by Mia Garcia
She felt shaky, like she needed to sit, but there was only one chair in the room and it was tucked behind her mother. “So you did it . . .”
“I know I should’ve told you, but I wanted it to be a surprise!” She giggled. “And just in case it didn’t work out too.”
“Right.” She didn’t know what to say. Her mind vacillated between shock and disbelief.
“¡Bueno, di algo!” her mother said.
But what could she say? That she didn’t think this would ever happen? That she hoped it wouldn’t? That for the last several weeks she’d been making plans outside of her life at La Islita? That she’d foolishly given herself hope, and she should’ve known better?
“I . . .” She could see happiness bursting from every pore of her mother’s body; the kind of happiness that blinded everything else, even the slump in Nora’s shoulders or the fact that she had yet to react in any way. What could she say? “This is a lot” was all that came out, not that it mattered.
Her mother’s smile grew as she placed her hand on Nora’s cheek. “I know, it’s so much to think about! But we can do it; I know we can. It feels like my heart is going to burst, I still can’t believe it!” Her eyes watered again. “This is it. This is what I wanted to leave for you, nena. I can’t believe it’s finally going to happen.”
Her mother hugged her tight. Nora could feel her mother’s dreams in that hug. If only she could feel her own.
Senior Year
Jess
EVERYTHING NEEDED TO get done right now. At least that’s what her brain was telling Jess as it recited every single thing on her to-do list.
Essays.
Study for class.
Figure out campaign.
Scholarships.
Early admittance.
Practice.
Volunteering.
The party.
Find a way to help Nora.
She’d added the last one after trying to speak with Nora the day before, to try and convince her she should stand up to her mother. But Nora had refused and was slipping back to her old routine like her dreams never existed. Jess didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to think of her friends as part of her to-do list, but lately that damn list was the only thing keeping Jess afloat, even if it never seemed to get any shorter.
Maybe if she had any energy she’d be able to think of something, anything, to help Nora out. Instead she sent another text asking if she wanted to talk later today and ran to class just as the bell rang.
In the middle of AP Lit class her phone reminded her she needed to work on the first scholarship essay due that week and her early admittance essay. She knew neither was what it needed to be, but time was running out to make changes. The thought of sending out a less than perfect essay made her stomach turn.
On the way to Biology she passed by Liz, who was already plastering the hallway walls with campaign posters. Shit. She needed to get on that. Where was it on her calendar? Had she scheduled it in yet? Jess had no idea what to use for a slogan (did she really need one?) and had totally forgotten to ask Ryan for help with the design of the poster. Put it on the list.
She started to make a note on her phone before deciding to just text Ryan that instant. With that done she followed it up with a text to the group:
Jess: Do you guys think I need a campaign slogan? Can’t I just say “Vote for Jess” and keep it simple?
Ryan: Hmm . . . it would help me think of designs (which I’m totally going to help you with) if you had a slogan. Plus they are fun!
Yes. And Jess could be fun, right?
Nora: “Vote for Jess, she’s the best!” Too cheesy?
Lee: Even for you. I’ll think of some puns during free period. We’ll figure it out.
The bell rang, and Jess ran to her next class, where every date, important figure, and lesson passed her by as she obsessively scribbled everything she had left to do on the margins on her notebook like listing them out would make things less stressful. It did not.
Respira.
She met with Miss Anderson during her lunch hour to go over her scholarship and college lists. Having been at this “college thing” for years, Miss Anderson gave her some insight into what some scholarship committees were looking for. She advised a total reframing of Jess’s essay on running, which Miss Anderson promised to read if Jess could get it to her by the end of the week.
Move that one up the list.
As she typed in some essay brainstorming thoughts on her phone, another reminder went off: Follow up again with Mr. Caine for his recommendation.
Ugh.
It would be great if adults were even a little bit dependable, she thought as she raced down the hallway before the next bell rang.
Her stomach rumbled as she entered the library, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. There was a strict no-food-or-drink policy in the library, so she could either step outside and grab something from the vending machine or ignore the gnawing in her stomach and embrace the sweet silence of the library.
She chose the library, walking deep into the stacks and away from any other student in there. In the first quiet moment she had to herself all day, she still struggled to settle her heart and stop her mind from reminding her of the tasks yet to do.
Just take a breath, the day is almost over.
The library was colder than usual, or was she running hot after dashing through the halls earlier?
Respira.
Her body would not listen.
Her mind would not listen.
Both fought back more and more every day. When she needed to focus, her body wanted to run. When she wanted to run, her mind screamed about deadlines and time wasted.
Respira.
She should be calm in the library, relaxed, but the longer she sat here the less she could breathe.
It took almost the whole period to pull herself back in until she could think again, breathe again.
And as she let out one long breath her phone dinged with another reminder.
