My Not So Super Sweet Life

by Rachel Harris

  The splotchy skin between Cat’s eyebrows wrinkles. “Wait, what are you talking about?” Shoving the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, she rubs away the moisture and scoots higher in my lap. “Luc, this literally just happened. I got home from brunch with my lying POS mom not twenty minutes ago. Were you stalking YouTube or something?”

  Brunch?

  Ransom shoots me a glance, but I’m too confused to read it. I guess there is more to Cat’s meltdown than I thought. Instantly, I imagine the worst. The director showing up and interrupting their meal. The actress who will be playing her daughter. Caterina leaving without her. Again.

  “What’s on YouTube?”

  The way she stiffens tells me that wasn’t the right response. Suspicion washes over her face before she pushes against my chest. I help her sit up, waiting until she is cross-legged in front of me before locking my arms around her lower back. I know she’s trying to pull away from me. I can feel it. But it’s not the physical distance that scares me.

  “If you don’t know about it, then why are you here?” Her throat tenses as she swallows, and then her face clears. A piece of her armor falling into place. “The first thing you said when you walked in was ‘I’m sorry.’ You apologized for something that’s not even your fault, and then you cursed reporters.” The same wall that took me a month to topple builds with each word, blocking the pain. Keeping me out. By the time she stops to take a long breath, the mask is completely back. “So again, Luc, I gotta ask. What. Reporters?”

  The calm, collected girl with red-rimmed eyes is not my Cat. It’s the public Cat, the one the world knows. Photographers, journalists, even our classmates. But I haven’t seen this girl since the night of her birthday party.

  My pulse picks up again as fear spikes. I’m already fighting my parents and Reyna’s damn stars for a way to stay with her. I refuse to let Cat be the one to push me away. Not over this.

  So while this is not how I planned to tell her, I go with the truth. “Yesterday I caught a segment on an entertainment channel. About your mom and some movie role.”

  “Yesterday,” Cat repeats, blinking her matted lashes slowly. She scrunches her mouth and jabs an elbow into the barrier of my arms, forcing me to let go, then knocks my hands away as she scoots back a foot. “Was that before or after I called you?”

  A look of betrayal slips through her mask, and I realize my mistake.

  But before I can answer or explain, she shakes her head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. You kept it from me. I’ve been a nervous wreck, Luc. I didn’t know why, it didn’t make sense. One day you didn’t call me back. Big deal. I told myself you were busy with Angela, or maybe the thing with your dad came to a head.” She huffs a laugh, but not the happy one she let loose on my bike. “But I had a feeling something was wrong.”

  The way she says it, I know what she means. She’s talking about that hocus-pocus crap again. The thing I almost believed—and if it is real, the thing trying to rip us apart. Frustration has me tearing at my hair.

  “A feeling, huh? What, did Reyna whisper that in your ear? Chant on the wind? Ever occur to you that maybe life’s a little more serious than magic and feelings?”

  “Seriously?” Her voice is hard as stone as she pushes to her knees on the mattress. “You mean like finding out my mother’s been playing me this whole time? Cell phones capturing my whole freaking meltdown? And then discovering my boyfriend knew and didn’t warn me?”

  Shit. My eyes widen as I realize what just went down. “Whoa.” I hold my hands up, knowing I need to scale things back. “I don’t even know why I said that. I didn’t mean it. I know I should’ve said something. That’s why I’m here now. To tell you what I saw. I swear, baby, if I knew you were meeting her this morning—”

  “If you’d called me back, you would have.”

  I swallow hard, trying to regain control of the situation. I glance away and see Alessandra still standing at the door, wide-eyed and frozen, and Ransom inching closer to the exit. “Right,” I say. “You’re right. If I had called or texted you, I would’ve known about brunch. But something came up with my dad, and I just needed to get out and clear my head.”

  The moment I say it, I realize my second mistake. Cat’s eyes grow sharp as she asks, “What came up?”

  The tremor is back in my hands. I lock them behind my head as beads of sweat prick my skin. This is the worst possible time to dump this on her. We’re fighting over something stupid, and she’s already emotional. If I don’t play this right, it could go from bad to apocalyptic in an instant.

