Portrait of Us

by A. Destiny

  It was amazing.

  “Welcome,” a short round woman said, popping up out of nowhere beside us. She had on a pair of black pants with a ruffled white shirt, and her hair was pulled up in a messy but cute bun. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here because of the high school art competition,” Mom said proudly. She inclined her head toward me. “Corinne Walters, one of the winners this year.”

  The woman clapped. “Wonderful! We’ve been waiting for you. Please, come this way. We have a table of refreshments all set up.”

  Charlie tugged at his necktie as he slumped beside me. “Think I can take this off yet?” he asked.

  “Maybe soon,” I whispered back. My phone vibrated. I took it out and smiled, then handed it to Charlie. “Guess who.”

  He swallowed and reached for the phone. “It’s her,” he breathed. His fingers flew across the buttons as he texted Maxine back.

  I couldn’t help but feel proud of him. After our talk, he’d approached Maxine and flat-out told her that he realized he liked her and he didn’t want her dating anyone else. According to what I could pry out of him, she’d apparently rolled her eyes, told him it was about time, then planted a huge kiss on him.

  While I was happy for them, I couldn’t help but think of my own situation. Wondering if I was going to get my first kiss anytime soon. Or if Matthew would even listen to me. I scanned the room, looking for him. He wasn’t here.

  Disappointment filled my chest. I made my way to the refreshments table and grabbed a cup of punch. There were several adults standing there, and they all came up and talked rapidly to me, thanking me for showing up, for entering the competition, gushing about how much they loved the project.

  I tried to shove aside my own personal turmoil and focus on the moment. But the win wasn’t as satisfying due to how things were with Matthew. Because he wasn’t right here at my side, holding my hand, making me laugh or pointing out meaning in art I couldn’t understand.

  Then the people stepped away, and right behind them was the project. I was able to see the painting for the first time since we’d turned it in. Matted, framed, mounted. It was real.

  My heart hammered. I couldn’t stop staring. There was Matthew’s face, forever linked with mine. Our smiles blended, our eyes sparkling.

  He was so handsome.

  All the noise around me faded away to the rush of my pulse in my ears. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the painting. How had I not seen it like this before? I guessed the weeks away from the project had given me real clarity. Because right now, I could sense every heart-rending emotion I felt right there on the paper, in every line on his face, every careful attention to detail. Surely everyone else in this room could see it too.

  Oh, wow. I loved Matthew.

  Heart in my throat, I flicked my attention to his half. He’d done the same attention to detail as I had—granted, in a different way, with more abstract lines and suggestions. But it was there nonetheless. The shell of my ear, the dimple in my chin, the way my mouth crooked in the corner.

  We were different, yes, but looking at this painting, I realized it worked. The old and the new, the wild and the calm. They blended together to create a piece that was surprisingly harmonious.

  Maybe we could work too.

  A frustrated cry bubbled in my throat and I bit it back. Why had I walked away from him, from everything he’d offered? Stupid, stupid! I wanted to smack my own forehead. Was it too late?

  Could I be brave, like Ava had said, and jump right in, tell him exactly how I felt? Despite my fears?

  “Honey, is that him over there?” Mom asked from right behind me. “Is that your art partner, Matthew?”

  I spun around and saw Matthew strolling in with his mom and twin sisters close behind. He had on a dark gray suit with an electric blue tie. I drank in the sight of him, my eyes filled with all the love I just now realized I was feeling.

  “Mom,” I whispered under my breath, “I . . .” I paused. How did I spell out to her how I was feeling, what I needed? Panic bloomed.

  “Go talk to him,” she said, shoving me forward a touch. “You two can work it out, whatever it is.”

  I turned to look at her. “You’re okay with it? With us?”

  She laughed. “Seriously? You’ve been in a funk for weeks. I want to see you smiling again. Now go, and good luck.”

  I swigged the last of my punch and dumped the cup in the garbage. My hands were shaking so hard I’d just spill it anyway.

