure he really wants to go. I don’t want to push him into anything, like I did with Holly. I still haven’t heard from her.
Mr. Smith asks me again about applying for that summer teaching job. He talks me into getting an interview set up over spring break.
At lunch, Nick and I make plans to go shopping downtown on Sunday. Neither of us mentions Holly.
I’m starting to itch inside. I’m still thinking about the graffiti birds and Maye’s dolls. Thursday night, I decide to go shopping for spray paint.
As I pick out a rainbow of six colors, a pack of caps for different effects, and a giant marker, I can barely keep my excitement inside. New toys!
At home, Mom and Grampie grab me to play Monopoly, so I hide my new supplies in my closet.
Finally, Saturday.
I wear my shortest black skirt, the pink fishnets, the black tee with metallic stars that Nick likes to borrow, and my white boots. All of my favorite things.
Somehow, I’m getting used to living with the idea that Holly’s not exactly my friend right now. It’s become this constant buzz that I can choose not to hear or feel because there are louder noises going on.
Blue string.
Extra time with makeup, repaint nails bright plum.
Maye keeps giving me these looks all day. I’m not sure why, but I’m trying not to think about it, add it to that buzz. I can’t worry about Maye or Holly. Only Mission James.
Maye leaves early because we’re slow, and it’s the first time I’ve been relieved to see her go. I figure it’s about the ID, but, I mean, if she’s okay with James having one and making them, why would it bother her that I want one? She probably had a fake ID when she was my age. She’s only twenty-two.
As promised, James turns up at closing time, minus his skateboard.
Oscar’s busy counti
ng down the register. I yell, “Good night!” and he barely looks up as he yells, “See ya!”
I walk over to James, feeling like I’m on a runway. He definitely likes my look.
He has the dirtiest hands, covered in black … grease? It’s not paint. Not ink.
“I apologize for my raggedy appearance in front of a lady as lovely as yourself,” he says, smiling. “I was working in the garage. Greasy.”
“You’re a mechanic?”
“I work on Vespas,” he says. “When I’m not doing one of my photo projects.”
I want a Vespa even more now. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, I fell in love with them a while back.”
“So why don’t you ride one?”
We start walking, me following his lead. “I do. I skate around Ballard usually because I live here. When I’m going other places, I scoot when the weather’s okay, and drive when it’s not.”
“Gotcha,” I say. It hits me then that he probably has an apartment, alone. I’m hanging out—on a date?—with someone old enough to live by himself. Before, I’d pictured him somewhere filled with skateboards and cameras and sunshine and fun, but nowhere specific.
“Do you have roommates?” Wait. What if he still lives at home? Like, with his parents? I don’t want to embarrass him. “I mean, who do you live with?”
“Just me,” he says. “I grew up in Sammamish, but migrated to Seattle as soon as possible. I left high school during my junior year. Got my GED a year later. I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”
Handle what? “School?”
“School. Home. Everything. I’m much happier out here, doing my thing.”
Exactly what I’ve been wishing for. A life full of whatever colors I feel like putting in. No boundaries. “Cool. GED.”
He’s so tall, and his long legs make his strides three times the length of mine. I try not to lose my breath as I keep up. “Wish I had my board with me,” he says. “I feel naked without it.”
We’re out alone together and he’s talking about being naked.
“I’d like to learn,” I say. Then, for good measure, I throw in, “I was down at the skate bowl on my break the other day watching some guys glide around.” Glide around? That is so not official skater lingo.
My Not-So-Still Life Page 7