Sweet Nothing

by Henry, Mia

  —Mom? I was ten, standing in the doorway to the library on the second floor of our Upper East Side apartment. It was the middle of the night, and my eyes were stitched with the laces of sleep. I could see my mother’s shadowy outline behind my father’s desk, in front of the fireplace. The chandelier was dim.

  —Yes, baby, mama’s home. She always referred to herself this way—mama—even though Aria and I never did. She tried to get up, but was unsteady on her feet. Even at such a young age, I knew enough to think: already?

  —Come give your mama a kiss, Elle belle! Her voice was too thick, too deliberate. There was a nearly empty crystal decanter on the desk in front of her. No glass. I wanted to turn around, to call for my father, but I knew better.

  —Did the doctors make you better, Mom?

  —You mean the shrinks? She waved the air as if she smelled something rotten. Heads up their asses. Now come here, baby. Mama’s missed you.

  “Hello?” Gwen’s waving her palm in front of my face, bringing me back. “Earth to Ellie.”

  “Sorry.” My face grows warm. “Spaced out for a second.”

  Gwen’s eyes linger, concerned. But Waverly barely notices.

  “In other news,” she announces slyly, “I heard you had a visit from the one and only Luke Poulos this morning.”

  “Get out.” Gwen’s jaw drops.

  “Where did you—how did you know that?” I’m trying for nonchalant. But I can tell by the grins on the girls’ faces that I’m flunking miserably. Even the sound of Luke’s name warms me.

  “Vi Miller is in my second period.” Waverly looks proud. “That’s one thing I will say about these kids: if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t know half of what goes on around here.”

  Gwen nods. “You can pretty much be sure that if a student hears about this kind of thing, it’ll go campus-wide by the end of the day.”

  “There’s no thing,” I argue. I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face if I wanted to. “He’s just my faculty mentor, so he was coming by to check on me.”

  “Faculty mentor? Or ‘faculty mentor’? Pleased with her air quotes, Waverly fist-bumps Gwen.

  “Quit,” I laugh. “Seriously. He’s just a nice guy and he wanted to make sure I was doing okay.”

  “Whatever you say.” Waverly bites her lip thoughtfully. “But if you’re not interested, I might be.”

  I bristle. I can’t have Luke, I know that. But Waverly would be my last pick for a stand-in.

  “Plus, he’s just really nice,” Gwen adds. “Lucky. You must have done something pretty amazing in a previous life.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Waverly scoffs. “Just because Luke Poulos is into her?”

  “Hello? I’m right here.” Actually, I agree that karma is a real force, something that keeps us accountable for our actions. But karma can’t be in play here. Not when a guy like Luke just waltzes into my life. Nobody deserves that kind of good fortune. Especially not me.

  Now that I know the girls know Luke, I have a million questions. None of which I can ask without giving myself away. Does he have a girlfriend? Is he really as nice as he seems, or is it just an act? And what was in the gold envelope he’d slipped to me during first period?

  The envelope. I’d been so exhausted, so distracted by my meeting with Dr. Goodwin, that I’d completely forgotten to open the envelope.

  “I’ve got to run inside for a second.”

  “But we haven’t decided what we want to do for dinner. And I don’t feel like cooking,” Waverly pouts.

  “When have you EVER felt like cooking?” Gwen asks.

  “I mean, I don’t feel like calling for takeout. It’s your turn.”

  Gwen sighs. “Chinese?”

  “Sounds great,” I say hurriedly. “I’ll be right back.” I slip inside and dig through my bag until I find the envelope. Run my fingers over the edge of the flap. Wait for a few seconds. I’ve always been this way, even as a kid. I was never one to tear into presents on my birthday. I liked the moments before opening the gift the best. When anything was possible.

  Finally, I slip my finger beneath the flap and carefully remove the card inside.

  you’re invited

  to an art opening honoring

  the students of honors painting 3

  and honors photography 2

  My heart sinks. It’s nothing, just an invitation to a school event. There’s a date—tomorrow night—and an off-campus address, and Luke has scrawled hope you can make it at the bottom.