  What should I say to him? Words were running through my mind, but I couldn’t seem to get them to form a cohesive sentence, much less express the intensity of my emotions.

  Matthew’s mom was right beside him, whispering in his ear. He laughed and gave her a quick hug, then moved to the side of the room to look at the artwork. A couple of the judges came over, probably to have the same conversation with him that they’d had with me.

  Crud. I couldn’t go talk to him right now, not when they were having this talk. I needed a moment to get myself together.

  I saw the bathroom sign in the corner and practically ran to it, locking the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long minute. My makeup looked okay, subtle but there. Lips were glossy pink. Hair was slightly mussed, so I took a moment to smooth it back into place.

  Then I turned my back to the mirror and stood there for several more minutes, frozen, scared to death, heart about to thump out of my chest.

  He was here. He came.

  Stop stalling. But the right words still weren’t forming.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Occupied?” an older female voice asked.

  Time to do this. I straightened my shoulders and willed a large smile to my face as I opened the door. Then I moved past the frail old lady back into the gallery.

  The area where he’d been standing before was empty.

  Disappointment kicked me in the gut. I scanned the room, but Matthew was nowhere to be found. Where could he have gone? I saw my parents over by the table, talking with his mom and sisters. Everyone else was walking around and eating snacks, drinking punch. Enjoying this moment that had soured so badly for me because of my cowardice.

  If I hadn’t hidden in the bathroom, I could have pulled him aside, talked to him.

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked and moved toward the back door of the gallery, which emptied out into a small patio area for outdoor entertaining. Green plants and vines filled the open space, covering the wrought iron balcony.

  I sighed and moved toward the balcony. The city view was gorgeous here—or it would be, if I could see it right now. There were too many tears crowding my eyes. I let the tears streak down my cheeks in hot rivers. Just for a moment, I’d give in to this frustration.

  “Corinne,” a quiet voice said behind me. A voice I’d know anywhere.

  I whipped around. There was Matthew up against the ivy-lined brick wall, staring at me with a frown marring his golden face. His suit jacket was off and draped over his forearm.

  I blinked and turned my face away, trying my best to wipe my tears as subtly as possible. I didn’t dare speak, not yet. I needed to get my emotions back under control.

  “What’s wrong?” He stepped toward me.

  I opened my mouth to say, Nothing, to lie and tell him I was fine. But I couldn’t do it. I was tired of telling myself I didn’t need him. Tired of acting like art and Matthew and love and all those things I’d never dreamed of before weren’t that important to me now.

  Because they were. And how they deserved my time and attention too.

  “I’ve been really upset about how things went with us,” I finally said.

  “Why?” His face was unreadable, back to the emotionless shell I’d last seen. It made it hard for me to open up because I had no idea what he was feeling right now.

  “Because . . .” I stared into his eyes and pushed myself to keep going, despite the tremble in my voice. “Because I messed up with you that day you told me
you wanted to date me. It was a mistake for me to walk away from it. One I’d give anything to take back.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stared.

  “You dropped your guard and opened up to me about your feelings. And in response, I threw a bunch of reasons at you about why we wouldn’t work, that our worlds were too different to ever intersect. But I was wrong—I think we could work. If we wanted to. Not that I’m saying you want to now, I mean.”

  Oh wow, the words were pouring out, like the cork had been unplugged from a bottle. I couldn’t seem to stop. My cheeks burned in embarrassment, but I kept speaking.

  “It took me a while to realize that I’d used school and friends as an excuse to protect myself so I wouldn’t get hurt if our relationship fell apart. As a preemptive strike to prevent both of us pain. But then you walked away, and I realized I was hurt. That hurt grew as weeks passed and we didn’t talk. And I . . .” My throat tightened.

  He stepped a fraction closer, those eyes still fixed on me. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You what?” he whispered, his voice gravelly.

