It’s like, if she’s not happy, no one else should be happy. Not even her daughter.
Why doesn’t Mom care about my happiness as much as her own?
My mind keeps flowing back to whether I should ask Dad if I can move here for senior year. When Mom called, she was so angry with me. She would see me moving as a betrayal. She may never be happy again after that.
My life is a hot mess.
T.J. clears his throat. “Who’s Asshole Bob? Your ex?”
I glance up. “No, he’s the mannequin we beat up at self-defense class.”
“Whew. I mean, I know Bob’s an asshole, but I feel bad for anybody who gets whacked in the junk.”
I bang my forehead against my knees. This sucks.
T.J. rests a hand on my forearm. “Is everything all right? Do you need to go?”
“Same ol’, same ol’. My parents are being stupid.”
“Your parents are divorced?”
“Yeah. For a few years now.”
“You want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.
It would be easier to talk if we were in the dark. I hate talking about my feelings in daylight, because my traitor face shows every personal thing in my heart. “It sucks… It feels like they care more about themselves than me. It’s always about them.”
T.J. intertwines his fingers with mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Are your parents together?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty lucky, I think. I mean, they embarrassed the hell out of me on my eighteenth birthday. They sent this huge balloon arrangement to school, and it showed up during calculus. But I know they love me, you know?”
“My parents love me too. It’s just, things are weird.”
T.J.’s eyes are attentive, so I slowly begin to tell him a little about what happened with my parents, and how things are now. How I feel guilty even trying to live my life, because Mom is so unhappy.
“I see what you mean,” he says. “It does sound like they’re all about themselves. But you should be number one.”
As he says it, I realize it’s true. I wish I were somebody’s number one.
The thought sends little butterflies fluttering through my body.
T.J.
As we lie here on the beach together, the conversation doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stall. It gets better and better as we move from the serious to fun topics and back again.
The questions keep flowing.
“Where’s your favorite place you’ve been?” I ask Mari.
She rolls onto her stomach, using her arms as a pillow, and looks at me sideways. “I haven’t traveled a whole lot. But there’s this little town in Florida we went to one time. It’s called Seaside. Every single house there looks like it’s been redone by those Fixer Upper people on HGTV. They’re all painted Easter colors.”
I scrunch my nose, imagining all those cookie-cutter houses with their horrible ordinary pastels.
She smacks my arm. “Hey! It was pretty.”
“I’m glad Easter’s only once a year. I can’t handle all those baby blues and soft pinks.”
“Annnyway,” she drawls, cutting me off. I smile at her boldness. “I loved Seaside. Everyone is so nice, and the town is clean. No one drives—everyone walks everywhere. There was a little market and a butcher shop. A little soap store, with homemade soaps and bath bombs and bubble bath…”
I fake a yawn.
“…an old record store.”
“Okay, now you’re talking.”
She touches my arm. “You’d love Seaside, T.J.”
It doesn’t seem like my thing, but I’d spend all day in a soap store smell testing bath bombs if Mari was there. I’m surprised, though, that she seems into something so perfect. She seemingly wants everything in its place, which I get—some people are like that, and that’s okay, but I didn’t expect that of her. I thought she might be more impulsive. I mean, she agreed to hang out with the guy she just met in the Ryde.
“What did you mean before about your brother?” she asks. “Why do you think you’re inferior to him?”
I turn onto my back and stare at the sky with my sunglasses on. I cross one leg over the other, trying to get comfortable.
“T.J.?”
I scrub my hand through my hair. It’s a mess. “I dunno. He got nearly a perfect score on the math section of the SAT.”
“Wow.”
“And that same year, I barely made a B in algebra I.”
“Okay, so some of us are better at certain subjects than others.”
“Tyler and I were both on the track team. He won the mile and two mile all the time. I never came in higher than third place.”
“So that’s just sports and math. There must be something you’re better at.”
But what if sports and math are what your family care about? If you aren’t good at the same things as your family—if you don’t even care about those things, it’s hard not to feel second rate.
Mari’s looking at me expectantly. Gotta give her something.
“At graduation, I won Most Artistic,” I say quietly. Her mouth forms an O, and her brown eyes go soft. “And for the yearbook superlatives, I was voted Most Artistic there too.” I shrug. “My parents congratulated me on the awards, but they were more excited I graduated in the top ten percent.”
“What’d your brother say?”
“He said, ‘Huh, cool. Ready to go eat?’ He was excited because my parents were taking us to this fancy steak place to celebrate my graduation.”
With a smile, she shakes her head. Haven’t even known her a day, but I think she understands Tyler’s antics. “You must be really artistic.”
“I mean, I was always the kid at summer camp who wanted to stay in the arts and crafts pavilion instead of going to the pool or to play field games. I love painting. And making stuff.”
“Like what?”
I lift up my wrist and show her some of my leather and cloth bracelets.
She touches them with her fingers. “You made these? I figured you bought them.”
