What I Want You to See

by Catherine Linka

  To the north, the dome of city hall is lit up against the sky, and to the west, houses twinkle in the hills along the arroyo. On the south side, an art deco fountain bathed in colored lights splashes outside the power company.

  We walk over to the edge. It’s a five-story drop, and there are no railings. Adam’s so relaxed, it’s like the height doesn’t bother him at all, so I pretend I’m good with it, too. He slides his arm around my waist. “You’re really something,” he murmurs.

  I turn and lift my face to his.

  “Not what I imagined at all.”

  I feel myself swept forward, and I cry out as my feet touch air. I grab for Adam as he swings me around so we’re face-to-face. I clutch his shoulders, body trembling, my toes clinging to the edge of the roof.

  He looks into my eyes, and I watch the tiny muscles around his eyes and mouth move as if he’s arguing with himself. My thighs feel like they’re about to cramp, and I’m terrified my toes will slip. Adam leans in to kiss me, and I duck my head. “Please, can we move back a little?”

  He smiles and tightens his hold on me. Light catches on the silver cross dangling from his ear. “Trust me. I won’t let you get hurt.”

  I stare into his eyes, wishing he’d just scoot back. “Please, I know I’m being silly but—”

  Adam waits a moment longer before he spins us around so he’s between me and the edge. “Better?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. His lips crash into mine and I am tossed by a wave of desire. My hands dive under his shirt, and my breath catches, feeling his lips on my ear, my neck, my breasts.

  We are so lost we struggle to surface when we hear, “Whoever’s up here, I know you’re here. This area is off-limits after dark. The administration takes this rule very seriously, and the penalty can be a suspension up to one semester.”

  Adam and I drop to a crouch. We huddle together and spy the security guard strolling away from us through the garden.

  My blouse hangs open and I race to button it. “Why the big deal?” I whisper.

  “A student jumped last year.”

  I’d forgotten about him. Adam signals to me to keep quiet.

  “I don’t want to bust you, but I will,” the guard declares. “If you are not off this roof before I finish this cigarette, I will stand by the door and you will not get past me.”

  Adam jerks his head at the ladder. We stay low across the roof and keep the guard in sight. We scramble down, and the guy keeps his word. His back stays turned and we slide through the door.

  Adam races me out of the hall, pushing me to the left. “Take the elevator,” he says, dodging to the right. Behind me, I hear him clamber down the stairs.

  I make it to the ground floor and push through the back door. I’m shaking from the adrenaline when Adam grabs my hand and pulls me over to the loading dock.

  We lean against the wall, chests heaving as we try to catch our breaths. “Nothing’s ever boring with you,” he says.

  “I could say the same for you.” I search Adam’s face in the half-light. I feel I’ve barely penetrated his layers, and it might take me longer to figure him out than it took me to figure out Duncan.

  He raises my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. “Tomorrow we send off Duncan in style, and then…”

  I realize that our relationship has shifted to a new plane, and I have to wonder where tomorrow will take us.

  The next morning, I hang around in the main hall after Drawing 101, hoping to run into Adam. My body hums at the thought of seeing him. It’s eight long hours before we’re supposed to meet and the day cannot go fast enough.

  I prop myself against the wall with my sketchbook and pretend I’m working on an assignment while I sketch his face.

  Bernadette goes by and her eyes lock on my feet, and it dawns on me that she’s checking out my shoes. Great. The rumors have started.

  I go back to drawing Adam, rounding his lips and adding the tiny cleft in his chin.

  Taysha comes up to me. “What are you smiling about?” she says, and before I can slap my sketchbook shut, she tips it toward her. “Mmm, is that Mystery Man?”

  I blush and try to make my face a blank, but I can’t.

  “Don’t even try to lie,” Taysha says. “He’s gorgeous. This is the guy you met at work?”

  “Yeah,” I say, a little surprised Taysha doesn’t recognize him when she knows everyone including the cashier at the CALINVA snack bar. Still, it’s not like Adam’s in any of our classes.

