by Liv Leighton
Stumbling into the hallway was a relief. Cool air swept over me as I stood in front of the air vent, arms spread wide. I could feel my momentary dizzy spell evaporating along with the sweat that had broken across my forehead.
“Are you okay, Love?” Mom asked. Standing atop the stair landing, coffee in hand, she looked at me with an expression full of concern. I sighed. I understood why they treated me like an injured baby bird, but I wish they wouldn’t do it all the time.
“I’m alright,” I attempted to wave away her near tangible worry, as if it occupied the empty space of hall between us. Mom frowned.
“Please don’t give me that look,” I pleaded with her, “I’m alright, I swear. My room’s just hot. Look.” I completed five jumping jacks with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever enjoyed expressing this early in the morning.
“I’m eating all the bacon and sausage, Mare!” Nate shouted from downstairs.
“I’m fine,” I said, kissing my mother on the cheek as I passed her, “don’t worry.”
Downstairs, Nate was dancing around the room with two pieces of sausage in either hand. Dad was at the stove frying up something very odd looking.
“What’s that?” I asked, staring over his shoulder at the black and red patties in the pan.
“Ah, I’m glad you’ve asked,” he said spiritedly, giving the patties a flip. “Irish tradition; blood pudding.”
“Ew.” I scrunched up my nose at the thought. “Blood. Pudding.” I said unenthusiastically. “Why?”
“Because my father’s father was from Ireland, and I thought we could use a new Saturday tradition. Don’t mock before you’ve tried it, Kid.” He said, waving his spatula in my face. “Your brother already tasted one and he said it was delicious.”
I looked over at Nate who was one regular sausage down but still waltzing around with the other. He shot me an appraising look and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or simply baiting me into tasting the congealed looking things in the pan.
“Here,” he said, holding out a plateful of patties, “just give it a try.” I reluctantly took the plate from him and sniffed. I shrugged. It didn’t smell so bad.
I took the fork, skewered a piece of the patty, and took a small bite. I kept my face as expressionless as possible just in case Nate was baiting me. The taste of iron and salt filled my mouth. Honestly, I expected it to taste nasty, but it didn’t. I found myself savoring the bite. They were pretty great.
“So?” my dad asked hopefully.
“Not bad,” I said, picking up another piece. “Can I have all of these?” I pointed to the plateful of patties with my fork.
“They’re all yours,” said Nate disgustedly.
“Your grandfather would be so proud,” Dad said, turning back to the stove. Though, for a moment, I could have sworn I saw the strangest look cross his face. Almost as if he’d regretted saying it, which, couldn’t be right. It was early, I had to have misread his expression.
I finished off my breakfast with a hefty serving of sausage and eggs, then dashed up to my room to get ready. I twisted the blinds as tightly shut as possible and pulling the drapes over for good measure. My phone was sitting face up on my bed, and I remembered the ping from earlier. As I unlocked my phone, a notification flashed across the screen: BrienCollins started following you. I blinked my eyes several times, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But there it was.
I clicked the notification and it took me directly to his page. My heart raced, and I laughed at myself for being so giddy. He probably followed hundreds of people. Maybe he hadn’t even meant to, maybe he’d accidentally… what, typed my name into the search bar and followed my account? There’d been a party last night, I remembered. Olivia had said so in pottery class. He’d likely gotten drunk and…well, what did it matter anyway?
I suddenly found myself scrolling. Whatever I'd expected of Brien Collins’ page, this was not it. Where there ought to have been photos of himself, cheerleaders, and football games; I found, instead, a page dedicated to the most artistic photos I’d ever seen. They were of stars, the pier, trees from different angles, and photos of people; other people: laughing, embracing one another, staring up at the sky. The only photo of himself was the tiny profile picture at the top of his page.
