“So I’ll apply to these amazing schools, and some good schools, and some okay ones—just to be safe. And some art programs. My parents have money to help me with school, so it’s just on me to get accepted, and, you know, figure out what to do with my life.”
“No pressure.” I note the way he mentions art programs with a forced casualness. Like he wants to downplay how important it is to him. I know that tone well. It’s the same one I use with my mom to broach the topic of leaving. Like if you don’t let anyone know just how much you want it, it won’t hurt as much when it doesn’t happen.
“None at all.” Liam laughs.
“So is that what you want to do? Create stories like that?” I nod toward the framed comics on his walls.
“Yeah, I mean, this town is so small, and so white. That’s why stuff like this matters so much to me—” Liam gestures to the graphic novels on his bookshelves. “I’ve always loved superhero stories, but now there are finally characters on screen that look like me. It makes me feel like a career creating that kind of art isn’t such a long shot after all, if that makes sense.”
“That makes a lot of sense. And you are really talented.”
“Anyway.” Liam shrugs. That little buffer shifts back into place. “Speaking of art . . . we should probably actually do that now.”
I wrinkle my nose at the reminder. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do art.”
I pull out the ugly pears and hand them over. Liam reaches for the pencils on his desk and a small case. We sit down on the floor, and he opens it, pulling out a pair of glasses.
“You wear glasses?”
“I’m very, very slightly farsighted. Sometimes reading is hard. And drawing goes better when I’m wearing them.”
“Shouldn’t you just wear them . . . all the time?”
“Don’t need to. My vision is perfect otherwise.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s how I work,” he says. “Can we not dwell on this? I’m not good with admitting my flaws.”
“It’s hardly a flaw, Liam. Those glasses look great on you.”
He turns, his typical smile slipping into place. “Is that right, Barnes?”
“Liam.”
“Okay, okay. Making a mental note that you like the nerd type, and we’ll move on.” He chuckles. I spot a Superman comic on the chair by his desk.
“Clark Kent wears glasses.”
“Not when he’s flying,” he says. But then he shrugs. “But now that you mention it, a Black Superman would be pretty cool.”
He reaches for my pear drawing. “May I?”
“Be my guest.” I doubt the thing can be salvaged, but I watch as Liam begins to color in the edges of one pear, making just the right parts of it darker with lines, drawing out the round shape of the fruit. When he’s done, the pear looks almost real. I feel like I could pick it up.
“That’s amazing. Wow. How do you know how to do that?” I ask.
“How do you know which words are right in your essays, or your column?” he asks. “Same thing. Just a thing I can do. And a lot of practice.”
“I guess. But you could easily learn to write better. I can’t learn to do that. That’s witchcraft.”
“Try,” he says, and hands me my paper.
We work at it for an hour, and by the end, my pears look somewhat decent. Nothing like his, but my report card might say “Shows progress” next to a solid B+ if I can keep this up.
We are sprawled across the floor of his bedroom for elbow space, though we still keep bumping into each other while drawing. Liam leans over, his finger following the dark edge of a pear, and tells me how to fix it. I look up at him and smile. I’d forgotten the glasses for a moment, and he looks distractingly cute in them. It’s like the softness of them just accentuates his strength. One little vulnerability that throws the rest of him into sharp focus. Athlete. Academic. Ivy League–bound, apparently. But then I remember the set of his jaw when he talked about getting accepted everywhere, and that pinprick of annoyance over his glasses. Perfect. Too perfect. He’s trying so hard, and I want to tell him that I see it. I see him.
He finally catches me looking at him, and knocks his shoulder softly against mine.
There’s a knock on Liam’s open door, and we spring apart.
“Liam,” Fiona says from the doorway. “Oh, sorry.”
Liam collects himself first. He gives me a half smile, quirks his eyebrows at me. More charm.
I want to hate it.
I don’t.
“It’s fine, Fi, we’re just practicing pears.”