  “He’s a painter, right?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Those smoldering, soulful eyes.”

  I bite my lip, because as soon as Taysha says “smoldering,” I’m finally ready to spill.

  “Guessing from your face, I’d say things have progressed.”

  I can’t resist any longer. “Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone.”

  “When you say ‘anyone,’ you mean a certain anyone from Kansas.”

  I ignore her. “We’re having a bonfire at the beach tonight.”

  “Romantic…You really like this guy.”

  “I’ve never been with anyone like him before. He’s not just interested in me, he loves my art—”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “Girl, you need to guard your heart, because this man looks like he could pulverize it.”

  Taysha walks off to class, and I settle back against the wall.

  Only a few more hours, and it will be just me and Adam under the stars, burning the evidence of what I swear will be my last act of wrongdoing ever.

  I barely make it through my shift at Artsy, I’m so excited. Adam and I are meeting where we always do, by the back door at CALINVA. Any minute now, he’ll drive up to the loading dock in the van he borrowed from the photographer he works for and we’ll be off.

  The sun set a couple of hours ago, and it’s a lot colder tonight than it was yesterday. I button my jacket, glad I’ve got a hoodie on under it. Hands crammed in my pockets, I can’t wait to warm them over the bonfire we’re going to build.

  I wait by the door, shifting from foot to foot. Adam’s late, but he could be inside already, getting the painting out of the locker, so I text him to let him know I’m here.

  “Come on, Adam,” I mutter when ten more minutes go by with no response.

  I can’t decide whether to stay where I am or duck into the loading dock and get out of the wind. My hair’s blowing into my face, so I pull out a hair band and tie it back. Fingers crossed Adam remembered his promise to bring a couple blankets, because we’ll need them.

  Somewhere nearby a church bell bongs out the time. Seven thirty. Fifteen minutes late isn’t that late. Maybe Adam had to run a last-minute errand for Ofelo or one of the other professors like Hmong.

  I pace and check the time on my phone. Why isn’t he answering? After a half hour, I’m panicked. Maybe Adam got caught by security. Krell’s painting was sent out to be professionally photographed today, but security might not know that. No, they’d see a guy trying to sneak a million-dollar artwork out the back.

  I walk to the edge of the parking lot and scan it for a white van. Lots of Priuses, no vans. Okay, maybe Adam’s stuck in traffic. The 210 freeway can be a parking lot this time of night.

  My fingers and feet are just about frozen when a figure moves in the shadows. My heart races. “Adam?”

  “No,” a small voice answers. Julie steps into the circle of light by the huge black dumpster. Sweetie’s perched on her shoulder and Julie pets her absentmindedly. “You’re looking for your friend, but he isn’t here.”

  At first, I wonder how Julie knows who I’m waiting for, but she’s seen Adam and me together and she might have even seen us here.

  “How do you know he isn’t here?” I say.

  “Green mountain truck’s not there.”

  “He doesn’t have a truck.” He told me weeks ago he sold it because he couldn’t afford it anymore.

  “Yes, he does.” Julie turns to wat
ch the Metro clatter past, and I get the feeling she’s standing guard over me.

  I zip my hoodie up to my chin and tuck my hair inside the hood. Julie’s in a ripped down jacket and tonight she’s wearing shoes. I check if she’s got socks on. Yes, but they’re cotton. I should bring her a pair of wool ones.

  It’s freezing out here. How long am I supposed to wait?

  A couple more minutes tick by and I can’t pretend any longer. Either Adam’s in trouble or he blew me off. As soon as I think that, I feel it in my gut.

  Adam blew me off.

  He never said he’d ended his relationship with his ex. I assumed it was over, but he never actually came out and told me it was.

  A flash of his phone screen pops up in my head. REYES. That’s what he typed in with my phone number. REYES, not SABINE, REYES. Like I was just another contact. Like I could be anyone.

  Now all the little signs I ignored, signs that this girl who is probably a student at CALINVA is still very much in his life, the signs that should have made me put on the brakes…they’re blazing.

