My phone beeps. A direct message notification pops up. It’s from the radio station!
WTGP: You won our Lolla selfie contest! Please come to trailer 67 at 11:00am at Lollapalooza tomorrow to meet the members of If We Were Giants. You can bring a +1.
Holy shit! I jump up off the couch. The blanket falls to the floor. I get to meet my favorite band! I get to meet Adam Tracy and maybe ask him about his art.
I can’t believe I won. I snort. I mean, I would hope so considering how much time Mari and I spent going around and taking selfies. The radio station sends along a little map showing me where to go, along with instructions on how to pick up an extra bracelet that will get me backstage.
Me: I’m in! Thank you!
WTGP: Please let us know by 9:00am your full name and the name of your +1 so we can put you on the list.
Me: I will get back to you shortly.
At the same time, the radio station tweets out to its followers that @TJ_Clark2003 won the backstage tour at Lollapalooza. They also retweet that awful picture of Mari and me in front of the Art Institute, the one where our hair is sticking up everywhere. It makes me laugh.
I can’t wait to tell Tyler I won. He can be my plus-one.
I text him: Where are you?
Tyler: Out. Won’t be back tonite. I’ll see you when you come back for college. I need some time.
He needs time away from me?
I’ll never admit this to anyone, but tears sting my eyes when I read his words. I need to see him. To say I’m sorry. Guess that’s not happening anytime soon. Did I fuck up our relationship for good?
The radio station direct messages me again: We saw you and your friend Mari trending on Twitter this weekend. Can you bring her as your +1? We want pictures of you guys backstage!
Oh. They want Mari. For publicity, I guess?
I fluff the pillow under my head and try to clear my mind—to erase the humiliation, so I can sleep. I focus on the darkness behind my closed eyes.
The dark turns to bright vivid colors. Splatters of paint.
I can’t stop thinking of that Obama graffiti I saw this morning. Next to it was this big open swatch of concrete. Sun shined down through the grate above it, almost like a spotlight. My fingers itch to fill that space.
I want that spotlight on my work.
On my art.
* * *
I text Mari, asking her to come backstage to meet If We Were Giants.
It’s late, though, so I don’t end up hearing back from her until I wake up the next morning.
Mari: Invite your brother. Not me. I don’t even know this band. You know he’d love it.
She’s right. I have to at least try.
I text Tyler: I won this contest. Get to go backstage to meet If We Were Giants.
He doesn’t respond immediately, hopefully since it’s eight o’clock in the morning and not because he never wants to speak to me again.
I decide to get in the shower. When I’m out, I towel off my wet hair and see a blinking light on my phone. A notification. I swipe on my phone screen.
Tyler: No shit, really?
Me: I can take a +1. Will you come with me? Please?
I hold my breath, waiting for him to respond.
Tyler: Where do I meet you?
* * *
I’m waiting at a bagel shop on Michigan Avenue.
Tyler agreed to meet here before we walk over to the festival. Because food.
A mix of excitement and dread go to war inside me. I can’t wait to go backstage and meet my favorite band. But the idea of seeing Tyler again freaks me out.
Other than fighting over Xbox controllers and who gets the last piece of garlic bread at dinner, we’ve never had a real argument before. I’m not sure what happens next.
Through the glass window, I spot him coming up the street. I bite my cheek. Tyler pushes open the shop door and gives me a single nod. He has circles under his eyes and he’s wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday.
Without a word, we stand in line and look at the menu. It’s written in English, but none of the words register for me. I’m so nervous and worried the words look like a foreign language I don’t know.
By the time I step up to the cashier, I have no idea what they have to eat much less what I want to order.
Tyler steps up to the register. “Two everything bagels with cream cheese. Orange juice. Coffee please.”
“Two of those, please,” I say. I don’t think I’ve ever had an everything bagel before. Does that mean literally everything? Even dirt? It might end up tasting like dirt for all I know, but I don’t care right now. All that matters is making things right with Tyler.
I pull out my debit card. “Let’s pay with Dad’s money.”
“Now we’re talking, Teej.”
Once we have our food, I follow Tyler over to a small table by the window.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“Don’t give me that shit,” Tyler says, dumping cream in his coffee. “You meant every word.”
Red hot blood rushes to my face. To cover my embarrassment, I gulp down some of my orange juice.
“I’m glad you said it,” Tyler adds. “It sucked what you said and it pissed me off. Really fucking pissed me off.” He stops to take a big bite of bagel and chew. “But I’m proud you had the courage to say it.”
“I could’ve said it nicer.”
“That’s for damned sure.” Tyler rips off a piece of bagel. “You hurt Krysti’s feelings a lot. She’s pretty pissed right now.”
“I didn’t think you cared about that? I mean, it doesn’t seem like you want to be serious with her.”
“Dude, I met her less than three weeks ago.” He chews his bagel. “I’m twenty-two. I’m not about to get married. But that doesn’t mean I want to piss off the woman I’m seeing. Or hurt any woman. Besides, who knows what might happen with Krysti? We got a pretty good thing going on. Or, at least we did.”