I continued to scroll and with each photo that disappeared beyond my screen, I needed to see more. How could someone like this ever fall for someone like me? I sat there for a moment in thought, putting my phone down on the bed. I stood and went over to the mirror that hung over the backside of my bedroom door. Long, dark hair fell to my waistline; hazel eyes stared back at me from a rather pale complexioned face. I felt scrawny in my night shirt, which I had not yet changed out of. I puffed my chest out to see what Nate had referred to as mosquito bites… for which he’d gotten into a lot of trouble. “They’re not bug bites,” I muttered to myself. Not much better though. I sighed. “How could he like this?”
My phone pinged again. I dashed over to the bed, picking up my phone. The last thing I expected to see was staring back at me, BrienCollins left a comment on one of your photos.
Oh, God.
I clicked the notification and it took me to a photo I’d posted before the accident. I couldn’t remember the moment I’d captured at all. It was a photo of Nate and I, someone else had clearly taken the picture, and I couldn’t even remember whose house we’d been in at the time. Maybe a neighbor? I looked to the comments section and there it was: “Looks like my brother and your brother are friends, maybe we should be too?”
Was this real? I clicked on the handle and the link took me directly back to Brien Collins’ page. I stared at the comment again: maybe we should be too? I could hardly disagree, I’d been so wrapped up in thinking about him all week. But, what if this were something else? I tried to picture a scenario in which he might have reached out to me for any other reason and came up blank. Okay…so if it wasn’t pity, then that meant…he wanted to be friends. Right?
There was only one person I could think of to call.
“Hellllllooo,” Maisy’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Hey Maisy,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. “Brien Collins just commented on one of my photos and—”
“The Brien Collins?” she interrupted.
I sat back down on my bed. “I…I think so,” I replied. I proceeded to tell her everything that had happened up to this point. About sitting by him in pottery class, his sideways glances that I ultimately assumed were looks of pity, his smile after school on the football field; but left out the part where I’d thought about him every day since we’d first met. “So, I’m at a loss. Do you think he likes me or just pities me?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Maisy’s voice sounded like she was suppressing a laugh. “Mary, practically every guy in our school has been dying to talk to you. Have you seen yourself lately?”
I blinked. What? I put my hand on my thigh and thought for a moment. “You’re just being nice because you’re my best friend.” I quickly closed my mouth. The word best came out before I could stop it. And although we’d only known each other for a week, I felt like I’d known Maisy my entire life. She truly was the best friend I’d ever had. Or at least, that I could remember.
Great.
She laughed. “I’m telling you that you’re insane if you don’t think Brien could have an actual, genuine interest in you.”
“Really?”
“Duh!”
I moved to the middle of my bed and smiled. “I think he’s coming over today.”
“What? Are you serious? You’ve got to lead with these things,” she laughed. “How much time do you have? What are you going to wear? Wait,” she paused. “Why is Brien coming over?”
“Because Nate and his brother have become thick as thieves lately.”
“Oooh! That’s perfect! If his brother and your brother are friends then…“
“I might be seeing a whole lot of him,” I finish
ed her sentence. I pulled a pillow into my lap and patted it. “But, what if he’s just being nice to me because our brothers are friends?” Wow, did I sound whiney.
“Seriously?”
I shrugged, patting the pillow again. “What?”
“Ugh. He likes you, okay? Now let’s focus. What are you going to wear?”
Maisy and I chatted for the next hour, concluding that I ultimately had nothing to wear, despite my families recent shopping trip. Maisy and I decided we needed to go to the mall. I threw on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt I could find and made my way to the basement.
“Where you going, Sugar?” My father’s voice echoed from the kitchen as I reached for the front door knob.
“To the mall,” I replied with a cringe. I was hoping to avoid them as I left. “To meet Maisy.”
“Who’s Maisy?” he asked.
“A friend,” I said. His hesitation was familiar. It was similar to the feeling I’d had with my mother earlier that morning, only, this was something so much more than worry. “Is there something wrong?” I asked, praying he might let me go; just this once.
