by Leddy Harper
When I was 8.
I moved closer to his side so I could see his answer, written next to where my hand rested. When I shifted, his body hardened, tensed, but I didn’t let it stop me. “What happened?” It didn’t look to me like an accident, but I couldn’t imagine what might’ve caused scars like that.
My focus remained on the piece of paper, even though he made no move to write anything. As soon as I glanced up to look at him, he began to move the pen. But it wasn’t to write in his notebook. Instead, tingles broke out on the skin on the back of my hand. When I peered over his arm to see what it was, I noticed he’d started to draw something on me.
I leaned my head against his shoulder to watch. He stilled for a moment, but when I didn’t move, he continued. Line after line, stroke after stroke, he created a vivid flower in black ink, starting at the webbing between my thumb and forefinger.
Our conversation was apparently over.
Two
Killian
I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
I saw her face, whether my eyes were opened or closed.
Those big brown eyes that sloped just so at the corners. The color reminded me of my mom’s clay pot she kept by the front door, full of red flowers that spilled from the top. Her eyebrows had this natural arch to them, which reminded me of the wings of a soaring bird. She had a dip in the center of the ball of her nose. I imagined a dozen times what it might feel like to touch it with my finger. And those lips…full and naturally pink, as if she wore lipstick that never rubbed off. I wanted to know what they’d feel like pressed against mine.
But that’d never happen.
She may have looked at me like she would anyone else, but I’d never be able to forget the way she gasped when she saw my face. When she saw the scars left behind as a reminder of the worst night of my life. No matter what she said, I knew they terrified her.
They terrified me.
But that didn’t stop me from thinking of her, wanting to see her again.
The night after she found me in the woods, she came back. It was dark, with only the light of the moon peeking between the leaves. Elise had invited more people over, and I didn’t want to be around any of them. They were nice, but I couldn’t take the way they’d gawk at me. Not to mention, I didn’t care to be locked in my room, listening to the laughs, the murmurs, the music through the door.
It was all too much.
So I’d decided to hop the fence and find some peace.
Minutes later, peace had found me, in the form of an angel.
She’d whisper-shouted my name. And I was done for. Not thinking of how she would react, I’d snuck up behind her and covered her mouth with my hand, only wanting to feel her lips just once. But then her body shook in fear, a whimper had escaped, and when I spun her around, I couldn’t take my eyes off the few tears falling down her face. But then her gaze met mine, and without a second’s thought, I took her hand and pulled her behind me until I found the clearing in the trees.
For at least an hour, we sat beneath the moon…in silence. She didn’t bother to ask me anything—probably knowing I had no way to answer her without my notepad—and instead, rested her head against my shoulder while I doodled on her palm. The only thing I had on me was a thin red marker, and I used the moon to see the lines I drew. Eventually, her breathing evened out, and I realized she had fallen asleep.
I wanted to stay there forever.
To freeze time and never let her go.
If I could’ve, I would’ve stolen the moon from the sky.
Held it hostage.
And kept her with me.
But that wasn’t a possibility. I had to give her up. She didn’t belong to me, no matter how badly I’d wished for it. And the thought of her getting into trouble because she’d followed me didn’t settle well. So I woke her and helped her back to her house. It wasn’t until we’d made it to her back yard, to her window with the screen resting against the wall, before I realized she’d actually snuck out.
To see me.
She’d held her finger to her lips, and again, I wondered what her lips would feel like against my finger. Against my mouth. Against my tongue. But I had to ignore it when she pointed to the corner of the roof, just at the edge of the house. She whispered, “Motion detector light. You have to stay along the fence; otherwise, it’ll go off, and my dad will see it.”
Then I helped her back inside and adjusted the window screen in place, taking one final look through the glass at her shadow before heading back home. Since then, I’d done nothing but think of her, conjuring her image in my mind. Memorizing every detail, every flaw, every line.
“Killian!” Elise called out, interrupting my thoughts of Rylee. “You have a visitor!”
I threw my notebook onto the bed next to me and jumped to my feet.
Just then, the door opened slowly, time practically standing still. I never had anyone over; no one knew I lived here. My heart pumped so hard it reverberated in my ears as dark, curly hair came into view. Each curl wound tight like a spring I wanted to pull and watch it snap back into place. Even in the dim light of my room, it was shiny and looked smooth. And for the hundredth time, I pondered what it’d feel like to run my fingers through it while staring into her eyes.