  But she’s already pissed at me for keeping quiet. I can’t not tell her.

  “I really don’t think this is the right—”

  “Spit it out, Luc.”

  Her voice is cold as steel, and I drop my chin to my chest. “My parents are moving back to Milan.”

  The whoosh of air I feel is Cat jumping off the bed.

  Lifting my head to stare into her wide brown eyes, I say, “Did you hear what I said? I said my parents are moving back, Cat. Not me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her mask slips again, and I see the hurt, fear, and anger. Her go-to response is always to push people away, to keep this very thing from happening. I know that’s what she wants to do now. Moving to the edge of the bed, I plant my feet. “I made you a promise that I wasn’t like the others. That I wasn’t going anywhere. I keep my promises, Cat.”

  She says nothing as her jaw locks, the muscles in her throat working.

  A formal, softly spoken question breaks the silence. “They will let you stay?”

  It comes from Alessandra, but my gaze never leaves Cat’s face. “I’m still working on that part,” I admit. She wraps her arms around her chest like she’s holding the pain in, and I wish those were my arms around her. “I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will,” I say, begging her with my eyes to believe me. “I’m not giving up. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

  The hardwood floor creaks as Ransom shifts his feet and glances at Alessandra. “We’ll give you two a minute.”

  I nod, silently thanking him.

  But he only manages a step before Cat says, “No, stay.”

  Ransom drops his head. Alessandra bites her lip like she’s trapped, but I’m more worried about the determination solidifying on my girlfriend’s face. When Cat’s eyes meet mine, I know it’s going to be bad.

  “Save yourself the trouble.”

  Pain explodes in my chest, even as I doubt my hearing. She didn’t just say that.

  Ransom sighs and says, “Cat…” but trails off at the sharp look she throws him. He shakes his head but stays quiet, sending me a sympathetic smile.

  I don’t want sympathy. I want Cat. I want the life that I’ve been building here, the friends, the future. I want my girl to fight for me as hard as I’m fighting for her. Not throw in the damn towel the second trouble hits.

  Hurt and anger boil under my skin, and I look away, glaring when my gaze lands on the painting Ransom is leaned against. I can’t read the plaque from here, but I know what it says. Goddess Victoria with Painted Pear, Lorenzo Cappelli, 1506.

  Maybe I’m an idiot for wanting to stay. To fight for this. Maybe I am just a stand-in for her first love after all. But when I turn back to Cat, I look at her. Really look at her. I note the tracks of tears on her face, the lost look in her eyes…and I know she’s hurting. Hurt over her mom and hurt because she thinks I’m leaving. Lashing out is what she does best.

  So I say, “You can push me away all you want, little badass, but I’m not Caterina. I’m not those stupid friends who bolted when you were a kid. I’m not the paparazzi, I’m not a reporter, and I’m sure as hell not someone looking at you expecting anything other than what you are. Cat Crawford, kickass artist.” I stand up and take a step toward her. “The girl I love.”

  Her soft lips part as Alessandra squeaks behind us. I’ve never said the words before. I’ve hinted, I’ve showed, but never came right out and d
eclared it. But if ever there was a time to put all my cards on the table, this is it.

  I let the words settle in the air, and then I say, “I’ll give you some time, if that’s what you want. Some space if that’s what you need to figure out how you feel. What it is you want. But I already know what I want.”

  Cat’s gaze is on my mouth, as if she can see the words as they leave. “You do?”

  I fight back a smile and nod. It’s been a long time since I could say what I wanted was crystal clear—but it is. “And I don’t give up easily.”

  Space Blows

  ∙Lucas∙

  The bell rings, and I chuck my pencil on my desk. Sizing up my sketch, I immediately see all the flaws. Most days I’m a decent artist, but with Cat sitting only one row away, not-so-subtly watching me from behind a curtain of thick hair, it’s impossible to even draw a straight line. I can feel her eyes on me. It’s hard as hell not to look back, but I don’t. I want her to watch.