There wasn’t a reply. I slowly walked backwards until I could see Dad in the kitchen.
“Weren’t you feeling bad this morning?”
I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes, knowing what would come next. “Yes, but I feel better now.”
“All the same, I think you should stay in today. Get some rest.” It really wasn’t a suggestion, more an order.
I sagged. I knew better than to argue as it never worked.
God, I just want to live my life!
I felt like screaming – not like it would do any good. Instead, I merely turned around and retreated to my room. I didn’t have the fight in me today. The one we’d had so many times since I first woke up in the hospital. The back and forth of “reasons” why I shouldn’t or couldn’t go out; why I ought to stay home and rest; why, it seemed, I was doomed to be an indoor cat for the rest of my life.
I hastily drew the drapes closed and changed into my night shirt. I crawled up on my bed and texted Maisy that I couldn’t make it. Another beautiful day outside and I was captive in my room. Would have been nice to see the Pacific.
I’m not sure how long I remained motionless on my bed, staring at the ceiling before I grabbed my phone. I opened my Instagram account and stared at Brien’s comment. Maisy’s statement echoed in my mind, “He likes you, okay?” I smiled.
There was a soft knock on my door. “Love?” It was Mom.
I didn’t reply. I turned over on my side, putting my phone on the night stand. I just wanted to be normal again. And before I knew it, I’d fallen back to sleep.
I woke with a growling stomach. The light outside appeared to be fading. What time was it? I checked my phone, which had several missed calls and messages from my mother. 6:34 pm.
What?!
I flew out of bed, wrenched open the drapes and pulled up the blinds. The sun was no longer visible on the horizon which was streaked with magenta and light orange. Had I really slept all day?
I opened my door and found a foil wrapped dinner plate. Guilt gnawed at my stomach. I felt bad for ignoring my parents, but it was better that I’d managed to keep a cool head. I knew they meant well and eventually, they’d see that I was better. Either that or I’d be able to escape at my eighteenth birthday.
With a sigh, I carried the plate downstairs—relieved that the kitchen was empty—and popped my dinner of potatoes and leftover blood pudding into the microwave.
Fifteen minutes later, having finished everything on my plate, there was still no sign of anyone in the house. I walked upstairs and checked Nate’s room; nothing. I knocked loudly upon my parent’s bedroom door before cautiously peering in; still nothing. Where were they?
The doorbell rang. Maybe that was them, for whatever reason; though it hardly made sense they’d have locked themselves out. I ran to the door and threw it open expecting to see their familiar faces, then stopped. The guy on the porch looked just as shocked to see me.
“Mary, hi.”
“Hi…” I kept my face as neutral as possible when I replied, “Brien.” Just saying his name sent a jolt of excitement through my spine. “What, um—what are you doing here?”
Four
The smile that flashed across his face set my heart to pounding.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Get it together.
I willed the blush creeping into my cheeks to retreat.
“Tommy’s not back from the movies, yet, is he?” His sage-green eyes locked with mine. “I guess you didn’t go with them.” He towered over me, making me feel small.
“Um, did they-” I stumbled over my words. What was wrong with me? “I guess I fell asleep.” I gasped at my words. I had fallen asleep. Oh, crap. What did I look like?
I looked down, taking in the rumpled, too-large shirt I was wearing and my bare legs sticking out from under it. I looked up to Brien with what I was sure was a deer-in-the-headlights look. I hadn’t even brushed my hair!
“I like Metallica too,” Brien said, pointing to the graphic on my shirt. The edges of his mouth quirked upward as I ran a few fingers through my tangled hair, nodding in response to his comment. I didn’t have the heart, or the desire, to tell him that the shirt was Dad’s from high school; one I’d fished out of a moving box earlier this week.
“Well, if they aren’t back, do you mind if I wait?” He gestured to inside of the house.