Her pointer finger gently touches my favorite one, the leather braided cord with the single Swarovski crystal. When the sun hits it, it shines like a far-off star. It didn’t take long to make, but it came out looking like something you can buy in a store.
“I love this one,” she says.
Without letting myself think too much about it, I unclasp it, take her hand, and slip it over her wrist.
Mari
I run my fingers over the leather bracelet.
My pulse is pounding hard.
This is the first time a boy has given me a gift like this. Something personal from the heart. Is that what it means?
I tell myself it’s only a bracelet.
It hangs a lot more loosely on my arm than his, so I push it up my forearm several inches.
He sits up, crosses his legs in front of him, and holds out his hands. “Let me see it. I’ll fix it.”
With deft fingers, he detaches the clasp. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and flips through them to a small Swiss Army knife key chain. He quickly measures the bracelet on my arm, then uses the tiny knife to cut off a couple centimeters of leather. T.J. looks up into my eyes before reattaching the clasp. Once it’s ready, he unhooks it and slips it back onto my wrist.
I hold up my arm to study it. It fits perfectly. “T.J.? Did you make the design for your tattoo?”
He fidgets with his key chain, closing up the knife and thrusting it back into his pocket. Finally, he nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You’re so talented.”
He glances up at me. “Too personal, I guess.”
Meeting T.J. is like peeling an onion. The more time I spend with him, I uncover more layers, more intricacies. I continue to notice more and more things I li
ke about him. Like his long eyelashes. I enjoy peeking under them in search of his blue eyes.
“The way you’re looking at me,” T.J. says. “I really need to kiss you again.”
I touch the bracelet. “Then why aren’t you?”
Right as he reaches for me, my phone beeps. It’s Sierra’s ringtone, or I wouldn’t bother to look.
Sierra: I’m coming to the beach. Where are you?
Me: On the sand at Oak St. Beach. You’re here?
Sierra: On my way!
I look up at T.J. “Sierra’s coming to meet us.”
T.J. sighs, then stretches his arms over his head. He puts his sunglasses back on. Now that I’ve gotten to know him better, he’s even more attractive.
“C’mere,” I tell him, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close for a long kiss. As I become more comfortable with him, the kissing is even better than before. I’m drowning.
His hand gently cradles my face. “Mmm.”
We break apart, breathing heavily.
“I had to do that before my sister gets here,” I say. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Me neither.”
* * *
Sierra and Megan arrive, both wearing cute bikini tops and jean shorts. My stepsister squeals. “I’m so glad you guys found each other. You’re so perfect together!”
Megan plops her beach bag down on the sand and smiles at us. “So cute,” she adds.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, half pleased, half annoyed. She knows T.J. and I aren’t together, can never be together, yet she’s acting like we’re heading for the altar later today.
“I told David and Mom I was coming down here. It got them to back off on calling the Marines in to rescue you.”
I laugh. “Thanks.”
“You really owe us,” Megan says, flipping her chic sunglasses down over her eyes. “Having to come outside in the sun and lie on the beach? We’re sacrificing a lot.”
Sierra smacks her arm. “You’d be here anyway, and you know it.”
Megan smiles at Sierra, who tucks a piece of blond hair behind an ear. It’s her nervous tic. Sierra’s never mentioned she’s interested in Megan, but I’d bet Vegas money she is.
Megan fans herself. “I’m burning up. Going to cool off. Be right back.”
She takes off toward the water, her braids bouncing against her back. Sierra watches as Megan wades into the lake.
Right as I’m wondering what’s going on with them, T.J. asks, “Is Megan your girlfriend?”
Sierra, who had been arranging her pink towel on the sand, pauses for a long moment, then goes back to straightening it. “No, she’s one of my best friends. What gave you that idea?”
“Oh. Sorry about that,” T.J. says.
Maybe Sierra doesn’t know how she feels. To me, though, it’s clear as today’s blue sky. “T.J. has a point,” I say carefully. “It seems like you’re into her.”
Sierra gives me a look of death, then pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes. “Even if I did like Megan, I can’t go out with her. Megan’s a friend.” Sierra pushes her blond hair back, sweeping it into a ponytail. “If we got together, it could mess everything up.”
“Who says it would get messed up?” I ask.
My stepsister faces the lake, where Megan has waded to where the water is up to her waist. “It’s not a good idea to tell a friend you want more. I mean, look what happened to you and Austin.”
I raise my eyebrows at her in warning.
“I’m sorry,” Sierra says quickly. “I didn’t mean to say that. It came out before I thought about what I was saying. I’m sorry, Mari.”
She looks truly apologetic, so I give her a quick nod, showing I forgive her, that I will always forgive her.
I peek over at T.J. to find his forehead creased. He must be wondering what Sierra and I are talking about, but I don’t want to tell him. Thinking about my best friend hurts.
But T.J. is worried, so I need to give him something. “It’s in the past.”
He lets out a breath he’d been holding. “Okay.”
Sierra waves at us. “C’mon, I need another picture of you two. All of Twitter wants to know if you guys got together. Even Chrissy Teigen. Scoot closer together.”
