She hesitated, and for a second I thought she was going to say no. Finally, she nodded. I stood without letting go of her hand and pulled her up next to me. With her other hand, she pulled out her phone and began texting.
“Who are you texting now?”
“I have to let her know when I leave, too.” She pressed send and slid the phone back into her pocket. I didn’t get it. My mom had been less protective of me at ten than Anya’s was of her at seventeen.
She led me farther and farther from the center of town. I hadn’t realized she lived so far out. “It’s quite a trek, huh?”
“Yeah, a bit. When I first talked my mom into letting me walk it alone, she made us walk it together and timed how long it took. That way she knows if she needs to start worrying, if I haven’t texted her by a certain time.”
“What if you forget?”
She shook her head. “I never forget.”
“Here it is.” We’d reached a small house set back from the road at the end of a dead end street. The kind of place Mom would call adorable and go all crazy over. The neighbors weren’t too close, and there was nothing behind it but woods.
Anya pulled out her phone again, sending the “I got here safe” text, I assumed.
“Where is the window you take the pictures from?” I asked when she was done.
We went around to the back of the house, and it was almost surreal, being in her backyard and seeing all the things I’d seen in the pictures. There was a whimsical quality to the photographs that made it look like more than just your average yard, but that’s really what it was. I mean, it was pretty, nice gardens and stuff, but nothing overly amazing.
She pointed up to a window on the second floor. The window to her bedroom. I wondered what it looked like inside. Wondered if it was covered in pink or yellow, or if she had a bunch of stuffed animals or unicorns or other girly stuff like that.
I hoped someday to get to see it.
“Thank you for walking me home.”
“No problem.” The way she smiled at me made me feel brave. “Hey, can I get your phone number?”
“No.” She shook her head, totally straight-faced. My mouth just sort of fell open, but I didn’t know what to say. She finally laughed at me. “Sorry. But my mom would freak out if I suddenly started getting phone calls from a boy.”
“What if I just text, no calls?”
“She’d see a strange number on it, and I’d get a million questions. Let me talk to her about the dating thing. If it goes well, then I can give you my number. Okay?”
“Okay.” I couldn’t imagine having a mom that controlling, but it didn’t seem to bother Anya. She always talked about it like it was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t to her. I guess if you’d lived your whole life that way, you just got used to it. But I wasn’t used to it, and irritation twisted in my stomach. I clenched it down.
“I’ll see you Thursday?”
“Absolutely.”
I almost leaned in to kiss her. I wanted to, but she let go of my hand, and I worried maybe she didn’t want me to. I said goodbye and left, kicking myself the whole way home for chickening out.
Anya
I stirred the peas on my plate, running the conversation I wanted to have through my mind. The problem was, even in my head I couldn’t seem to get it to go the way I needed it to.
“Is everything okay? You seem distracted.” Mom’s eyebrows drew together as she assessed my face. She leaned forward a bit, and I could tell she wanted to reach up and touch my forehead to see if I felt warm.
“I’m fine,” I said, sitting back in my chair. “I just… well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.” The words came out just above a whisper.
“Okay, what is it?” She leaned back in her chair. I set down my fork so it didn’t drop right out of my sweaty hand.
“I was wondering when I could start dating.” I stared at one of the little green peas that had rolled away and gotten stuck in my mashed potatoes. She was silent. I knew she had heard me, so I just stared and waited.
“Is there someone you want to go out with?” she asked slowly, each word thought over before it came out of her mouth.
Yes. “No. I was just wondering.” I bit my lip and mentally scolded myself for being such a chicken.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the boy at the library, does it?”
Mrs. Marsh had told her she’d seen me talking to Zander.
“What boy?” I tried to look genuinely confused. She tipped her chin up, assessing me like I was a painting on the wall.
Finally she sighed. “Let’s not worry about it yet then. Okay?” She started eating again, clearly thinking the conversation was over.
“But—”
She looked up at me. I looked back down.
“But what if I do meet someone? What’s the rule, exactly?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I’m just curious.” I shrugged.
“Anya.” My name came out of her mouth on a puff of cold air. “You’re young. You don’t need to worry about this yet.”
“I’m seventeen.” There was more steel in my voice than she was used to. Her eyes narrowed.
“Seventeen is still young.”
“Most girls my age date. At least, I think they do. Seeing as I don’t really know any girls my age, I can’t be sure.”
“What has gotten into you?”
I didn’t know. I’d never really argued with her or challenged her rules. Not since I was a little girl. Certainly not since I found out the truth about Lauren. But suddenly the rules were too much. It was all too much, and I wanted out of it.
“How am I supposed to even meet someone to date when you don’t let me go anywhere?”
“Anya—”
“What if I did meet someone?”
“What?”
“If there was someone I wanted to go out with, would you let me?”
She looked down at her plate and shook her head. “You’re too young.”
“When will I not be too young?”