  I shove the invitation back into the envelope. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the knot of disappointment in my stomach tells me I wanted something more than this. An invite to a school event sends the message loud and clear: Luke sees me as nothing more than a work obligation. And this is just a nice gesture, to make me feel included. Or maybe this is the Universe, reminding me that Luke is out of my reach. That we’re colleagues. That we can never be anything more.

  A guy like him could never want a girl like me, anyway. Again, message received.

  chapter seven

  Elle,

  Call me. Now.

  A

  I’m preoccupied for the rest of the night and the next morning, debating whether to go to the art opening. By the end of first period, it’s decided: I definitely won’t make an appearance. Every time I see Luke, I feel a gravitational pull toward a guy who can never know the real me. Why should I torture myself, when seeing Luke tonight will only make me want what I can’t have?

  By third period, I’ve made up my mind: I have to go. If Dr. Goodwin finds out that I was invited and bailed, I’ll look like a slacker. It’s a school-sponsored event, and I could use some brownie points after Senator Santiago’s phone call. Who says Luke and I can’t be friends? It’s not like I’m a horny teenager who can’t control herself around a man. I’m an adult. I can act like one.

  Right? Right.

  By the end of the day, I’m teetering on the verge of a migraine. So I’m relieved when Gwen pops into my room after the last bell.

  “Wanna get coffee? I have a meeting for the Gazette later, but I could use some time off campus.” Leaning in my doorway, she’s mastered the art of cool. She’s wearing black cigarette pants, metallic oxfords, a vintage tee, and a fitted plum blazer. And she’s accessorized with a glinting costume brooch and retro red frames that she doesn’t need, but totally pulls off.

  “Sounds great.” I like this about her: every day her style seems different, but underneath it all, she’s the same relaxed, confident Gwen. I wonder what it would be like to feel that comfortable in my skin. To remain constant, steady on the inside, despite the changes on the outside.

  “Cool. There’s a sweet little place a couple blocks over if you want to walk.”

  I start to corral my belongings—cell, planner, iPad, and money clip. Before I can stash them in my bag, the phone rings. Aria. She’s already called three times today, while I was in class.

  “Need to get that?”

  “No. It’s fine,” I say quickly, silencing the phone. I toss it in my bag. Guilt creeps in at the base of my skull. Aria obviously needs me. And I’ve abandoned her, along with the rest of my family. “And walking sounds good. I’ve been cooped up all…” I trail off as my fingertips graze Luke’s gold envelope.

  “In that case…” Gwen sheds her blazer and tosses it on my desk, along with a stack of rubber-banded summer reading tests and a People mag. “mind if I leave this stuff here? I can come back for it before my meeting.”

  “No problem.” Aria will be fine. She can wait. I’ll call her when I have time to talk. I wouldn’t be any good to her with Gwen standing here, anyway.

  It only takes a few minutes to walk to Gwen’s usual coffee haunt, which as promised is not far from campus. Still, my bangs are papered to my forehead by the time we step into the icy, air-conditioned space. Miami Fun Fact: Bangs are hazardous to one’s self-esteem in temperatures over 80 degrees.

  We order iced coffees
(mine with soy milk and raw sugar, Gwen’s black) at a long, mosaic-tiled bar.

  “I’ve got it.” I feel around my bag for my money clip, finding the cool plastic of my debit card instead. “You guys have been so sweet since I got here.”

  I half expect Gwen to protest—it’s what I would do, even if I had no intention of paying—but instead she just says: “Awesome. Thanks.”

  The barista swipes my card, then rolls her eyes at the machine. “Sorry. It’s taking a second.”

  “So, how was young Master Santiago in class today?” Gwen asks.

  “Entitled.” He’d sauntered into my classroom just milliseconds before the bell, giving me what could only be described as a dickish smile. Had taken his seat in the back row and refused to speak for the entire 45 minutes.