She closed her eyes and cried.
Ryan
HIS GRANDMOTHER HAD put on her best blouse for the portrait. They sat in her backyard surrounded by plants she insisted were not overgrown, just atmospheric.
“They let them grow down walls in Italy!” she said, motioning to the tiny forest all around her.
Ryan shook his head but had to admit it was the perfect setting for her second portrait.
“You know you have to stay still for this,” he said, focusing on the way the light filtered through the many leaves, making a pattern across her body.
“Dāng rán zhī dào. I’m not an amateur,” she responded, tilting her chin up just a bit, indicating she was ready for Ryan to start.
He wasted no time picking up his pencil, outlining the frame of her body, now once again strong and confident thanks to her new artificial hip. Behind him he could hear his parents and Katie running around the house, playing hide-and-seek. As time passed even Katie’s squeals of joy grew fainter as he was more and more focused on the portrait.
His hand flew across the canvas, each pass capturing the warmth in her eyes, then the determined chin of a woman who’d arrived in the United States at the age of six, finishing with the smile of a grandmother who’d called him to celebrate the day Taiwan legalized same-sex marriage.
Satisfied with the sketch, he started to pick up the paints he would need, squeezing out dollops on a square plank he used for a palette. He layered the colors, bringing out the pink in her cheeks, the brown in her eyes, and the bright coral of her signature lipstick.
When he exhausted the paint on the palette and the natural light outside shifted, it was time to call it a day.
He looked from one face to the other, smiling. “I think that’s good for today, we can keep going tomorrow.”
“Good.” She nodded, watching Ryan as he cleaned up the area.
Ryan wondered if she was waiting for him to finish, but she seemed to be content simply wat
ching him put away his paints and set aside the portrait.
“You didn’t give up,” she finally said. “I’m glad.”
She motioned for Ryan to pull up a chair and he did, sitting close enough for her to grab his hand.
“You could’ve just put away this part of you forever and walked away. But you didn’t, and I’m proud of you,” she said, making Ryan blush. “I know it wasn’t easy either—not with a broken heart.”
She laughed a bit when Ryan looked away. “I know, who wants to talk about a broken heart with his grandmother? But my heart has been broken more than once. I remember feeling like there was nothing left of me but the broken pieces he’d left behind. I remember hoping that his heart was as broken as mine.”
Ryan had consoled himself with the same thought once or twice. “Did that help?”
“A little, but eventually that also went away,” she said. “I see so much of myself in you, you know?”
He wished he was as strong as she was. “Maybe I should paint you as my self-portrait then.”
“Self-portrait?”
“I have to do this self-portrait for class.” The blank canvas stood in a corner of his room, waiting for him. When everybody else had handed in theirs at the end of the summer, Ryan had begged Candace for more time, any time. His begging, winning smile, and the fact that he was taking Candace’s fall course was enough to win him an extension. Now not only would he have to finish the portrait, but it would be the centerpiece of the fall gallery show. “But every time I try and picture myself, I just blank. Everything good I’ve felt over the last couple of months just collapses and it’s like I’ve never held a brush before. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know who I am. How am I supposed to do a self-portrait if I don’t know who I am?”
“You don’t need to find yourself, you are yourself,” she declared with a squeeze of his hand.
What does that mean?
“When something breaks what do you do?” she continued.
“I throw it away?”
“You put it back together.”
“What if it’s too broken to ever be the same?”
“Ah,” she said, her eyes catching the light. “It won’t be the same. You are not the same. Maybe that’s why you are having trouble. You keep trying to rebuild, to find that version of you somewhere whose heart never broke, but he no longer exists. And you don’t have to be the same to love the things you loved. To be loved again.”
They sat in silence as her words sank in. Could he do that? Could he embrace the broken pieces instead of hide them?
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I can’t tell you what to do. I can tell you that you are stronger than you think you are.”
“What did you do, when your heart broke?”
“I went right out and fell in love again.” She shook her head, amused by her own story. “With your grandfather, and he broke my heart too.”
“He did?” Ryan had never heard this story.
“He did, but then it was mended once again, and once again something new formed. You might not be able to see it, but there are years of scars here,” she said, pointing to her heart. “Now, I don’t know about you, but all this posing has me famished. How about a snack? I can make us some niu rou mian—it’s good for the soul.”
Ryan nodded—no one passed up his grandmother’s beef noodle soup. He helped her up, and together they walked back into the house. She squeezed his hand. “Give yourself room to breathe. To make mistakes. Eventually you will see that you were always there, you just couldn’t recognize yourself yet.”
Lee
IT WAS A miracle no one had found them. They weren’t even being that quiet, but fifteen minutes into their library make-out session they remained blissfully undetected.
David shifted, hand traveling up her thighs to her waist as he kissed her neck. She laced her hand through his hair and tugged his face up to her lips again.