  I heard the hum of people and cars below, but the city noises faded into a soft lull around us. “I didn’t fully realize how I felt about you until I saw our painting today.” My face was on fire now, my breath almost ragged as it sawed in and out of my lungs. I felt like I’d run a marathon, winded and overwhelmed and slightly tired.

  I was tired of running from myself and my love for him.

  “It took me losing you to realize how much I had fallen for you.” I closed my eyes, swallowed. There. I’d said it. No taking it back now. “And I’ve been miserable ever since.”

  Even if Matthew didn’t want me, even if he’d forgotten all about me while we’d been apart, I’d done something I never dreamed I could do. I’d jumped off the cliff without looking for a safety net.

  I’d been braver than I’d known I could be.

  A soft hand on my chin, a thumb stroking my jaw, had me opening my eyes. Matthew’s eyes were hooded, his pupils so dark they almost swallowed up his irises, now a thin blue rim. “Corinne, I’ve missed you, too,” he said.

  His other hand wrapped around my lower back, the heat of his palm almost searing me through my thin dress, and he tugged me close. My heart stopped beating for a second, hardly able to accept that Matthew was touching me, that he was looking at me with so much intensity.

  “I love you,” he continued, and he gave me a crooked grin. “I’ve loved you for a long time, actually.”

  “Oh,” I said, my voice breathy. “I figured . . . well, I thought . . .”

  “I didn’t want to push you. You were scared, and I grew frustrated. Then I didn’t know how to approach you. But I was going to come find you today. To talk to you one more time and see if . . .” He paused, his head inching close to mine. Lips hovering so, so close. “See if there was a chance.”

  “There is a chance,” I said, then shook my head at myself. “Um. Not just a chance. I mean—”

  “I know what you mean.” He chuckled, and the hand on my jaw slid around to cup the back of my neck. His thumb stroked the base of my skull, and small waves of pleasure slid across my skin. “But are you sure you want to do this? I mean, be with me as my girlfriend? Even though we’re so very different?” There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that made my heart ache.

  He was afraid of getting hurt too. Afraid of me giving up on him, on us, when things got tough once school started. Yet he’d laid it all on the line again right now, taking a big risk. Just for me.

  I wrapped my arms tightly around him. He smelled like the ocean, and I breathed him in. “We’re not that different,” I said, pouring every ounce of earnestness into my voice. “We’ll make it work out—I have faith. I know we’re going to have some hard spots as we figure out how to balance friends and school and art and everything else. But I also know I want to be with you. Unquestionably. I don’t want to let you go.”

  A comfortable silence stretched between us for a minute.

  “I . . . I love you, Matthew,” I told him. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t the only one being vulnerable here. We could support each other.

  Matthew’s head descended toward mine, blocking out the sun, and his mouth grazed my lips in a soft gesture. I opened my mouth, and he kissed me deeper. We fell into each other, our emotions tangled up and wrapped around us.

  I slipped my hands into his thick hair, scarcely able to believe we were finally kissing—it was even better than I’d imagined. Every cell in my body sang from the intensity of us, of this one moment.

  Time seemed to still. We finally drew apart, and he pressed a last kiss to my jaw, his breath as ragged as mine.

  “You look beautiful today, by the way,” he told me as he glanced down at my dress. “That color makes your skin glow.”

  “You look great too. You should dress like that more often,” I teased.

  “Kind of hard to sink baskets in a three-piece suit,” he deadpanned. His smile widened again. “Ready to go back inside? They’re all waiting for us. I, for one, am eager to hear more gushing praise about our artistic eye. And to show off my gorgeous girlfriend to everyone in that room.”

  I wrapped my hand into the crook of his arm, and we walked toward the door. A warm breeze ruffled his hair and caressed my bare skin. I cast one last glance at the patio that had made my biggest dream come true—love.

  Yes, I’d jumped off the cliff. But so had he. And somehow, we’d caught each other.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I told him, and we went back into the gallery.

