“Like a collage?” I say sarcastically.
I am unprepared for his chuckle so naturally my heart melts. Justin smiles at me. “Actually, that’s a good idea. That way they’d be all together.” He looks at the notebook. “Just put them in the back of the notebook for now. I’ll bring glue tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Of course. You don’t think you can finish this in a day, do you?”
I shrug, “I could if I wanted to.”
Justin rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t. I’m hoping this will last you the week.” He nods toward the house. “Then you can paint.”
I look down at the volume in my hand. “You know this sucks, right?”
“Yup. That’s why you’re doing it and not me.” He pats me on the back as he walks away, calling out to Troy in the distance.
Settling myself under a large shady tree on Dad’s emergency blizzard blanket, I open up the first volume and balk at the faded print. My nose itches from the dust. Justin wasn’t kidding. This really may take all week.
The book is surprisingly interesting. Each chapter was dedicated to a Minneapolis or St. Paul historical home. I become engrossed in each home’s history, learning about the families that lived there, fires, new additions, and even a few murders. Occasionally I come across a line about siding or paint color and I force myself to stop and jot down some notes. At the end of each chapter, I rip out a few colors that match the photos, stuffing them into the back of the notebook for the collage.
I used to meticulously create collage book covers with Marissa at school. It was torture, but I never let on. It was something to do during study hall.
I rip out a photo of a dark red lamp, crumpling the edge a bit as I put it in the back of the notebook. It’s amazing how satisfying it is.
I really do hate crafts.
During my breaks, I spend a lot of time at the base of Alex’s ladder complaining. It takes all my strength to avoid Justin. A simple glimpse at his tan arms is enough to send me reeling. Everything feels so raw right now. I can’t be near him. My feelings would be too obvious.
Troy ends the day as I finish the first volume. I slam it closed, avoiding the dust. My butt aches from the grooves of the tree roots. Justin is crazy if he thinks I’ll do this a full week. Tomorrow, I’ll be more efficient, finishing both books so I can start painting again on Wednesday. And screw the collage. There’s no way I’m doing that. He can just sort through the photos himself.
Justin walks over to me as I pile the books in the trunk. He leans against my car, shifting uncomfortably. “So, listen,” he begins. “It probably doesn’t make sense for you to come out here super early tomorrow since you’re just reading and stuff.”
I hold up my notebook and flip through ten pages of perfectly outlined details, “You call this just reading?” Talk about under appreciation. All of the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in my heart cringe in unison.
“You know what I mean, Lady.” Justin follows me to the front seat. I pull open the door, fumbling with the visor for the keys.
“Crap. Alex.” I turn around just in time to see Alex and Emmanuel’s van pull away.
A jingling noise tickles my ear. “You may need these,” Justin holds them out to me.
“Thanks.”
“So, what I’m saying is that you can drive yourself tomorrow, alright?” He pats the top of my car as I turn the ignition.
I want to say that it’s not okay. I like driving with him, not only because he makes me go haywire but because it makes me part of the crew. Now I’m just going to be the girl who shows up to read, curled up under a tree.
But I smile instead. “No problem.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.” Justin hits the roof of my car one last time before stepping away.
I drive home feeling discarded. It’s so easy for him to decide I should drive myself. I miss our morning banter. He probably doesn’t even notice it’s gone.
I look forward to curling up on the living room couch and pulling out Pride and Prejudice from my bag. I shake my head in disbelief. In less than a week, my whole social life has shrunk, now fitting neatly between the pages of a classic novel.
It’s also time for a new look. There is no reason to be dressed for manual labor if I am going to be stuck under a tree reading all day. I trade in my shorts for my favorite floor-length maxi skirt and my pony tail for loose waves. The mirror reveals a comfortable yet feminine me. Marissa would have hated this outfit. She doesn’t believe in casual skirts; she says it’s just an excuse to be homely.
I twirl, watching the last tier of the skirt fly out. Freedom. Marissa is wrong. This look rocks. And, whoa, seriously … what twirling a skirt can do for my mood. Mental note: wear more skirts and twirl more often.
Marissa can shove it.
I pull into the work utility lot feeling oddly confident. Yes, I would be isolated all day but at least I felt good about myself. Justin’s lack of attention can’t change that. I settle under the tree, this time bringing a few pillows for my butt and back. Troy calls for break as I open the second volume. I don’t join them. This project is ending today.
I start reading about the James J. Hill House, one of the largest and most prominent mansions in Minnesota. I barely start my outline before a tap on my shoulder interrupts me. “Hey, Lucy.” I look up, shielding the glare of the sun. Troy smiles down at me.
“Hey. What’s up?”
He shrugs and sits down. I smile politely, turning toward him while simultaneously shifting to a friendly distance. He looks at the pillows and nods to my skirt, “You’ve kind of got an Arabian princess thing going on here, huh?”
I laugh. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“It’s a good look for you,” he adds as he leans back, doing his characteristic move of placing his arm behind me. “So, I was thinking,” he smiles at me before continuing. “Do you want to grab dinner later?”
I blink in confusion, not expecting such a direct approach. “Well, I mean,” my brain searches frantically for an excuse.