“Is that something dirty? Because if it is, I really don’t wanna know.”
I hold up my sad drawing as evidence of our innocence.
“Ah, pears,” Fiona says, coming into the room. “You guys have art together.”
“No way,” I say. “I’m struggling through Art I.”
“These are good!” Fiona says. “I’d totally eat one if it wasn’t paper.”
“Thanks,” I say, laughing.
“What did you need, Fiona?” Liam nudges his sister.
“Oh, right. I think I figured out that last part of my routine, which means I am so ready for this competition.”
“That’s great, Fi. Does this mean I’ll be hearing that song less now?”
“No. More. It has to be perfect, and I have less than two months.”
Fiona tells me about dance and this big trip their family has planned so she can compete next month, and what a big deal it’ll be if she does well. She’s easy to talk to and easy to laugh with, and it feels totally normal to be hanging out with Liam and his sister. I’m even a little relieved by her presence, because this was always meant to be about art class, and leaning into Liam’s shoulder was making it hard for me to remember that.
Fiona takes a stab at the pears, and even hers are better than mine, but I pay attention to how she moves her wrist, and the shading, and when I try another I really am doing better.
Liam walks me out a few minutes before my mom is supposed to pick me up, and we stand on his driveway in the chilly fall air.
“Thank you, Liam, that was nice of you.”
“Ah . . . no it wasn’t.” He stretches his arms, rubs his hand over his head. He didn’t wear a jacket outside, and his arms are bare. I always thought I’d go for the slim, nerdy, quiet type in college. But Liam is a football player, which I swore never to date. He’s the popular guy with all the charm. More strikes against him. He’s loud and funny and comfortable being the center of attention in a way I never will be. And yet . . .
“Of course it was nice. You helped me a lot.”
“Maybe. But it wasn’t with a pure heart. Listen, I’m not exactly hiding the fact that I like you. And I’m totally cool with us being friends. It’d just be nice to see you outside of school sometimes.”
Oh.
“I told you, Liam, I don’t have time.”
There are so many things I don’t say.
“You’re right, you don’t have time.”
Exactly.
Wait.
“What?”
“You’ve got this college thing in the bag, Leighton. Why don’t you just, ya know, have a little fun? Do you ever have fun? Because I haven’t seen any sign of it. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Let’s just hang out. Get to know each other more.”
I know there are a thousand reasons to say no. And I’m needed at home.
But Liam is smiling down at me, and I just spent a few hours in the warm, safe haven of his lovely home, and I’m seized by the desire to be selfish. The desire to say yes.
“Okay.”
Liam grins, and I’m already glad I did it.
“Okay,” he says. “So, next Friday, James is having another bonfire. Shouldn’t be too wild or crazy. Sound all right?”
“Okay,” I say again.
“Oh, and . . . do you want a ride to school?” he asks. “I drive right past th
e turn to your house to get to school, so it’s on my way. It’ll give you a break from a crappy bus ride. Plus . . . maybe you kinda sorta like my company?”
“Kinda.” I smile. “Sorta.”
“Yes?” he asks.
“Um. Yeah. Yes, I can do that. I mean, thank you.”
A minute later, Mom arrives and picks me up. And for most of the night, I feel great about saying yes. All the way home, and while I review my calc notes at our kitchen table. As I say a soft good night to Mom where she’s already fallen asleep on the couch, and as I get ready for bed.
But when I get to my room, I find Campbell and Juniper asleep in my bed, and I feel a pang of guilt so strong it physically hurts.
They stir as I climb in with them.
“Hey, Cammy,” I say into the dark, my voice low. I don’t want to wake her if she’s already drifted back to sleep.
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind if I go to a party Friday night?”
“Ha. I knew it wasn’t about art,” she says. I don’t have to see her face to picture the smile on it. Brat.
“He offered to drive me to school in the morning, too.”