“I don’t know. Maybe when you can act a bit more mature than you are right now.” She didn’t raise her voice. A master at keeping her cool, she didn’t lose her temper; her anger only made her colder. She stood up, and her eyes flicked up to the portrait on the wall of a red-haired girl. It was only for a half a second, but I noticed. She grabbed her plate and stared down at me. “All of my rules are in place for a reason, Anya. To keep you safe. That is all.”
All the fire that had been burning up in me died out. Her words and the look on her face were a bucket of cold water. She took her plate into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the dining room.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Again, I looked at the pea. Stuck. I scooped it out of my mashed potatoes and ate it.
Chapter Ten
Zander
On Thursday Anya was waiting for me at the front door of the library. Her yellow flats tapped against the sidewalk, and she kept tugging at her blue flowered sundress. I had almost reached her when someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around to face a red-haired girl whom I’d gone to school with, but whose name I couldn’t remember.
“Hey, Zander,” she said, smiling up at me. “How’s your summer going? I haven’t seen you around much.”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy.” I looked over my shoulder at Anya, who stared at us. “Actually, I have to get going. But it was nice seeing you.”
“You, too! See you around.” She gave me a little wave as I started to turn away, and I nodded back at her.
Anya’s face was tight, her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pursed. “Let’s go to Baby Cakes,” she said when I got closer.
“Really? Did your mom say you could date?” Baby Cakes wasn’t exactly my idea of a first date, and I’d been thinking about our first date for the past two days. Well since I first met her, really, but non-stop for the past two days. But if she wanted to go to Baby Cakes, I was more than willing to take her.
She crinkled up her nose. “Not exactly.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Can we go anyway?” Her wide blue eyes sparkled with the question.
“Whatever you want,” I said, and I meant it more than she probably realized. She bounced her shoulder to her cheek and grinned.
“But…” I hesitated, scraping the sole of my shoe against the concrete. “What if your mom calls?” I didn’t want her to change her mind, but I didn’t want to get her in trouble, either.
Her smile vanished, and she tapped her mouth with her finger. “I’ll be right back.” She ran into the library, and when she came back, she was smiling again. “Shannon said she’d cover for us. Come on.” She led me partway down the sidewalk, practically running away from the building. Then she stopped, glancing back and forth. “Which way is it?”
I laughed. “This way, come on.” Her enthusiasm seemed to wane as we made our way down the sidewalk toward the bakery. She took smaller and smaller steps, walking a little closer to me, her hip smacking into mine. Not that I was complaining. I didn’t know if she was nervous, or what, but when we stepped through the bakery doors, her face lit up.
“It’s adorable!” She squeezed my hand. We walked to the counter, with her half-hiding behind me.
It was a small bakery with cream and white checkered floors. At the front stood a glass case filled with cupcakes. Each tray held a different flavor, indicated by a different color of frosting and its own set of decorations. Strings of white lights hung from the ceiling, and there were two small, round, cast iron tables set up to the side. Each table had two chairs. Apparently most people got their cupcakes to go.
“Hello, darlings,” the woman behind the counter said. “What can I get you today?”
Anya stepped around me and leaned close to the case, peering up and down the line at all the different kinds. “There are so many! I can’t decide.”
“Well, our flavor of the day is key lime, and it is divine. But my personal favorite is the tiramisu.” The woman pointed to a cupcake with white frosting, chocolate powder, and a raspberry sitting on top.
“Yes.” Anya nodded once. “That is the one I want.” She grinned at the woman as she handed her the cupcake.
“And you?”
“I’ll have the same.” I had no idea what tiramisu was, but I figured I’d go for it. We sat down at the table close to the window.
“Can we come here again next week?” Anya asked, gazing around the bakery. “I want to bring my camera. This whole place is just too cute.”
“Sure.” I watched her amazed face. Her blue eyes were wide as she took everything in, and a smile played on her lips. I wanted those lips pressed against mine. “How did you get into photography?” I asked. “I mean, it seems like an odd choice for someone who doesn’t get out much. No offense.”
“None taken. Actually, my mom wanted me to be a painter. She got me a little camera to take pictures of things I wanted to paint, but it turned out I stunk at painting.” She crinkled her nose and smiled. “The photography was fun, though. My mom got me a better camera, a digital one, for my birthday a few years ago, and I’ve been doing it ever since. Last Christmas she got me a photo printer so I can print them myself. But I don’t print out very many.”
She took a bite of the cupcake. Her eyes widened for a second, then closed like she was in ecstasy. It was sexy as hell, and I leaned closer, my body demanding to be near her. She opened her eyes and pointed at the cupcake.
“This is amazing.”
I took a bite of mine and almost spit it out. “It’s coffee flavored!” I said, my hand covering the cupcake in my mouth.
“Um, yeah. It’s tiramisu.” Her lips pressed together, holding in a laugh. I mushed the cupcake around in my mouth and swallowed.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked.
“It’s not bad,” I lied, trying not to make a face. “I just wasn’t expecting that. I guess it’s pretty good.”
“It is my new favorite thing in the whole wide world,” she said with a perfectly straight face.
“Well, then I guess we will be coming back next week.” And any time she wanted to. It was great to be out of the library. It was starting to feel like a trap. Like we were stuck on the same page of our story, repeating it over and over and again and never moving forward.