“We should probably study,” she said in between breaths. “This is a library after all.”
He squeezed her waist and moved his hand until he found the skin underneath her T-shirt. “That sounds boring.”
He dipped his head down and captured her lips once again, taking his time, his hand at home on her lower back.
Through the haze of lips and tongues Lee heard the squeak of the library cart, and it cut straight through the rush of her beating heart. It hurt to put a hand on David’s chest and push him away, but if she hadn’t they would have been caught and on their way to the principal’s office like so many other students.
“Close call,” David said. The way he looked at her made her flush, and she moved away from their hiding place.
“Too close,” she said, returning to the stack of books they’d left on the table at the start of the period.
David joined her, sitting next to her on the table, his leg pressing up against hers. She pressed hers back, relishing in the spark it brought.
He kept his eyes on her until she broke away. “Stop that. How are we supposed to study if you won’t look away?”
“Maybe I’m studying you,” he said.
“Oh yeah? And what have you discovered?” She held her breath, wondering what he would say, what he saw.
“That you’re as amazing as I always thought you were.”
Lee rolled her eyes but still smiled. “That’s not going to work again.”
He sighed dramatically before stealing a quick kiss. It was hard to pull herself away from him, to try and focus on something else when all she wanted to do was go back to the kissing nook.
But they would most definitely get caught. Lee smiled to herself, imagining the moment, then paused. Why was she smiling? Getting caught should not be a smiling moment.
Would it be that bad?
She was clearly still high off the make-out fumes and wasn’t thinking straight. Getting caught wouldn’t be a great way to tell Jess, or her father, but still the thought of people knowing about her and David was not as worrisome as it was before.
“I’m done with this one. Do want to take a look?” She snapped out of her thoughts and reached for the book David had finished.
America’s Best Colleges.
“Jess threw it at me a few weeks ago,” he said. “Almost broke my door.”
“I doubt that.”
“Made a wicked bang though.”
She leafed through the book, skimming over the many lists. “God, this is overwhelming.”
“There might be a list of best schools for film studies though,” he said. “You should check the index.”
Lee turned to David. “Film studies?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Apparently you can study films in college. It’s almost like they made it just for you.”
It did sound like that. Lee loved movies, but she never thought that was something she could take past weekend marathons.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it before, it’s pretty common.”
She would have heard about it if college was something she thought about more. She’d never admitted it out loud, but sometimes college seemed like a waste of time—of her life—since she didn’t love school. And since the future felt so uncertain, why spend four more years in school?
“I don’t really think about college a lot.”
David shifted his body toward her. “Does that mean you aren’t going to apply?”
She would apply—of course she would. Her father would send in each application himself if she dared whisper anything near the possibility of not getting a college education.
“I was just going to do local colleges.” UC Denver was a perfectly good college, with perfectly good courses. What those courses were, Lee had no idea, but she would find something and just get it over with. “Nothing fancy.”
“Do you like these schools, or are you just applying to have somewhere to apply to?” Lee narrowed her eyes, and David backed off. “I’m just asking. I’m on your side,
I promise.”
He placed his hand on top of hers before tugging the book back and turning to the index. His finger trailed along the page until he found what he was looking for, flipping to the desired page and shoving it toward Lee again.
It was a section all about film studies. Lee read over the names, recognizing a few as universities some of her favorite directors had attended.
Meanwhile David pulled out his laptop and opened up a search window. “Give me a school on the list,” he said.
What was he doing? When Lee didn’t respond, he nudged her leg. She sighed and read off the list. “Boston University.”
Moments later they were in Boston University’s Film & Television program. David shifted the laptop so Lee could read off the screen. “Look, this is pretty cool. They have a class all on David Cronenberg. And screenwriting and directing courses! Maybe you can make your own movies?”
Lee had more than once remarked when watching some horror movies that she could do a better job in her sleep. But she never considered it as an actual, realistic future.
She reached for the laptop just as David pushed it toward her. Lee scrolled down the offered courses, imagining a world where she could take Introduction to Screenwriting or the History of Global Cinema.
What else was out there?
“Can we try another one?”
David reached for the book, reading off the list. “Ithaca College.”
That one was slightly less focused on the study of film and more on the technical side of things. They moved to another program, and when Lee found a course dedicated to the horror genre it felt like something lit up inside her.
“Can I send myself an email?” she asked David.
They spent the rest of the period looking through film programs. Lee jotted them all down in one long email to herself—noting which courses offered classes on genre film like sci-fi and horror. Those went to the top of her list.
She sent the list to herself, feeling a fierce need to protect this option, this possibility.
Mami would want this for me.
Find the positive, her father had said. Was she doing that now with the list? Allowing herself something she hadn’t before . . .