I am so confused. I have no idea what Tyler wants. Is that what happens after college? You have no idea what you want?
It’s strange to me, that Tyler doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. I always thought he was in perfect control. Maybe he’s just like me? Along for the ride and figuring things out as I go?
“I can text Krysti to tell her I’m sorry,” I offer.
“I’ll tell her,” Tyler says.
We chew our food and look out the window. A man and his waddling bulldog pass by.
“Things are okay with Mari,” I tell Tyler.
“Did you get back with her?”
“I mean, we hung out last night, but nothing else happened. We danced, that’s it. I don’t know if she’ll give me another chance... She’s not really into dating. Ball’s in her court now.”
Tyler sighs. “I’m sorry, man. About what I said about how you’d find someone else. It’s just that I think it’s good to talk to lots of different people to figure out what you want.”
“What if what I want is one person?”
“You can like whoever and whatever you want. You’re you and I’m me. If you don’t agree with me, tell me to fuck off, and that’s fine.”
I always thought Tyler wanted me to act a certain way. Did he pressure me because I myself wasn’t stepping up to make my own decisions?
“Listen,” I say carefully. “I want to get a tattoo, but not a hula girl.”
Tyler bursts out laughing. “A hula girl. What a stupid idea.”
“It was your idea.”
“I know, and it was stupid as shit. Thank God we didn’t go do that. Mom would’ve killed us.”
“I actually do want a tattoo.” With a deep breath, I swipe on my phone screen and scroll to my design. I pass it over to him.
He takes my phone, holds it closer to his eyes, an
d studies it. “Wow, this slams.”
I burst out laughing at his words. I find them so incredibly dorky, but he likes the phrase, and he owns it. It’s him.
It doesn’t matter what other people think or if you’re worried something is silly or nerdy. If you like it, you like it. You own it.
I need to own what I love. Be openly proud of it, no matter what anyone else thinks.
“I designed it,” I tell Tyler.
“Sh-it,” he says, his eyes focusing on it again. “You could make money designing tattoos like this.”
“I want that,” I say slowly, carefully. “I’ve been thinking of changing my major. To graphic design or art or something.”
He doesn’t look away from my design. “What about business?”
“Ty, I hated taking stats. I don’t know if I can live through four more years of math.”
His eyes grow wide as he looks up at me. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I guess I hoped someone would ask or figure it out. I mean, I won Most Artistic at graduation and in the yearbook.”
Tyler laughs. “Shit, man. I don’t take those awards seriously. I mean, in the yearbook, I won Most Spiritual.”
“Uh, why?”
Tyler tilts his head while he thinks. “I was always talking to girls about their horoscopes. They were really into it. Talking about Mercury in retrograde and stuff.”
“Hey, Mercury in retrograde is nothing to laugh about,” I shoot back.
“You’re the most spiritual person I know, Teej.” He drinks from his juice carton. “You’re seriously thinking about majoring in art?”
“Yeah.”
“If that’s what you want, I’m behind you.”
“Really? Won’t it embarrass you?”
Tyler gives me a look. “It won’t embarrass me. And even if it did, I told you. Tell me to fuck off and that’s the end of it.”
“I want to major in art. Maybe minor in graphic design.” I chew my bagel for a long moment. “Mom and Dad will kill me.”
Tyler waves a hand. “I’ll have your back. They might be okay with it once they see you’re serious. What else have you designed besides that tattoo?”
I swipe on my phone again. With shaking fingers, I find my little green alien. The one Mari called Dave. I show the picture to Tyler.
I hold my breath as he stares at the alien while chewing his food. “That’s awesome… Maybe don’t show that one to Mom and Dad, though. They’d probably send you to art rehab or some shit.”
Mari
Sierra is hogging the bathroom mirror.
“C’mon,” I whine. “I need to put on my makeup.”
She sets her eyeliner down and checks her smartwatch. “We’re fine. We’ve got time.”
“I’m supposed to get breakfast with Dad before the show.”
“Oh! Change of plans. Mom and David are taking us both out for food before we head to the concert.”
That’s good, I guess. Eating with my dad won’t be so awkward if Sierra’s there.
While I brush on my primer, Sierra weaves her hair into a long braid. By the time I’m done with my mascara, Sierra’s still working on her foundation. You’d never know she’s getting ready for a day at a festival. You’d think she’s preparing to shoot a movie scene.
This is going to take a while, so I go out into the living room to wait for her, and find Leah sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and scrolling on her phone. When she sees me, she sets her cup and phone on the coffee table.
“Mari! Good morning.”
I sit down in a chair across from her. “Good morning.”
I rub my hands on my thighs and send telepathic messages to Sierra telling her to hurry up already. Before this moment, I’ve never been alone with Leah.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s a comfortable bed. Thanks.”
Leah smiles. “If you want to pick out another comforter and some different wallpaper or paint, let me know. Sierra says the guest room reminds her of a vampire’s funeral home.”
I giggle at Sierra’s brashness.
“Sierra and I don’t share the same taste,” Leah adds.