  The way his mood would run warm then cool like he couldn’t decide if he was in or out.

  The way he’d disappear then reappear. How he always worked on Sundays.

  And right now he’s probably with her, so he’s left me waiting out here in the dark. He couldn’t even text me to say he couldn’t make it.

  I haul back and kick an empty soda can by my foot. It flies through the air and bangs into the chain link along the train tracks. “Prick!” I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.

  Julie backs away from me, shaking her head. “I don’t like anger.”

  I walk toward her, holding up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Julie. I’m sorry,” I say, but she keeps moving away.

  “Anger’s poison,” she says. “It’ll kill you.”

  “Okay. I hear you.”

  “Go home. Cool down.”

  “Yes, I will, Julie, I promise. I’m going now.”

  Julie melts into the darkness and I pick up my bag and throw it over my shoulder. I shove my hands deep in my pockets as I walk to my car.

  We’re done, Adam. We are so done, but I’m not going to be a baby and demand that you explain why you blew me off the next time I see you. No, I have way too much self-respect for that.

  Adam’s going to open the locker, and then I will kick that freaking painting to pieces if I have to.

  Things will look better in the morning. Mom used to play that on repeat. Anything bad happened with friends or at school and Mom would drag out her promise that once the sunlight touched my problems, I’d barely be able to see them anymore.

  Yeah, well, sun’s up, Mom, and things aren’t looking any better.

  I drag myself out of bed and shove open my closet. I thrust my hand into the mess inside and pull out the first thing I touch. The Henley’s faded and there’s a rip by the wrist, but so what.

  The jeans I wore last night are by the bed. I pull them on and reach into the pile of shoes in the corner for my Converse. One of Iona’s boots tumbles onto my foot.

  “Funny, karma, real funny.” I shake my head and nudge the bootie away. “So I guess what you’re saying is this thing with Adam, it’s payback.”

  If I hadn’t been so pissed at Krell, I wouldn’t have gotten so close to liar/cheater/swine Adam.

  If I’d returned Iona’s things instead of letting my intense loathing of her stop me, I wouldn’t be facing years of paying her back.

  Maybe things aren’t better in the morning, but they’re a lot clearer.

  I snatch Iona’s boots off the floor and rummage around for a box to put them in. Then I tear a page out of my sketchbook and start to compose my apology.

  Dear Bitch on Wheels.

  Tempting, but no. Cross it out.

  Dear Iona.

  So sorry for the misunderstanding.

  Yeah. Like she’d believe that. Cross it out.

  So sorry I didn’t return these boots sooner.

  True statement. I am sorry, because they’ve brought me nothing but grief.

  If you send me the bill from the shoe-repair place I will pay you back.

  And I will. Eventually. That place is superexpensive.

  I set down the sketchbook. Tara, her personal assistant, wants me to apologize for not returning her dress, but I’m at a total loss. Is there a single normal human being in existence who’d give it back after what Iona did? Someone would have to be a total saint to turn the other cheek on her. And I am no saint.

  I pick up the sketchbook.

  I was a mess when Mom died.

  It was wrong for me not to return your dress when I found it.

  I can acknowledge I screwed up, but I’m not evolved enough to apologize for it, and if that means karma’s not satisfied, then I guess that’s too freaking bad.

  I hope you can forgive me.

  But I’m not holding my breath.

  I find a nicer piece of paper, write the apology in my most penitent handwriting, and lay it on the tissue-paper-wrapped boots, then seal the box. In between classes, I’ll drop this at Pack ’n Ship, and be done with it.

  Even though doing this means I won’t get Mom’s guitar back anytime soon, maybe it will slow the flood of bad luck dumped on me this week.

  Once again, I’m probably late for Krell’s class. I twist up my hair, grab my stuff, and bolt out the door.

  When I get to class, the room feels unnaturally bright, as if I’m hungover. I tiptoe between the easels to my spot, and notice that people aren’t just looking to see who’s late, they’re checking me out.

  I stick the box with Iona’s boots by my feet and take this week’s assignment out of my portfolio.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Kevin whispers.