T.J. throws an arm around my shoulders. I cozy up next to him and lean my head against his shoulder.
“Smile!” Sierra taps her phone screen several times, snapping pictures of us. She posts one to her IG story and tags me. I swipe my phone on to look at the photo. T.J. and I look great together.
I navigate to my IG account and repost Sierra’s picture to my story.
T.J. nudges my shoulder. “Can you send me that picture?”
I text it to him and watch as he posts it to his IG feed.
That’s when Austin responds to my IG story: You look happy
Me: It’s been a nice day
I think, I like talking to T.J., but I don’t tell Austin that. It’s too personal. It’s like a tiny seed buried deep inside me, a seed that could easily grow into a beautiful red tulip. But until you water it, a seed stays a seed. It needs to stay ungrown. Because once it grows, it will eventually wither away.
T.J. leans against my arm, peeking at me sideways. The light seems to have gone out of his face. What is he thinking?
And that’s when the worst thing ever happens:
A bird poops on my head.
T.J.
Mari is screaming her ass off.
Can’t say I blame her.
A big gray glob of bird shit is on top of her head.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I say.
She squeals. “Oh my God I’m gonna catch bird flu! And my hair!” She pulls a long strand out to stare at it. “My hair is ruined.”
Sierra is laughing. Mari is yelling at her to stop. I’m biting my lips together, trying not to crack up. She’s so cute.
People around us are staring.
I get to my feet. “C’mon, let’s go wash it out.”
With her hand in mine, we hustle down the beach to the water and wade into the lake. The cold water is a relief on this blistering July day.
Megan is exiting the lake. “What’s going on?” she calls out.
“I had a bird poop incident!” Mari says, and Megan cracks up as she continues walking back to the towels.
I turn Mari around to face me. The look on her face is so aggrieved, it’s adorable.
“Of all the people to poop on, why me?”
I laugh. “Here, lean your head back.”
She falls backward on top of the water, her feet rising to the surface. As she floats on her back, I gently work the bird poop out of her hair. This is gross as hell, so I’m surprised I don’t mind.
The sun beams down, sparkling on her wet body. Her eyes are closed and she has a little smile on her face. Her curly hair fans out on top of the water, like a mermaid. I’m straight-up ogling, but I can’t help it. Not after our kisses on the beach. I want to pull her to me and never let go.
But what were she and Sierra talking about on the beach? Did Mari have something going on with one of her guy friends? I thought she said she hadn’t really dated before. Is there another guy? Is that why she supposedly doesn’t date? Now I’m wishing I’d pressed Sierra for more details.
If there is another guy, I need her to know I’m interested in her regardless. I’m not throwing away a chance with her.
“I’m really happy,” I say. “I mean, not about the bird poop in your hair, but being here.”
Mari pulls herself to a standing position, her feet sinking to the lake bed, and drapes her arms around me. Her eyes meet mine. “I’m happy too.”
“I know this is only a weekend—”
“That’s right,” she says immediately.
I take a deep breath, overwhelmed. With her hands woven in my hair, it’s hard to think about anything right now, but I wish it could be more than a weekend, even though that doesn’t make any sense. Even if I don’t understand what’s happening between Mari and me, I want to make sure she’s not into someone else.
“What were you and Sierra talking about back there? Did something happen with one of your friends?”
She lowers her head. Slowly she begins to nod. “My best guy friend, Austin… He liked me, but I didn’t want a relationship with him. It messed up our friendship… Like, we still talk, but it’s not the same. It feels forced. He’s upset with me, and I wish I knew how to make everything better.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, truly sad she and her best friend are in a tiff, but I’m also relieved she doesn’t want a relationship with him.
“Thanks,” she whispers, looking up at me from under her thick eyelashes.
She takes my hand, wading a little farther out to where the water nearly goes up to her neck. Under the surface, she wraps her legs around my waist. And I nearly have a heart attack. Mari’s legs. Are wrapped. Around me.
Who knew Chicago was heaven?
No one can see us out here under the water, so I let my hands wander a little. I start at her waist, then gently roam to the backs of her smooth thighs. A gasp escapes her lips.
“This okay?” I ask.
She nods, touching her sun-warmed forehead to mine. I urge her mouth to mine, curling my body around hers, telling myself to stay in control. Remember what I’m doing. Don’t need any more R-rated movie scenes out here in public.
Then her parents really would send in the Marines.
* * *
After making out in the lake for who knows how long, Mari and I go back onto the beach, shaking the water from our hair. My fingertips look like prunes.
We approach our towels to find Sierra and Megan lying together, laughing at something on one of their phones.
Sierra looks up at us. “All better? Did you get the bird poop out?”
“Yeah.” Mari runs a hand through her curly wet hair. “Thanks to T.J.”
We sit down on Mari’s towel, sharing it. We lean against each other, her arm running the length of mine. The most surprising thing about spending time with her today is how easy it’s become. Now that we’ve kissed, it doesn’t scare me to touch her shoulder. To take her hand in mine.
The Pick-Up Page 10