“Are you thirsty? Can I get either of you anything?” Elise came up behind Rylee, but watched me, probably wondering why she was here to begin with.
“No, thank you, Ms. Newberry.” Her voice was so sweet, so soft. I could’ve listened to her chat with Elise for hours about nothing. It was the only reason I bothered to answer her questions, when I never cared to answer anyone else.
Because I never wanted Rylee to stop talking.
“Okay, then I’ll let you two…visit.” Elise’s eyes met mine, and I couldn’t ignore the glimmer of bright hope. “If you need anything, I’ll just be out here. Don’t hesitate to ask.” And then she walked away, leaving us alone, wrapped in silence.
Rylee stared at me for a moment before her lips turned up into the smallest hint of a grin. She had brief moments of uncertainty, but they were always quickly swallowed up by utter confidence. It was an amazing sight to behold—the inner workings of her psyche through her eyes. The way they squinted just the tiniest bit before flaring an almost golden color.
“Do you mind if I come in?” Her question broke my spell and forced me back a step until I ran into the bed.
I shook my head, and then nodded, unsure of how to answer. I vividly recalled my father correcting me several times, informing me how to properly respond to a “do you mind” type of question. But Rylee didn’t seem to notice and stepped into my room, although she left the door open. For whatever reason, the idea of Elise being able to listen to us made me uneasy, so I moved around her and closed it softly.
A gasp behind me caught my attention. When I whipped around, I found her holding my notebook in one hand, the fingers of the other splayed over her parted lips. Her round eyes met mine and locked on me. I couldn’t move, completely frozen in time, while my mouth opened and closed as if I had a verbal answer for her.
Finally snapping out of my daze, I snatched the pad away from her.
“You did that?” Her whispered words, filled with awe, surrounded me.
I held the book to my chest to keep her from seeing it again and turned to face her. It was like this unbearable need to see her eyes, watch her expression, understand her thoughts through her body language. What I didn’t expect to find was the absolute wonderment—possibly admiration—I saw reflecting back at me.
I nodded slowly while the weight of fear settled into my chest.
“That’s…unbelievable. May I see it again?”
Holding my breath, I slowly held it out for her to take, never breaking eye contact. I desperately wanted her approval, unlike I’d ever wanted it from anyone before, but I couldn’t fight off the immense trepidation of her rejection.
Of how obsessed it’d make me seem.
How I’d j
ust given myself away in more ways than one.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and held the pad in her lap, studying it with a careful eye. Her fingertips traced each line of my pen. The likeness I’d created of her jaw. Her chin. Around her lips, the bridge of her nose. Her eyes. Finally, once she’d followed along every contour, her finger stilled on the faint scar I’d added to her forehead—the one I’d noticed that night beneath the moon—and focused her sights on me.
“You drew me?”
I sat next to her and hung my head, offering her the slightest nod.
“Why?”
I balled my hands into fists in the space between my parted legs. I knew she’d ask that. It was the one question I could count on, and the one I prayed wouldn’t pass her lips. Suddenly, the pad of paper slid into view and I took it from her. I found the pen I’d tossed to the side when she’d come in, and I picked it up, ready to give her an answer.
Why not? I wrote on a blank piece of lined paper.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know why you’d choose me.” Her original question became clear. She hadn’t meant to ask me why I drew it, which was good because I couldn’t give her that answer. Now, knowing the true intention of her curiosity, I put the pen to the paper and began to scribble as fast as I could.
I see things and I have to draw them to get them out of my head.
“What kinds of things?”
Just things. Things that catch my eye.
As soon as she finished reading, I felt the need to add more. To explain further.
They’re like photographs in my head.
She giggled and I immediately went rigid. I wanted to look at her, to ask her what she found so funny, but I couldn’t lift my focus from the paper in front of me. My words stared back at me and I wanted to erase them all.
“You draw so beautifully. You seriously have such amazing talent…but your handwriting is awful.” She giggled again, and had to cover her mouth with her hand to hold back the sound, which now was nothing more than a melodic hum. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe someone who writes so messy can draw something so…” She calmed and grew quiet for a moment, and then murmured, “So perfect.”
I turned and met her gaze. The golden flecks trapped me inside their warmth and refused to let go. They were like rays of the sun reflecting off treasure at the end of a rainbow. Her eyebrows pulled together in concentration, which ended my worship of her.
“Are you okay?” Her breath filled each word and brushed them across my face.
I nodded, narrowing my gaze to silently question her.