  Once again, I lie to Kevin, who deserves to hear only the truth from me. “Sinus headache.” I offer him a weak smile. “I’ll be fine once the drugs kick in.”

  Kevin nods, but Taysha sees right through me.

  After class, she drags me into the bathroom, whips a hairbrush out of her purse, and shoves it into my hand. “Brush now.”

  I let my hair out of the clip. Fluorescent light is cruel, but it’s not the lighting’s fault I look this bad. There are dark purple half-moons under my eyes, and my hair looks like I was attacked by crows.

  The brush catches on a mass of tangles. Taysha finds my makeup bag and plunks lip gloss, concealer, mascara, and gum on the shelf above the sink. “Tell me what happened last night.”

  “He didn’t show.” I stop the tear before it’s even out of my eye. I’m not crying over this guy.

  “From the way you look, I’m guessing the jerk didn’t call either.”

  “Nope. Didn’t call, didn’t answer my texts.” I shake my head. “I’m so stupid. You know how he listed me in his contacts? ‘Reyes.’ Like I’m one of his bros.”

  Taysha rolls her eyes.

  “You don’t have to say it,” I tell her. “I was an idiot to trust him.”

  “Did he break your heart?”

  “No, I wasn’t in love—but he made me feel…”

  Taysha waits for me to finish my sentence, but when I can’t she tries. “Beautiful?”

  “Not beautiful exactly.” One glance at Taysha’s confused expression and I scramble to explain. “Okay, yes, he did make me feel beautiful, but it was more than that. He made me feel special. Like I had enormous talent. That I’m worthy to be here, at CALINVA.”

  “First off, you’re crazy talented and beyond worthy to be here. Second, why would you give this random guy power over how you see yourself?”

  “He’s not some random guy. He’s a grad student at CALINVA.”

  “Oooh.”

  I see in her eyes that all the pieces are clicking into place, and I pray she won’t ask why I kept Adam a secret, because I’m too embarrassed to admit that I liked being his chosen one.

  She wets a paper towel and holds it out. “I’ll finish your hair while you do y
our face.”

  It’s been forever since someone brushed my hair. I close my eyes at first and pretend it’s Mom. I lean in to the brush, loving each slow and steady stroke, the careful way Taysha frees the tangles strand by strand.

  She works a French braid on the back of my head and asks me questions about Adam. I dodge enough of them that she finally says, “You ready to talk about something else?”

  “Sure.”

  “You may be amused to know there are some interesting rumors floating around about you.”

  I force out a chuckle that sounds ridiculously fake even to me. “Oh yeah? Do tell.”

  “So my personal favorite is that you’re the leader of a bling ring of rich kids who break into celebrity homes and steal designer clothing.”

  “Wow. How cinematic, and yet untrue.”

  “Clearly. If it was true, you wouldn’t be wearing this.” She pokes a finger through the hole in my sleeve.

  It feels like a miracle that the rumor’s so outrageous; still my heart thuds in my chest. “What else?”

  “You lifted Kylie Jenner’s purse off her chair at La Petite Tomate and sold it on eBay.”

  I struggle, but keep smiling. “Again, not true. Any others?”

  “Just one more,” she says quietly.

  My heart stops. “Tell me.”

  “It involves Iona Taylor and a pair of designer boots.” The look in Taysha’s eyes says she wants to help.

  I nod, and rest my hands on the sink to steady myself. “What else did you hear?”

  “That Iona tossed you out on the street after your mom—”

  I suck in a breath and focus on the ceiling. “You can say it: She died. She was run over and the guy never even stopped.”

  “Oh, baby, I didn’t know.” Taysha curls me into her arms and hugs me fiercely. She blankets me with “so sorry so sorry so sorry,” and I surprise myself by how intensely I hug her back. I feel her caring flow into all the empty parts of me, and ever so quietly she says, “How can I help?”

  She means it. She’s not saying it to say something, and I wonder why I took so long to confide in her when she’s so much more deserving of my trust than Adam was.