But it’s nice to know that it’s even. That I make him a little dumb, too.
“Thanks,” Liam says. “But we aren’t here to talk about football.”
“We aren’t?”
“We are supposed to work on art.”
“Let’s not,” I say, pushing my backpack behind me.
“It can’t be that bad,” Liam says, reaching for it.
He tugs the bag from me and pulls out my art portfolio. He takes out my latest catastrophe, which I’m fondly calling Portrait of an Old Crow.
It’s a drawing of Joe, but wearing a bow tie and a monocle. I’ve told Liam about the real Joe, but I think he didn’t know how seriously to take me. Guardian bird is probably a weird concept to accept outright. It took Campbell, Juniper, and me a while, too.
But now he’s just Joe. Always outside our house. Taking the crackers Juniper leaves him, and giving her marbles in return.
Liam takes the drawing over to the light, and he smiles at it.
“He’s cute,” he says.
“He’s dignified,” I correct.
“May I?” He gestures with his pencil, and I nod. Liam changes the shape of the eyes a bit with his pencil. The change is subtle—intuitive, for him—but the effect is real. It’s like the eyes have come to life a little more on the page.
“Why is he gray?” Liam asks.
“Because the real Joe is gray. Turns out it’s not just an abnormality. My bird guy thinks Joe is an entirely different crow species, called a hooded crow.”
“The most alarming part of this conversation so far is that you have a bird guy,” Liam says.
“An ornithologist, if we want to get technical.”
“Nerd,” he says, and his shoulder rocks into mine. I roll my shoulder against him in return.
“The weird thing is that hooded crows are mostly found in Europe. How do you think Joe came to be here?”
“That’s a little existential for a bird, don’t you think?”
“You two are big geeks, you know,” Fiona says, climbing off the couch. “It’s Friday night, let loose a bit.”
“Maybe we could ‘let loose’ if I didn’t have an annoying, hovering sister around all the time,” Liam says.
Fiona laughs, immune to his teasing.
“You love me,” she says.
“God help me,” he answers.
I smile and slip my drawing back into my bag. Portrait of an Old Crow can wait.
“How about a movie?” Liam asks. “I’ve got a great collection.”
“Oh, no, here we go,” Fiona says. “Here it is, Leighton. We’ve arrived. The moment you dump this boy. Liam only watches superhero movies.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound bad. Everyone loves superhero movies.”
Fiona sits up. “It’s not bad until you are on the third Spiderman movie in a row, debating different director visions and deciding which iteration or decade of comic book portrayals best supports that vision.” She collapses back into the couch. “He doesn’t just watch superhero movies. He dissects them.”
“Thanks, Fiona. You could ease her in a bit.”
“To what a top-level geek you secretly are? There’s no hiding it, Liam,” Fiona says. She turns to me. “Ask him how many times he saw Into the Spiderverse in the movie theater. Hint: more than five.”
“C’mon, Fi. A Black superhero origin story—and my favorite superhero, at that—with absolutely out of this world animation. And if I recall, you went with me to the movies three of those times.”
“Whatever, nerd. I’m going upstairs. Mom is probably watching a home makeover show.”
Fiona hops off the couch and starts to head upstairs.
“You know those are, like, crazy staged, right, Fi?” Liam calls. “Like, how can a preschool teacher and a community garden organizer afford an $800,000 house?”
Fiona leans over the steps at the last second, stretching out her arm and pretending to shoot a web at Liam before disappearing upstairs.
“So . . . have you seen Into the Spiderverse?” Liam asks, turning to me.
“Umm . . . honestly, it’s a lot of My Little Pony and Disney channel in my house. I haven’t seen any superhero movies in years.”
“That’s tragic, Barnes. Time to fall in love with a kick-ass film.”
“Film,” I tease. “Isn’t this a cartoon?”
Liam pauses in his task but doesn’t look up. “Not a cartoon. An Academy Award–winning animated feature.”