“Obviously, I heard about Zach and Marissa.” He reaches his hand over to touch mine. “I’m sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.”
Score. Troy has no idea he’s just given me the perfect excuse. I pull back my hand politely. “Thanks but—”
“Don’t say no.”
“No, it’s not that. I just, well …” Stumbling. Crap. Get the words out. “It happened only last week.” I smile at him politely. “I need more time, you know?”
I watch Troy process my request, hoping he’ll take it the way I mean and not literally. “Okay, I get that. Time I can give you.” He stands up, wiping the grass off his butt and not trying to hide his disappointment. I smile at him politely in an effort to cover up my inner cringe. I’ll need to be clearer with him in the future.
I look down at a photo of the James J. Hill mansion so I don’t have to watch him walk away. The grand stone walls blur. Troy is a nice guy. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have said yes. I have no lingering feelings toward Zach, other than disgust. I study Troy out of the corner of my eye. He’s attractive. Outgoing and a good leader.
Then my eye catches Justin spinning a basketball while laughing at Luke. My stomach flips.
But Troy doesn’t make me feel that way. I refocus on Troy, willing some butterflies to take flight. Nothing happens. I picture myself cuddled up on the couch against Troy’s chest. I feel no hint of desire.
I look back at Justin. I wonder if that is how he feels about me. Thankfully, I haven’t put myself out there with Justin like Troy just did with me. I wouldn’t put Justin in such an awkward situation—or myself for that matter. I turn my attention back to the book, pouring myself into the James J. Hill mansion’s history, welcoming its distraction.
***
“You know you can take a break, right, Lady?” Justin’s voice interrupts my work flow. “It’s three o’clock.”
“Already?” I set the third volu
me aside.
Justin sits down and I try not to look excited. “Yup. You didn’t even flinch during lunch break. It was like you were—”
“In my own world,” I offer.
He nods while drinking from his water bottle. “Yeah, that’s how my parents always describe me when I’m reading.”
I shrug. “Honestly, it’s nice to escape.”
Justin picks up the notebook, flipping through the pages. “Crap. You’re almost done?”
“I told you it wouldn’t take long.”
“That’s over four hundred pages of reading.”
“There were pictures.”
“In less than two days.” He winks.
My heart. Stops. Whoa.
“What am I going to do with you tomorrow?”
Must. Recover.
“Lucy?”
“Let me paint?” I offer.
He sighs, handing me my lunch box. “Maybe.”
“Really?”
“We’ll see.”
“Come on. I can’t sit here all week.”
He nods down toward my hands. “How do they feel?”
“Great!” I wiggle my fingers at him. My palms sting but I don’t care.
“Impressive.”
“So, I can paint tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
I sigh, setting my lunch box aside. I pick up the last volume, determined to finish so I can paint tomorrow. Justin nudges me and I can’t help but nudge him back. He smiles before grabbing the book from my hands. “Eat,” he says.
“Fine.” I pull my sandwich out and take a bite. “Is that better?”
“Much.” He grabs one of the pillows and puts it behind his head, closing his eyes.
“Umm, shouldn’t you be painting?”
“No, actually.”
“Oh? Well Troy looks like he’s about to kill you.” Justin peeks out of the corner of his eye and gives Troy a wave.
“He’ll get over it.” He rolls over, resting his head on his hand, leaning in toward me. My heart does acrobatics. I bite my lower lip in an attempt to breathe steadily.
“So, why aren’t you painting?” I ask, trying not to lean in toward him too.
“Because I need to learn to relax. In fact, no one should be painting.” Justin turns around and yells, “Call it.”
Troy turns toward Justin, throwing up his arms and pointing to his watch. The other guys check their own watches before hesitantly climbing down from their ladders. Justin waves them over.
“So guys, after last week’s debacle,” Justin nods toward my hands, “I’ve decided that maybe I need to relax on our deadlines a bit.”
Troy interjects. “No way. We’re a week ahead. We can make gold this summer if we keep this up.”
Justin shrugs. “True, but come on, a couple games of basketball won’t ruin much.”
“Ball?” Troy smiles.
Justin peers over his shoulder. “There’s a court on the other side of the hill. Let’s try to play every day after work.” He looks around the group. “Unless you have plans?”
Troy looks at me. I avert my eyes. “Nope. Let’s do it,” he says.
“Seriously?” Alex actually bounces.
“I knew I liked you.” Emmanuel extends his hand, pulling Justin off the ground.
“Alex, go get the ball,” Justin says.
“I’m not a dog, man.”
“Alex, do you want to play or not?”
Alex rolls his eyes before running off to the truck to retrieve the ball. The guys follow, picking up their ladders and supplies off the association’s grounds. Justin turns toward me, “So, you’re in?”
Basketball? I haven’t played since the state final. My gut squeezes. No. I’m not ready yet.
I hold up my hands, “If I can’t paint, I can’t exactly play ball.”
“Right, maybe tomorrow?”
I shrug, “We’ll see.” He smiles at me. I pull the book back on my lap.
“No way. You may not be playing but you’re not sitting up here reading like a loner.” He grabs me under my arms, pulling me up off the ground. “You’ll at least watch.”