  Together.

  TURN THE PAGE FOR MORE FLIRTY FUN.

  I hitched my backpack higher onto my shoulders and brushed back my hair, which already felt ickily greasy. My flight out of Cincinnati had left at six a.m., so I’d skipped a shower. My guitar case seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and I was beginning to question the wisdom of hauling it all the way out here. As I made my way toward the baggage claim through the cavernous, glass-ceilinged terminal, I tried not to stare as men in actual cowboy hats and boots strode by. Air force soldiers in sleek navy uniforms shouldered big blue duffels. Families with long zippered ski bags struggled past. Out the huge picture windows the mountains hulked, white and blue-gray against an impossibly azure sky. I shivered a little and grinned to myself—this was really Colorado. I was really here, thousands of miles from home, for three months. I wanted to sing my way down the terminal.

  I followed the river of people out of the main terminal, stepped onto a down escalator, then followed a long underground passage to an up escalator, then allowed myself to be swept along to another up escalator. I was wondering just how much longer I’d be trailing around this airport when the escalator deposited me in front of several baggage carousels.

  I hurried over to the nearest one and scanned the conveyor belt for my khaki-green army surplus duffel. Mom had been so proud when she found it for only five dollars at the thrift store. There it was, riding around and around, looking like an abandoned stuffed animal in the midst of all the black rolling suitcases surrounding it. I elbowed through a scrum of random passengers and reached forward, managing to snag the strap just as the bag moved past. Puffing slightly, I dragged it toward me and let it thump to the floor.

  “Hey, thanks for getting my bag,” someone said in a southern drawl.

  I looked up into the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

  A tall boy about my own age was standing beside me. He had a backpack too, and he wore a gray T-shirt that read PACIFIC FOOD CO-OP and frayed khaki shorts with sandals. His black hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were startlingly light against his tanned skin. He smiled, showing sparkling white teeth. A leather band circled one broad wrist and a narrow silver chain glinted under the collar of his T-shirt.

  I closed my mouth, which had fallen open slightly, and cleared my throat. “Ah, sorry. This is my bag.” I tried to sound cute and casual, though I think it came out sounding more
strained and weird.

  He didn’t even blink. “It was probably a long flight, huh? You’re just a little confused.” He flashed me another grin and looped his hand under the strap. “Anyway, like I said, thanks for getting it for me. See you around.”

  “Hey!” It came out louder than I intended, and several people turned to look. “Excuse me! I don’t know who you are, but that’s my bag. Put it down. Please.”

  The boy studied the duffel, then looked at me for such a long moment that I flushed, then looked back at the duffel again. A slow grin spread across his face. “Let’s see. My bag was my dad’s, from the army. So if you’re telling the truth, why would you have the same kind of bag? Unless you’re in the army yourself.” He was teasing me—that much was clear. I wondered if my neck was going all splotchy.

  “I’m not in the army. My mom got it at the army surplus store. Okay?” I swiped at the bag, but he slid it back out of my reach and shook his head.

  “No way. I can spot a solider a mile away. What’s your rank?”

  I had to laugh. “I’m not exactly the military type—can’t you tell?”

  He let his gaze slowly wander from my feet to my head. “No way. You’re tough. I mean, look at those muscles.” He squeezed my upper arm, and my pulse shot up. “Come on, what do you bench?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Very funny. Look, can I please have my bag?”

  “Hmm. I say it’s mine; you say it’s yours. What should we do?” His eyes crinkled up at the edges, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek as his smile deepened. For one electric instant we looked into each other’s eyes. Then I cut my gaze away, thoroughly rattled.

  “Here.” I grabbed the zipper and pulled. The bag fell open, revealing several pairs of purple and pink underwear lying on the top of a mound of jeans and T-shirts. Oops.

  The boy laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the big room. “Hey, I can’t argue with that. Are those standard military issue?”