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Oh. Um…” The barista wrinkles her nose at me. “Your card’s been declined.”

  “What? That’s not possible. Try it again.”

  She does. “Sorry.”

  Gwen’s hand dips into her canvas cross-body bag. “Here. I got it.”

  “NO,” I say, too loudly. A teenaged couple at the closest table turns to stare. “You don’t understand. Please. Just—try it again.” I can feel my body growing hot with shame. This has never happened before. And shouldn’t be happening now.

  “Seriously. I’ve got it.” Gwen slides a wilted twenty across the counter. In exchange, the barista nudges my debit card back with the edge of her pen. Like it’s infected.

  “Gwen—”

  “You can get me next time.” Gwen shoots me a quizzical look. “You okay? I mean, it’s no big deal. This kind of thing happens to me all the time.”

  “It doesn’t happen to me,” I snap, instantly regretting my tone. “Sorry. It’s just that...” I try to swallow. What am I going to tell her? That I’ve never, not once, overdrawn any of the bank accounts I’ve had since birth? That it’s taken me less than 48 hours in Miami to prove that I’m incapable of living on my own? Gwen’s lips are moving, but I don’t hear sound. I have to get out of here. Now.

  “Excuse me,” I whisper. I leave my coffee on the counter; stumble outside into the accusing sunlight. I escape into the alley and reach for my cell phone. My sweaty fingertips slip against the screen as I dial. Aria answers on the first ring.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get you all day.” She sounds angry and relieved at the same time.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been teaching,” I explain. “Aria, you’ll never believe what just happened. I overdrew my account.”

  Silence. Then, “Is that code for something, or—”

  “No. No. I opened a checking account with some of my own money and I don’t know what happened! It’s just… gone, and I have a little cash, but we don’t get paid for two weeks!”

  “Elle, why don’t you just ask Mom?” she says softly.

  “No.”

  “Even just this once?”

  “Absolutely not. I don’t want their money. I can do this on my own.” My family’s money has come at too high a price. And there’s no way I’m begging my mother for help. Not after the things she’s said. She’d only hold it over me; use it to try to control me. I’d rather spend the rest of my cash on ramen noodles.

  Gwen peeks into the alley and mouths Are you okay? I nod and lift my cell. She gives me a thumbs-up and heads back into the coffee shop.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Aria is saying. “I overheard Mom on the phone with the lawyers today. Something about bankruptcy court.” Her voice is a whimper. “She says she’ll handle it but I know she’s scared. Elle, what are we gonna do?”

  Overhead, the sun beats down. The crumbling brick walls seem to close in. I can’t fix this. I have a way to earn a living, but what about Aria? And as much as I hate her right now, what about my mother? Neither one of them has ever had to do anything for herself.

  I feel a searing flash of anger toward my father. Hot tears weigh heavy on my lower lashes.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll try to figure something out, okay?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I know. But it’s gonna be okay. I promise.” Another lie.

  “She’s coming.” Aria’s voice drops to a whisper. “I’ve gotta go.”

  The line goes dead.

  I lean against the brick, trying to catch my breath. Sweat slips down my back; my heart pounds accusingly in my chest. What the hell is happening to me? It’s like I’ve been unraveling slowly ever since that afternoon six month ago, when my father and I played our last game of checkers.

  It was a habit of ours, a way for us to reconnect during those rare moments when he wasn’t working and I wasn’t in school. But this time was different. It was a Tuesday, in the middle of the afternoon. Dad should have been at work. Instead, he’d been sitting in the library, staring at the checkerboard when I’d gotten home. It was strange, seeing him that way. He looked sick. Shaky. So when he asked me to play, I did.

  —King me. I’d slid my piece to the edge of the board, searching his face for clues. He hadn’t said much, but something was wrong.

  —You’re getting too smart for your old man, you know that? He rubbed his beard, stubbly and white where he used to be clean-shaven. Gives me some hope you’ll be alright. Aria, though… promise me you’ll always look out for her, okay?