“That’s good, Leighton. We’ll be fine. You never would have said no to my bike rides. You need things, too.”
I should make a point of talking to sleepy Campbell more often. She’s so nice.
“Besides, all you ever do is study. If you read too much, your head will explode.”
And there she is.
I laugh and press my feet up against her bare legs.
“Jesus, Leighton, your feet are icicles.” She grabs an extra throw pillow and shoves it under the blankets, between our legs. “There. The pillow can defrost you.”
Maybe this will be okay. I can’t make a habit of it, but it’s one night. One party. Not even a real party, just a bonfire with friends.
One night to feel seventeen.
Before I miss it altogether.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE BONFIRE IS WELL-ENOUGH CONTAINED IN a pit dug into the earth and surrounded by a ring of stones, but the flames don’t know it. They spit and lick at us, red and gold claws searching for something to catch on. They strike me as something hungry, and I imagine them catching prey in the form of an old white house on Frederick Street. They would consume it all, crackling with ravenous delight as they fed on wood and painful memories.
The heat of the fire is too much. My face is hot and flushed, and I suddenly feel like I’m the thing on fire. The thing that splinters and burns from the inside out.
“You okay, Leighton?” Liam leans in, brushing hair out of my eyes and tucking it behind my ear. I lean into his weight, away from the fire. When he drops his arm around me, it feels like an anchor. Like maybe I’m not about to fly apart into little bits of ash.
“Yeah,” I mutter, pulling my gaze from the flames. I look into warm brown eyes framed by lashes so curled they should seem feminine. On Liam, they look . . . exceptionally good. The intensity of his focus catches me off guard. He’s got that full-attention gaze down, like we aren’t surrounded by his half-drunk friends. Like we are alone.
Maybe that’s not a bad idea. “Hey,” I whisper. “Wanna get out of here?”
Those brown eyes widen. He seems to realize something is off, but I’m betting he hasn’t guessed that I freaked myself out as I sat here daydreaming about my house burning down.
“Yeah, okay. Sure, Leighton.”
I don’t know what made me think we could just sneak off, because as soon as we rise, we are noticed.
“Where you going, lovebirds?” Alexis sits directly across the fire from us, wearing Brody’s varsity jacket and flashing us a mocking smile. When Brody comes back with a fresh beer, he throws his arm around her shoulder.
“Home,” I say. “Curfew.”
“It’s eight fifteen.” Her smile drops.
“She’s lying,” says Nick, a junior who plays on the football team. “She wants the D.”
Well, Liam’s friends are super cool. I try to ignore the comment.
“Ice queen? Doubtful,” Brody says.
A few guys laugh. I’m grateful that the red glow of the flames probably hides the rush of blood to my cheeks.
“And that’s our cue to leave. Good night, assholes.” Liam pulls me away from their laughter.
“Your friends are jerks.” We reach the car but stand outside of it, unsure, and I shiver. It’s finally chilly at night, and away from the fire I wish I had a jacket.
“They’re drunk,” he says. Then he pauses after he opens his door, and looks at me over the car. “Nah, you’re right. They’re jerks. I’m sorry.”
Inside, he starts the car but leaves it in park.
“Leighton, do you want to go home?”
“Two hours early? God, no.”
“Then where to?”
It’s a good question. The few options we even have around here will be closed before we can get to them.
“New York City,” I say. “California. The moon.”
Liam laughs, shakes his head at me.
“Do you want to just drive around?”
“Yes, please.”
On the dark back roads, the two beams of the headlights stretch out so far ahead of us. There are no streetlights on these roads, and sometimes there’s a mile between houses. The lights are like bright neon arrows, showing me the way to go. Anywhere but home, they beckon.
“Let’s pull over,” I say, and the words surprise me as much as I know they surprise Liam.
Pulling over means parking. And parking means the two of us alone in the dark.
Liam doesn’t say anything, but in a few minutes we pass the high school, and he pulls into a parking lot that leads to some hiking trails. We’re surrounded by trees.