  Watching means that she misses me, too.

  It’s been six days since our fight in her room. Almost an entire week. And in that time, I’ve come to the conclusion that doing the right thing blows. When I left her house Saturday, I said I’d give her space to think. As much as she needed to be as sure about us as I am. At the time, I even meant it. Now, not so much.

  I miss Cat. I miss hearing her sarcastic jabs, seeing the love that I know was building for me shining in her eyes. I miss talking to her, getting her opinion. She’s smart as hell. Quick, too. If she were helping me find this damn loophole, it’d be found already. But like I told her before I walked away, I keep my promises. If she needs space to realize that we’re meant to be together, and that nothing—not fate or my parents—is going to stop that, then space is what she’ll get.

  Doesn’t keep it from blowing, though.

  “Mr. Cappelli, can I speak with you for a minute?”

  In my peripheral, I see Cat glance over as I nod. “Sure thing, Mr. Scott.”

  It’s weird when most teachers call us by our last names, like they’re pretending we’re somehow equals. With Mr. Scott, I don’t really mind. The man’s got mad talent, and I respect the hell out of him. I know that goes both ways.

  I pack up my stuff, fighting a smirk when I see Cat taking her sweet time doing the same. As I walk up the aisle, I feel her gaze follow every step. When I know she can no longer see my face, I smile. “What’s up?”

  “Hopefully a bit of good news.” Reaching into his leather satchel, Mr. Scott pulls out a stack of papers. “This was waiting in my box this morning, along with a message from Mr. Allen.”

  He hands over the papers, and relief centers in my chest at the name written on top. Trying and failing to keep the hope out of my voice, I ask, “I’m in?”

  “Well, I guess that’s up to your folks.” Mr. Scott’s eyes are proud as he adds, “But the committee was impressed, like I knew they would be. Now it comes down to your negotiation skills.”

  And my father’s stubbornness.

  That knocks the smile right off my face. This is only one cleared hurdle—I still have the biggest yet to come. But I don’t want to seem ungrateful. Mr. Scott went to bat for me, hard. “Thank you for doing this,” I tell him, knowing the words aren’t nearly enough. “I really appreciate it.”

  He claps a hand on my shoulder. “My pleasure, son. I mean that. You have talent, and I expect great things from you. Selfishly, I’d like to be close enough to see them.”

  He smiles as he jostles my arm, and I crack a half smile. “When I have my first solo exhibition, your name will be at the top of the list,” I promise. “And when I win the Skowhegan Medal for Sculpture, you’ll be the first person I thank.”

  Might as well dream big, right?

  Mr. Scott laughs and slaps me on the back. “I’m holding you to that.”

  I follow him out the door and into the hall, listening for Cat’s footsteps behind me. Mr. Scott asks me to come see him in the morning, hopefully with good news, and I watch as he heads to the teacher’s lounge. I slow my stride as I near Cat’s next class.

  “Hey, Luc?”

  My chest squeezes at the sound of my name on her lips. Almost a week ago, I told her I loved her. She didn’t say the same. It’d be a lie to say that doesn’t hurt. I turn around and back against the lockers, away from the frantic crowd. “Yeah?”

  Cat glances at the ground. Hiking the strap of her schoolbag higher on her shoulder, she bites her lip and then asks, “Is everything okay? With Mr. Scott, I mean? I heard the two of you talking.”

  A flush sweeps her cheeks as she realizes she admitted to stalking me. It’s so tempting to pull her into my arms and kiss away the stain, to tell her everything. About what I’ve found out, the steps I’ve taken…prove that I’m keeping my promise and that I’m not going anywhere.

  But what if this doesn’t work? Dad still has to agree—and that’s a major question mark. I can’t get her hopes up until I know for sure. Plus, other than the stalking, she hasn’t given me any sign that she wants me to hold her. That’s she’s ready to fight for us.

  “Yeah, everything’s good,” I say instead, shoving the papers from SFBSA in my notebook. “Mr. Scott’s just helping me with something.”