  —Dad? Are you… okay?

  —No, Elliot. I’m not. We’re not. We’d sat in silence after that for too long. How long, I don’t know. Minutes, hours, years… the waiting was torture.

  —Do you remember hearing about that couple’s death on the news last week?

  —Of course, dad. But what does that have to do with anything? And then he’d said the words that had started and ended everything.

  —It’s… my fault. And it’s over, baby. It’s all over.

  I jump when my phone rings again.

  “Aria, I told you I would work something out, but you’ve got to give me time, okay?”

  “Elle? Hello? It’s Luke. Poulos. You okay?”

  “Oh. Hey.” Just hearing the kindness in his voice makes my eyes sting. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Well, good.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I was just calling to see if you were coming tonight. To the opening?”

  “Oh. Right.” I can’t possibly go when my life, my family, are crashing down around me. And yet, the only thing I want to do is forget about everything that’s happened today. While I’m wishing, I’ll wish the past six months never happened.

  “It’s gonna be awesome,” he promises. “Basically just a showing for all the kids who took summer school this year, and there are some seriously talented kids in this crew. Like, better than the last exhibit I saw at MOCA. Plus, I’m serving mini quiches.”

  “That’s amazing. You should have opened with the mini quiches.”

  There’s a long pause on the other end. As much as I want to believe I’m a good enough liar to pull off Easy Breezy Elle, I know Luke can tell that something’s wrong. The tears I’ve been fighting so hard to ignore trace salty, winding paths down my cheeks. It’s just money. Aria will be okay. I feel stupid; shallow for getting this upset. People have money problems every day. People survive them.

  “Okay. Listen.” Luke’s voice is soft. “Sounds like you’ve had a really tough day. Correct?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, my own voice thick with emotion.

  “Then as your faculty mentor, it’s my job to make things better. Correct?”

  “I don’t think you can fix this, Luke.”

  “Obviously, you underestimate the power of the mini quiche.”

  I can’t help it: I laugh. “My mistake.” I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand.

  “Rookie mistake. Okay. Here’s the plan. It’s 4:30 now. You have just over an hour to get ready. Dress is artsy-whatever-the-hell-you-want. I’ll pick you up at 5:45 and bring you to the reception where you will have mandated fun and forget whatever’s both
ering you.”

  Under normal circumstances, it would be hot, having him take charge like this. But tonight, I’m not sure that I can put on a party face.

  “But Luke, I—”

  “MANDATED FUN!” he practically yells.

  I take a long, shuddery breath. “Okay.” It’s worth a shot, trying to distract myself from the disaster that is my life. I’ll deal with everything tomorrow. But tonight, I want to pretend that everything is okay.

  Tonight, I want Luke to help me forget.

  chapter eight

  Elle,

  I’m sorry about yesterday. You have your own problems down there and I didn’t mean to dump our shit on you, too. I think it’s awesome that you’re doing everything on your own. I wish I could be more like you that way.

  I was thinking… what if I took some time off after this year? Came down to Miami to hang with you?

  Love you for infinity,

  A

  “What a cool space,” I breathe, stepping through a high, arched doorway. Luke nudges me over the threshold, his fingertips grazing the back of my peach silk maxi-dress. Heat from his touch pulses through me. I pinch the hot pink piping around my waist. “Feels almost like a church.”

  “It used to be.” He pulls the heavy wooden door closed behind us. “A chapel, really. It was abandoned for a long time. I’m surprised somebody didn’t snap it up sooner; knock it down. South Beach is just a few blocks away.”

  “It’s the perfect place for an art show.” I step into an open space with vaulted ceilings and pristine white stucco walls. The floors are a worn hard wood covered in colorful, patterned area rugs. There’s a sitting area with a retro yellow couch and two leather armchairs, plus a long, reclaimed wood dining table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A rickety white staircase leads to a lofted area. “How’d you get the owner to let you use the place?”