“Do you want to—”
“Should I turn off—”
We stop talking as quickly as we started. Any other time or place, we might laugh at our own awkwardness, but the darkness feels like a blanket weighing down our words. I drop my hand to where Liam’s rests on the gear stick.
“Yeah, turn it off. Let’s hang out for a bit,” I say.
The car engine quits, and the silence is even more profound. It’s just our breathing and the obnoxious thumping of my heart. I turn and blink at him in the dark, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Liam shifts in his seat, turning toward me, and I lean in, impulsive and brave, and just like that our lips meet, warm and wonderful. He responds immediately, his hand flying to the back of my neck, tangling in my hair, tilting my head back to just the right degree to deepen the kiss. Yes. This is what I need. To just get lost for a little while.
I can smell the dab of cologne he must have pressed to the underside of his jaw. And I can taste that hint of mint that always hovers around him. There are so many bits of him to learn, and for several minutes, there is nothing in the world but this warm, building exploration of each other, until I feel the gear stick pressing into my hip, painfully.
“Hang on,” I say, breaking the kiss as I shift my weight off it.
“Shit, sorry,” Liam says, his hands going to my hips to help me move to a more comfortable position. I’m surprised when he pulls, moving me right onto his lap instead of back to my own seat. It takes me a second to catch up, but I’m a pretty fast learner. Instead of sitting, I swing one leg over his hips.
Too fast, a voice inside whispers.
Shut up, I whisper back.
“Barnes.” Liam’s tone is surprised, and I smile into our next kiss.
His hands move up and down my sides, and then, on the next motion up, slip under the edge of my shirt. I expect some lightning strike of nervousness or embarrassment, but it doesn’t come. It just feels . . . good. Safe. He pulls back from our kiss, and his eyes are wide open. They glint in the dark. He’s breathing hard, and I smile to think that this response is for me. Not perfectionist Leighton. Not straight-A Leighton. Certainly not Ice Queen Leighton.
Just Leighton.
“Is this okay?” he asks, and his hands move tentatively, softly, giving me every chance to ask him to slow down or stop. I want to say it’s fine. I want to stay lost. Or at least, part of me does. Another part of me is terrified, and a little overwhelmed by it all.
“Actually,” I say. And that’s all I have to say. Liam’s hands are out from under my shirt and resting on my waist without another word.
“Thanks,” I whisper, but we’re too close and it’s too dark to read his features. “Just a little—”
“Fast. Too fast. It’s fine, Leighton.”
“Want to sit outside?”
We get out and he gestures toward the hood of the car, helping me up to sit on it. It’s warm from the engine, and he grabs his varsity jacket out of the backseat and offers it to me. The design is different, but the school colors haven’t changed, and somewhere in our attic is the one my dad used to give my mom to wear.
But it’s cold, so I accept it, draping it over my lap instead of putting it on.
Liam climbs up beside me.
“It’s so quiet out here,” he says. We are facing the woods, and the moon is just a slice of silver in the sky, but it isn’t as creepy as I would have thought. The crows are still here. I recognize the sound of them shuffling on branches.
We are quiet a few moments, and I feel some of the awkwardness of our first kiss finally hitting us.
I look up at the night sky.
“Look, a satellite,” I say after a moment of tracking the movement.
“A what?” Liam asks.
“It’s a satellite.” I lean into his side, drawing my arm up beside him to direct his gaze. “You know Orion’s belt? Those three stars there?”
“Yeah, I see that,” he says.
“Now watch for a minute, it’s gonna pass right through them, right . . . now.”
“Oh wow, yeah, I see it. It looks like a star.”
“Yeah! But it’s too fast for a star, too slow for a meteor. Sometimes you have to watch a while to catch them moving up there, but they’re there.”
“I’ve never seen one before,” he says. “I didn’t know to look.”
If These Wings Could Fly Page 9