  “Oh.” Cat rocks back on her heels, still working her bottom lip between her teeth. I know firsthand how soft that lip is…how warm. Swallowing, I force my eyes back to hers. She blinks, and for a moment, the curtain falls. I see the vulnerability and sadness. “I hope whatever it is works out,” she says vaguely. She slides her hand along the strap of her backpack, pausing to mess with a dangling thread. The distance between us feels so much bigger than a floor tile. She exhales and takes a step closer. “Listen, I—”

  A second chime erupts overhead, the signal that our next class is starting.

  “Never mind.” She shakes her head and forces a smile. “It can wait.”

  I inwardly curse the bell. Whatever she was about to say, I want to hear it. I crave it. It’s been 144 hours of silence, interrupted by stolen looks and longing. The idea that she’s as miserable as I am is like a sick need inside me. I don’t want her hurt… I just want her back.

  The hallway empties, and she glances at the door behind me. She only has to step inside. My next class is across campus, which means I’ll be hoofing it. But it’s been worth it. This brief connection, as pathetic as it may seem, is enough to fuel me for what lies ahead.

  “Guess I better get to bio,” she says, her eyes locked back on mine. I nod as she slowly walks forward, watching her hesitant progress until she disappears through the classroom door. Then I yank out the papers that could determine my future.

  …

  “Lucas?”

  Mom frowns as she pushes to her feet across from Dad’s desk. As for my old man, he leans back in his chair, eyes sharp on my face. Clearly, they’re surprised to see me home so early. They should be—I bailed on my last class.

  I swear I held out for as long as I could. Those papers wore a damn hole in my notebook as I sat through class after class, not able to concentrate on a freaking thing. I just sat there rehearsing my speech in my head. Finally, as the bell rang for French, I’d had enough. I realize skipping won’t do me any favors in proving I’m ready to handle major life decisions. It very well may bite me in the ass before I even begin. But this conversation couldn’t wait any longer. I have my plan, the boxes are checked, and I’d really rather have it all go down without Angela around. I don’t want her caught in the middle if it gets ugly.

  Dad closes the ledger on his desk. He taps a rhythm on the leather surface with his pen, emotions flashing across his face. More than I’ve seen in years. Curiosity followed by annoyance. Guilt trailed by regret. What I don’t see is resignation, which I choose to take as a good sign. I grab a seat across from him as Mom returns to hers, and the three of us sit in heavy silence. Dad waits me out, gaze focused and heavy, but I can’t rush this. My future relies on everything going absolutely rig
ht.

  After what feels like forever, could be a minute, Mom speaks up. “You have something you need to talk with us about?”

  I almost laugh. I should’ve expected she’d be the one to cave first. Always the peacekeeper. In answer to her question, I reach into my bag and pull out the papers from Mr. Scott. I place them on Dad’s desk, and he lifts an eyebrow as he scans the cover page. “I have an alternative to Milan.”

  Dad’s shaking his head before the words are even out of my mouth. “Absolutely not.”

  “An alternative?” Mom hesitantly scoots forward in her chair and cranes her neck to read the papers. “What is SFBSA?”

  “San Francisco Bay School for the Arts,” I tell her, watching the tick of my father’s jaw. “It’s a boarding school a few hours away, and it’s one of the top five programs like it in the world. A degree from here will get me into any college I want.”

  Dad scoffs. “And your sudden interest has nothing to do with a certain girl?”

  The question, or rather the way he asks it, pisses me off…but he’s right. At least partially. If it weren’t for Cat, I more than likely would’ve never even heard of SFBSA. I certainly wouldn’t have gone to Mr. Scott and asked about local boarding school options. But it’s not just about Cat anymore. It’s about me, and that’s what I need both of them to see.

  “No,” I say, meeting and holding his gaze. “You’re right. Cat is the reason why I looked into this place at first. But she’s not why I want to go…or at least, she’s not the only reason. She’s not even the most important.”

  That seems to catch their attention. Dad’s eyebrows hike farther up his forehead as he leans forward in his chair and rests his folded arms on the desk. Mom places a gentle hand on my arm. With those two subtle hints for me to continue, I go on and lay it all out there.