I smile at this geeky side of Liam. I think of the glasses, and the shelves upon shelves of comic books in his room. There’s something kind of vulnerable about loving something this much, and it makes me feel like I’m seeing a whole other version of him.
“You could have picked something you haven’t watched a lot already,” I say.
“And miss a golden opportunity to get Fiona to leave us alone for a bit?” he asks.
Well played, Liam McNamara. He joins me on the couch.
He isn’t wrong, though. It’s a great movie. Film.
“Ready to admit it, Barnes?”
“Admit what?”
“I have great taste.”
“Well, clearly.” I shrug.
“I meant movies.”
“I know. But you’re fishing for a compliment, and I’m not giving you the satisfaction. The movie’s fine.”
“Barnes, you’re killing me.”
“Of course it’s great,” I laugh. “Everything you do is great. I’d rather see some flaws at this point. No one is this perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, Barnes.”
“I know. You just want everyone to think you are.”
Well, shit. If I could go back in time thirty seconds and bite my own tongue, I would. I tried to say it with some levity, but it fell terribly flat.
I mean it, and he knows I mean it. Liam reaches for the remote and pauses the movie.
He shifts so he’s facing me. “It’s not like it’s an act. I just feel like I can’t afford to make mistakes.”
“I can understand that, Liam. But maybe . . . with me?”
“Let the guard down?”
“Not a lot. Just a smidge.”
“Okay, okay. My greatest flaw is—”
“I didn’t mean right this minute, Liam.”
“I cannot sing.”
I deflate. “That’s not really what I meant.”
“Sure, but I can’t just not sing—I am spectacularly bad at it. Cannot find a note to save my life.”
He knows I didn’t mean singing. No one can sing. But I’ll hold him to it anyway.
“Prove it.”
Liam doesn’t even hesitate. He pulls up a music app on his phone and chooses a song from the movie’s soundtrack. He starts to sing. And, oh my God, he’s right. He is spectacularly bad.
On the other couch, their cat lifts his head at the noise Liam is making.
I refuse to laugh, because this is such a cheating flaw and I was hoping for something a little more real, but he’s making it hard.
I hold it together until he launches into falsetto. But when he sings the last high note, his cat runs out of the room, and I’m lost. I laugh until I’m crying.
He ends as loudly and terribly as he began. And he bows deeply even though he lost fifty percent of his audience during his performance.
“Baxter doesn’t like your singing, but I do,” I say when I can breathe again.
“You liked that?” He collapses onto the couch, and I half fall onto him.
“I loved that, Liam. If all of your flaws are this incredible, you should really share them with the world. You are depriving people of some very wonderful and very human flaws.”
“Totally worth it. Gotta remember this.”
“Remember what?”
“How great your laugh is. I could definitely get used to hearing that,” Liam says, grinning. He reaches over and wipes a tear off my cheek. I cry a lot when I laugh. I cry when I’m sad and when I’m scared, and definitel
y when I’m angry, but also when I laugh. Especially when I laugh so hard it hurts my ribs.
Spoiler alert: Leighton Barnes cries all the time.
But now I’m not laughing or crying, I’m just curled up on a couch with a really sweet guy’s arm wrapped around me. I’m not sure how I came to be in Liam McNamara’s basement, snuggled up on the couch, seeing this side of him that I never imagined existed. I’d say it’s like I’ve arrived on an alien planet, but Liam and his family are clearly the normal ones in this scenario. I guess that makes me the lost, out-of-place alien. Don’t mind me, I’m just here to take some space alien notes on what a happy family looks like.
Liam pulls my legs onto his lap. “Leighton, I’ve been really wanting to ask you something. And I’ve honestly never asked this question before not knowing what the answer will be. And before you call me on it, yes, I know that sounds super arrogant. I just want you to know I’m feeling vulnerable here, too. Like a little baby kitten. So if you have to say no, be gentle, okay?”
“Okay, okay. I’m not this mean, am I?”