“Me neither,” I say. Sierra’s room is all bright reds and oranges. I prefer softer colors—those pastels T.J. totally hates.
“If you can give me an idea of what you’d like,” Leah says, “I can pick out new decor before you visit again, or we could even go sometime this week when you’re here. Your dad told me you’re staying another couple of weeks.”
My family’s never really had the money to spend on new paint or fancy linens. The idea of getting new things makes me feel like I’m betraying my own mother, but at the same time, I appreciate how Leah’s reaching out and making me feel welcome. I haven’t felt totally welcome anywhere in a long time.
“Going shopping would be nice,” I say quietly.
Leah takes an extended sip from her coffee mug. We sit in an awkward silence, playing with our phones, until finally Dad appears. He’s wearing a polo shirt tucked into his jeans on what’s expected to be a one-hundred-degree day in Chicago. Dad has clearly lost it.
He squeezes Leah’s shoulder and sits down next to her.
“Mari,” Dad starts. “Leah and I talked last night, and we’d love to have you live here with us next year when you’re in college.”
“Thank you!” I say. Relief rushes through me like a blast of cool air on a hot day.
Leah pulls a deep breath, glancing from Dad to me. “Mari, I’m sorry. Your dad told me a little bit about how you’re feeling. I can’t say I know or understand how you feel, but I can listen. I’m sorry for how my actions affected you, I truly am.” Leah clasps her hands together and looks down at them.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry too,” Dad says. His voice cracks.
I can tell it took a lot for him to say that, but it’s not enough. Not really. Sorry only goes so far.
“I’m so happy I met your dad,” Leah adds. “I never met anyone I wanted to be with before him.”
He smiles at her. Again, his ears turn red. It’s sweet, but also makes me kind of want to barf. I don’t need to hear this much info about my dad’s love life.
“Speaking of meeting people,” Leah starts, “From what Sierra said, it sounds like T.J.’s a nice guy. I’d like to meet him.”
I shrug. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.”
“He could be though, right?” Leah says.
Dad grunts unhappily.
“I don’t know,” I say. “He could be a good friend.” I shrug and rub my palms together nervously.
Dad and Leah glance at each other.
“You don’t want to date him?” Dad asks.
“I don’t want to risk it. Not after seeing how your affair affected Mom. I don’t want to be hurt.”
This is true, but even as I’m saying the words, T.J.’s smiling face appears in my mind. Based on everything I’ve learned about him over the past couple of days, I can’t see him turning his back on me, on us. Even after I left him standing alone on the boat, he came back to help me.
Leah pats Dad’s arm as he leans over and covers his eyes. “I’m truly sorry, Ladybug. Please don’t base your life on things that went wrong between your mother and me… If you like this guy, I’m sure I will too.”
I clear my throat. “I wouldn’t want to fall for someone…and have them leave.” I can’t imagine the pain of falling in love, only to see him gone. “People in my life have already left. And it sucks. Dad, you left physically, and Mom left me in an entirely different way… She’ll never be the mom I want or need.”
Dad and Leah are both crying now. He glances at her. “I could’ve handled things with you and your mother better, Ma
ri. I’m so sorry I left the way I did, and for how things have turned out. I promise I’m going to help you get what you need, and I’ll help with your mother too. I’ll do what I can to make this right. I want you to feel safe, okay?”
I don’t know that I can ever forgive my dad. I won’t be able to forget what he did or set it aside.
I look up at his face. It’s full of regret. He rubs his eyes.
Our relationship will never be the same, no matter how hard we try to repair it.
But I could try to move forward and make something new.
My mind floats back to what T.J. said last night. How one wrong choice can set you on a path you were never meant to be on. I’ve let my parents’ actions set me on a direction I never meant to go.
Here and now? I want to choose my way.
T.J.
“I can’t believe you won backstage passes.”
Tyler and I follow the radio station’s instructions to pick up backstage bracelets from the WGTP rep. She’s wearing a WGTP T-shirt and a lanyard around her neck.
Her face falls. “Oh, we were hoping you’d bring the girl from your posts.”
“I’m sorry, she couldn’t make it. But I brought my brother.”
He sticks out a hand to shake hers. “Hey, I’m Tyler,” he says with a suddenly deep movie-announcer voice.
Her eyes light up at him. “I’m Jenna.”
I swear. Can he go ten minutes without seducing a woman?
Jenna leads us to a trailer, where we say hello to the band and are quickly ushered to get our picture taken with them. I can’t wait to post this on Instagram.
While Tyler is asking the drummer questions, I take a deep breath and approach Adam Tracy. As I stick out my hand, I notice the tattoos racing up and down his arms. “I’m a big fan of your cover art.”
His eyes widen. He sweeps his messy brown hair off his forehead. “Nobody ever mentions it. Surprised you know about that.”
“I love your covers. What made you decide to do it?”
“Art, you mean?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He shrugs. “I need a backup in case music doesn’t work out, you know?”
I laugh, loving that art is his backup. Normally it’s the other way around: people have a backup in case the art doesn’t work out.
The Pick-Up Page 17