“Oh,” I said, coming to my senses, “of course. Yeah.” I opened the door and let him inside. “Have a seat and I’ll be right back.” My mind was racing as I jogged up the stairs to my room. Brien was sitting my living room. Brien was in my house... and I had absolutely nothing to wear.
I ripped a comb through my tangled hair to put up in a pony tail and threw on a pair of jeans with a pink flannel shirt. I quickly assessed myself in the mirror and shrugged. Good enough. I made my way downstairs, through the kitchen and towards the living room. I stopped for a moment to stare around the corner at Brien. There he was, sitting on our couch, staring out the window, absentmindedly adjusting his shirt sleeve around his bicep. Black markings that resembled small triangles peeked out. Tattoos. A smirk twisted my lips. Wow, if he wasn’t hot already.
“Are those real?” I asked as I sat down on the plush armchair across from him. “The tattoos, I mean.”
“What? Oh, these?” he asked lifting his shirt over the bulk of his shoulder. I blinked. God. He was a work of art. For the love of everything, don’t stare at him like that. Don’t drool.
“Yeah,” I said, as casually as I could manage. “What are they?”
The tattoo wrapped around his bicep, over his shoulder and disappeared beneath the fabric, suggesting there was more to it than what I could see. It appeared to be comprised of text, however, in a language I couldn’t read. The symbols were that of straight lines and what looked like small, inked triangles among other wedge-shaped marks I couldn’t discern.
“It’s ancient Sumerian, Cuneiform,” he said, pulling his sleeve back over them. “My mother’s parents came here from Iraq. She insisted that I get these before my eighteenth birthday. Family tradition, I guess.”
“That’s cool. Don’t know too many parents that want their kids to get tattoos.”
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t either.”
“So you’re Iraqi?”
Brien nodded and shrugged. “Well, mom would quickly respond ‘Sumerian’. But I’m half, actually. Dad’s as white as a guy can get.”
I laughed. “Alright. Explains your eyes.” Oh, God! Did I just comment on his eyes? I sucked in a quick breath.
He twisted his head slightly and smiled, his pupils growing larger. “Yeah, it does.”
Half an hour later my family still hadn’t arrived. The sky no longer showed any traces of light. I found myself cross-legged on the couch, sitting beside Brien Collins. Brien Collins! We played the world�
�s longest game of would-you-rather.
“You’re saying you’d rather swim in shark infested waters with no cage than retake last week’s Calculus quiz?” With my brow raised, I folded my arms across my chest. “I call bull.”
Brien laughed, throwing his hands up, “Alright, alright, alright,” he continued to grin, “maybe not shark infested waters without a cage; but you’ve got to admit Mr. Nelson’s test was brutal.”
We discovered that we had the same teacher for calculus. “Mr. Nelson’s quiz,” I emphasized, “was anything but brutal, if you studied Leibniz’s concept of infinitesimals and why it was eventually replaced.”
Brien nodded appreciatively, “Well, maybe I’ll need to borrow you before the next quiz and you can teach me all about it. Or, uh—” he quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, “I, uh, could just study more. You’ve probably got better things to do.”
I stared. What was that? The truth was, I didn’t have anything better to do. So what did that mean? Again, I found myself wondering whether he was merely humoring me just because our brothers were friends—or whether he meant something more by it. And if he did mean something more by it, why had he taken it back?
“Um, sure,” I finally replied, deciding to play it cool. “I could help you study for the next quiz.” I shrugged. “Anyway, your turn.”
“Wait,” he said and stared at me for a moment, searching my eyes. “You would?” Brien looked surprised.
“I…yes,” I replied, feeling very small under his gaze. “Uhm, maybe sometime…”
Just then, the front door swung open, catching me mid-sentence. Maybe it was fate that stopped me, but I was about to ask Brien out for coffee as Tommy and Nate burst through the open door. Tommy looked very much like his older brother, with the same tan skin, dark hair; only in miniature. They were blasting pantomimed guns at one another as they ran through the front room and into the kitchen.