“I dunno.” He smiles. “Let’s see.”
He’s built this up so much that I’m genuinely nervous.
“Leighton, will you be my girlfriend?”
Oh.
I don’t answer him right away. If he wasn’t sure what my answer would be, neither am I.
I should say no, because. Reasons. I know that I should say no. It’s selfish not to. But I’ve felt so trapped the last two years, and with Liam, I just feel like myself. Like how I could be all the time if things were different.
Besides, Liam McNamara just called himself a baby kitten.
“Do we have to date? I’m really just in it for the sex.”
I’ve won a date night bonus round, and the prize is Liam’s deep, booming laugh.
“Seriously, Leighton.”
“Seriously, Liam?” I ask. I kiss his cheek. “Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.”
“Does this mean I have a date to the Snow Ball?”
“You know that’s not its name, right?”
“Does this mean I have a date to the Winter Formal?”
“Yes,” I say, and only once I say it do I remember the promise I made Sofia. Maybe I was wrong, and I always would have said yes to him.
“I really wanna kiss you,” he whispers. “But I can’t right now.”
“Why not?” I whisper.
“Because then you will miss the best part.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, and we watch. It feels natural, and comfortable, and a thousand other things I haven’t felt in a long time, and they all begin and end with the feeling of safety.
For the moment, I am the happiest creature on earth.
Chapter Thirty
I ARRIVE HOME AFTER MY FATHER has fallen asleep, and leave before he wakes up.
Sofia and I go to the mall and try on the most ridiculous dresses we can find. Sofia looks amazing in all of them, no matter how awful the color looks on a mannequin. I feel pale and washed out in every color I try on, my undecided reddish-blonde hair somehow clashing either way. It seems like the most popular colors are all some variant of neon—which is perfect for Sofia and an eighties-themed dance, but not so great on me.
Then Sofia slips me something dark under the dressing room stall. The dress dips low in the front and lower in the back, and the skirt flares just the right amount. It has pockets. It is shiny and black and perfect. I feel a drumbeat of excitement. Normal things. Normal high school things like a dance, and a dress, and a date.
I check the price tag, and let out a long, low whistle.
“Let me see it!” Sofia yells from the other side of the door. “Don’t you dare take it off until I’ve seen it.”
I unlatch the door and let it swing wide.
Sofia raises her eyebrows at me. “Girl.”
I purse my lips to the side. “I can’t buy both, Sofia.”
“Ugh, Leighton. This dress is perfect for you. And isn’t there another way to—”
“Maybe, but maybe not. And she needs this now, Sof.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Let’s go.”
Sofia can’t choose and gets two dresses in two fantastic bright colors.
We walk back into the sporting goods store we entered the mall through, and there it is again. On special clearance because it’s gonna be cold soon anyway. One gorgeous, Tiffany Blue girl’s bike. My saved-up Christmas and birthday cash from Nana might have gotten me that dress, or a few textbooks next year—or it can get this bike. Some of the things I’ve missed out on in the last few years have been hard to let go of. And lately I can’t seem to say no to the time I’ve been spending with Liam. But this choice isn’t difficult at all.
When we pull up outside my house, Sofia helps me prop the bike up in the front yard.
“Well, go get her,” she says.
I pull Campbell away from the TV and cover her eyes with my hands.
“Leighton . . .” she whines just the once, and lets me lead her outside.
When I move my hands, Campbell is silent.
I nudge her forward. “Well?”
She runs her fingers over the handlebars. She presses softly into the seat. Finally, she looks up.
“Thank you, Leighton.”
She wraps her arms around me in a very un-Campbell-like show of affection.
“No problem, babe,” I say. “Now go get a ride in. It’s freezing out, so your days with this thing are numbered until spring.”
I say bye to Sofia and head inside. When Campbell comes in an hour later, she finds me in the armoire. Not hiding, but searching. For a dress.
Everything is old and doesn’t fit right.