“But I’m almost done.”
“Fine, you can bring the books.” He nudges me. This time I manage not to nudge him back. I don’t like this. It makes my eye twitch to be so close to a game.
There’s a picnic table away from the court where I sit and pour myself into my final outline. I write feverishly, trying not to notice how Troy predictably drives the baseline but hits the boards hard on defense. Or how Jake’s follow through always falls to the left and he spends most of the game purposely pissing off Alex. Alex plays naturally but spends too much time seeking revenge on Jake to be a consistent player. Luke is solid on defense but he sets weak picks. Emmanuel always drives to the left. And, Justin, playing more effortlessly than Alex, always sinks the outside, baseline shot.
My heart aches more with every beat of the basketball and every swish through the net. I look at the court. Why can’t I just let myself play? My heart gallops.
No. Stop it.
But no harm could come from taking a few shots or holding the ball. Our school was too big for them to know my history. They wouldn’t ask any questions. This is no big deal. I can do this.
I finish tearing out one last swatch of color, placing it behind the last page of my outline. I swing my legs over the edge of the bench, watching Justin make a quick pass to Jake.
This is happening. I stand up, ready to play. My heart rattles my rib cage. Jake squares up and sinks a three-point shot. “Game,” he shouts.
Relief, my best friend.
Game over. The net still sways from the last shot.
It’s better this way. I grab the books and my outline off the table and walk over to Justin, who is still throwing up shots.
“I’m done,” I say, holding my outline out to him.
He shoots a three pointer before turning toward me. The sound of a swish inevitably follows. “Let’s see.” He scans the material. “Thirty-eight pages?” He laughs. “I can’t really argue with that.”
“So, can I paint tomorrow?”
He shakes his head. “Not happening. If your hands aren’t up to a little game of ball, there’s no way I’m letting you hold a paintbrush all day.”
I frown at him. “What if I don’t want to play?” I sound a bit like Eric but it’s better than letting on how panicked it makes me.
“Then you’ll be doing more research.” He turns away from me. I pull on his arm, turning him back around.
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re part of this crew, right, Lucy?” His smile disappears. “This is all about team building.”
“So?” I’m agitated. No one can force me to play basketball. It doesn’t matter that I had almost done it on my own.
Almost.
“Playing is not optional. It’ll help our performance.” He nods down toward my hands before continuing in an authoritative voice, “If you’re injured, you can sit out. Otherwise, I expect your participation or you can consider not working.” Justin doesn’t hesitate to remind me he’s boss.
I bite my tongue before giving him a polite smile. “Then what time do you want me here?”
“Same time.”
“And what will I be doing?”
Justin shrugs. “I’ll figure something out.” He turns again to walk away. This time I let him.
I stay behind the group, pretending to organize the research materials. They climb up the hill together before I turn around to stare at the empty basketball court.
My feet find the top of the key. Has it really been nearly two years since I stepped on a real court? I look at the basket, wondering what my body remembers. I square up and take a shot. The imaginary ball leaves my hands and I shake my head. Its trajectory would have hit the board too far to the right.
I square up for another. This time my follow through is midline. The trajectory would have arched gracefully. Swish.
I grab the books and climb up the hill to my car. The lot is empty. I drive home contemplating how much this job is worth to me. I’ve fainted, hung off a roof, been forced to watch and maybe play basketball, and I’ve spent hours agonizing about my weird relationship with Justin. Maybe it would be best to stop?
But Pride and Prejudice is not an endless novel. I think of Alex and how he makes me laugh. I think of the banter I’ve learned to love while driving with Justin. Or how satisfied I feel every time I watch new paint cover up the old. Plus, what would I do without the job? I need it. I’ll ride the basketball phase out. Justin seemed a bit off today. Maybe he’s just in a bad mood.
The next day is worse than the day before. Justin hands me his accounting books and a calculator. I spend the entire day checking his books and receipts. The work is mindless and slow, the time crawling along with it. I approach Justin twice about painting again but his answer remains the same, “No.” My stiff legs envy the guys climbing up and down the ladders. I’d have been in tears at the end of the day if it wasn’t for how pissed I’ve become at Justin.
He rarely speaks to me now. When he does, it is only to check my work. He never smiles while we talk and, even worse, doesn’t even attempt to tease me. He has no problem joking with the other guys but around me he acts like stone.
He’s pushing me away. I don’t understand. Yes, I freak out internally with every smile or nod that comes my way. But not once have I acted like Troy or, worse, like Marissa. I’m not throwing myself at him or trying to destroy his life.
But he seems determined to distance himself from me.
It hurts me in a way I hadn’t expected or experienced before, a new level of loss. I’m losing a friend and, with him, a piece of myself. Whether I want to admit it or not, I trusted part of myself to Justin. I’d been more honest with him than I have been with anyone in years.
The next day brings more hurt, frustration, and isolation as the day wears on. Justin’s completely lost all interest in our friendship. Not even saying hello.
I finish the accounting books during lunch break. I take off my bandages, easily flexing my fingers without pain. My stitches are nearly dissolved and the cuts are healing well.
Effortless With You Page 14