Anya
Guilt tugged at me as Zander and I headed away from the library, but I pushed it away. Fear pressed against me like a strong wind, but I kept going. I didn’t want to give him up, didn’t want to see him with someone else. It was selfish. He’d be better off with someone else. But he wanted me.
I saw it on his face, the way his dark eyes looked at me. In his eyes, I was someone else. Someone interesting and beautiful. I wanted to be that person for him, and if that meant braving the world, or at least a cupcake shop, then darn it, I’d do it!
That afternoon I danced the whole way home, the taste of tiramisu on my tongue. Thinking about him, my heart did pirouettes. I couldn’t sit still, so I grabbed my camera from my room and headed out to the back yard. Normally when I was in a good mood, it was easier for me to find things to photograph. Everything I saw made me happy. But that day, it all looked too ordinary. After the afternoon I’d had with Zander, I was feeling extraordinary.
I’d already shot everything in the yard a million times. I figured my mom wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, so I slipped into the woods. I’d made my own little narrow trail walking through so many times. Going into the woods wasn’t the same as going into the world. It was the opposite; I was retreating even further away.
The sun was just starting to set, making the light warm and rich. Dark yellow coming through the trees, perfect for taking pictures. The woods were magical and perfect for the way I felt. I took pictures of flowers, the sun behind leaves, and even a bunny that hopped into my path a few feet ahead of me. A few of the shots actually turned out pretty neat.
I reached the clearing that had been my favorite place in the world before discovering Baby Cakes. I put my camera around my neck and lay down in the grass, the camera resting below my chest. I closed my eyes to the sun, which was setting behind my toes. I breathed in the scent of the grass and thought about Zander. His dark eyes, his smile, his mouth, the way sparks flew up my arms every time he held my hand. I imagined his lips on mine, imagined the warmth from the sun was really his body lying next to me. I wished there was a way to see him somewhere else. Somewhere dark and romantic, maybe with stars shining and a full moon. It was a perfect fantasy.
There was no way my mother would ever let it happen.
My mom.
I sat up. The sun was half-hidden by the horizon. I checked my watch; she’d be home soon. I jumped to my feet and ran back through the woods.
The guilt that went along with doing something I wasn’t supposed to do was not enough to quell the joy that came from doing it, but the guilt was still there. Especially at dinner when my mom asked me what I’d done that day.
“Not much. I went to the library.” Not a complete lie. I did go to the library. I just didn’t stay there.
“That’s nice,” she said, even though she already knew that. I thought she’d ask me more questions, but she didn’t. She looked tired, carefully lifting each bite of asparagus to her mouth. There was no room for conversation. It was a long commute into the city and back again every day; it wore her out.
I was ready to go to bed, too. But not to sleep. To dream. I couldn’t wait to go stare at Zander’s photo some more.
I looked around us, at the pictures on the dining room walls.
There were six, three on each side of us. Two of Lauren’s original paintings and one photograph taken by me on one side, and on the opposite wall three portraits. The first one was of my mom when she was young. The middle portrait was Lauren. Then one of me. It was like that Sesame Street game. One of these things is not like the other.
Lauren’s sunset-red hair framed her pretty face, just like Mom’s. They also had
the same brown eyes and fair skin, although Lauren had freckles. Not a lot, just a few tossed onto her perfect skin like stars tossed into the sky. A lovely constellation. When I was young, I would run my finger from one to the next like connect the dots.
Once I got into my mom’s makeup and used her eyeliner to freckle my own face to match. Mom’s face contorted when she saw me, her lips drawing together until they formed a little button on her face. She forced them open and pushed out a laugh. But even back then I could tell it wasn’t quite right. I remember thinking her eyes looked sad. She quickly washed the makeup off my face.
Even though she tried to make me more like her all the time back then. That’s why she got me into painting. Watercolors, like Lauren. She had a way of making things float on paper, the colors light and beautiful. Her two original paintings in the dining room were stunning. No one would guess they’d been done by a teenage girl. Mom was so proud of them.
She had hung one of my photographs, too, but just to be nice. I knew she didn’t think it was quite as artistic, but she pretended to. Somewhere along the line she gave up on the idea that I would be like Lauren. Sometimes she seemed to be fine with that.
Sometimes she didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
Zander
We met in front of the library, where she reached out and took my hand. “Baby Cakes again?”
“Of course,” I said as we started down the sidewalk.
She leaned closer to me, her nose tipping toward my chest. “Are you wearing cologne?”
“Um, maybe.” I’d never worn cologne before, and suddenly, looking at her face, I wondered if perhaps I’d applied more than necessary.
One corner of her mouth turned up, and she raised her eyebrows.
“I thought I’d try something different.” I tried to shrug it off. She smirked.
“Really? Are you changing on me, Zander? Are you preparing to be a studious young English major? Next week will you come with leather patches on the elbows of your cardigan? Are you going to start smoking a pipe? You’ll be writing very serious prose before the month is out.”
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