Campbell holds out a bag, the dress store’s name on the side.
“Sofia says that if you don’t wear this to the dance, she can’t be your best friend anymore.”
Chapter Thirty-One
THE REST OF THE WEEKEND PASSES like a dream. Someone else’s dream, because I should know better. I spend Saturday night curled on my bed with the girls. They read while I fight with Portrait of an Old Crow some more. A quiet calm has taken over the house, and I bask in the normalcy. When you live in chaos, boring is a retreat. The mundane is magnificent.
By Sunday, I’m a fool.
He gets home from a weekend construction job early, the work cut short by a downpour. We spend the gray afternoon in our rooms, but eventually we have to come down for dinner.
“I’ve got a great idea,” Dad says as he puts Mom’s lasagna in the center of the table. “Let’s have a game night. We used to have game nights all the time.”
That’s true. We did. At our grandparents’ house.
It was different.
But Campbell and I share a look, and she shrugs. It might just be the eye of the hurricane, but that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate a glimpse of the sun. And there’s always that voice in the back of my mind that says, You never know. It’s been a good week. Maybe this time it will last.
I wish that there were a voice narrating my life, just so that every time I dared to think All is well, some booming voice would say, “All was not well.” It would remind me, on nights like this, not to get complacent.
“Deal,” I say. “Just no Monopoly.”
Even happy families break over Monopoly.
When dinner is finished, he offers to go get some dessert for us to eat while we play. We spend a few minutes weighing the pros and cons of ice cream versus candy, and then he reaches for the top of the fridge. Wallet, keys, gun.
Only he hesitates.
“Where’s my wallet?” he asks.
“What’s wrong?” Mom says from the table, where she and Juniper are stacking board games.
“Where’s my fucking wallet?” he says, louder. “I put it right here, like I always do.”
“I’m sure it’s here,” Mom says, getting up from the table. I watch as she squeezes Juniper’s hand before she leaves her. “Maybe it fell behind the
fridge.”
But they pull it away from the wall, and his wallet isn’t there, either.
“Let’s go check the truck,” she suggests. His jaw clenches tight, but he nods.
Campbell and I check the rest of the house, digging into the sofa and searching the entertainment center. My eyes do that thing they always do now, which is to slip past the part of the wall that isn’t broken anymore.
There’s a picture frame on the floor already, and I lift it back to its nail. Stay, I beg it silently.
We don’t find the wallet, and a moment later, the door slams.
He comes into the house angry, kicking his boots off so that they hit against the back door.
He finds us in the living room, elbow-deep in the sofa as we check it again.
“Anything?”
“We’re still looking,” I tell him, but he’s already so far gone.
“I found it!” Juniper says from the doorway to the room, and we all turn at once.
She’s holding his wallet in her outstretched hand.
“It was just near the front door,” she says. “It must have fallen out of your jacket.”
He moves across the room and grabs the wallet.
“Fucking ridiculous,” he says, putting it on top of the fridge.
We return to the table, dessert forgotten, and quickly settle on Apples to Apples. Juniper is next to me, and I realize that her hair and clothes are damp. I didn’t realize she went out to search the truck with them.
A green card is flipped: “colorful.”
Campbell throws down an opportune choice of “rainbow” and easily wins the first round.
We settle into the game, but that feeling of hope I had earlier is gone. Now it feels like we are on one of those rickety little bridges with the wooden planks in all the action movies, crossing over a deep ravine. As we cross it, the planks start to fall off behind us, so we are forced to run if we want to make it to the other side.
Don’t look down. Just keep moving.
When it’s his turn to judge, he doesn’t grab a card right away.
“Sorry,” he says.
We all fall silent.
“The wallet had cash in it from the job this weekend. I just couldn’t afford to lose it.”
“We know,” Mom says. The girls and I stay quiet. It’s not like his apologies are rare. He actually says sorry to us almost every time. It’s just usually a day or two later. It takes that long for him to come back together.
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