“You just seem so…angry? Frustrated? I don’t know how to describe it.”
Refocusing on the paper, I gripped my pen and let my fingers do the talking.
I’m not used to talking to people. I don’t have any friends.
“Why not?”
I shrugged, but decided to answer anyway.
I’ve moved around a lot, and not many people want to be friends with someone who looks like me. I scare everyone away. It’s why I’m homeschooled. Well, that and because I’m behind.
“You don’t scare me away.” The way she leaned over to read as I wrote caused her words to cascade over my face like a gentle breeze. It made me turn to look at her, to catch her eyes as she spoke. “You said Ms. Newberry is a relative. How are you related to her?”
Aunt.
“Oh…so is your last name the same as hers?”
I shook my head. Foster.
“Killian Foster…” she whispered with a smile. “What’s your middle name?”
Owen. I paused, and then decided to give her more. Family name.
“I like it. Sounds strong…I mean, it’s a powerful name. You’re going to be somebody one day, Killian Owen Foster. Mark my words. People will know your name.” Her round eyes brightened impossibly more, and I so badly wanted to believe her.
But the truth was people already knew my name.
And not for anything good.
What’s your middle name? I suddenly had a profound need to know.
“Scott. I know, it’s a boy’s name, but it was my mom’s maiden name. She thought I was a boy, so I was going to be Scott Anderson. Then I came out a girl.” She giggled, and I wanted to bottle up the sound to keep forever. “So…they mixed up their names—my mom is Holly and my dad is Ryan—and made my middle name Scott.”
I stared at her, wishing more than anything I could say her full name out loud like she had with mine. I wanted to feel it pass between my lips, reverberate through my vocal chords, taste it on my tongue. But I couldn’t.
She grew quiet with a weak smile. “It’s a stupid story.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off hers, as if I were locked in a trance—a reverie woven by golden threads, filled with hopes and dreams I had no right to chase after. I so badly wanted to shake my head, to tell her she was wrong. It wasn’t a stupid story. But I couldn’t manage to do anything other than stare at her until she turned away, more than likely feeling uneasy.
“So do you like…live here? With your aunt?” She paused when I nodded. Apparently, my lack of further response spurred her to press on. “Where’s your family? Your mom or dad? Are they here, too?”
I could only shake my head, unable to write anything down.
I wanted to hold onto her friendship for a little while longer.
“Oh. Your aunt seems really young to take care of you.”
My gaze fell away as I thought about Elise and how much I’d disrupted her life. I didn’t want to be such a burden, which was why I tried to stay in my room as much as I could. She loved me. I knew she did. But Rylee was right; Elise was far too young to care for someone my age, not to mention, someone dealing with my issues.
I wrote out the number twenty-six and let that sink in for a minute before offering her more. She’s my mom’s sister. No one else could handle me, so she took me in. I’m pretty sure I make her sad.
“Why?”
Tears lined my eyes and I had to swallow down the lump in my throat.
Because I remind her of my mom.
Thankfully, she didn’t press for anything else. Rather than ask more questions, she suggested we watch a movie, and I couldn’t have been happier. Elise came to check on us, and when she saw us sitting on the bed with our backs against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder, she simply smiled and closed the door behind her.
Content.
It was the first time in three years I’d felt it.
And I never wanted to let it go.
Three
Rylee
“Hey, Daddy?” I sat at the kitchen table while my dad drank his coffee and read the newspaper before work. My cereal was now soggy, considering how long I’d sat there, finding the courage to ask him a question. I wasn’t sure how he’d take it, but I needed the answer. “Why would someone have scars on their face in the shape of a smile?”
He lowered the paper and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “I’m not sure, pumpkin. There are probably lots of reasons. Any half circle could look like a smile. Why?”
“No…I don’t mean like that. I mean like if someone gets hurt—by someone else…maybe on purpose—and their mouth looks like they’re smiling.” I used my fingers to draw invisible lines from the corners of my mouth up to my cheeks.
His eyes grew wide, then they narrowed a split second before his brows dipped with concern. “Why would you ask about that? Did you see someone like that?”
I shrugged and then offered, “On TV.”
My answer must’ve settled his nerves because he blew out a long breath and relaxed in his seat. “Oh, honey…that’s something bad people do. But not here. It’s a European thing, I believe. I think it’s called a Chelsea Smile, because it started a long time ago in Chelsea. You don’t have to worry about that happening, sweetheart.”
I wished his words could’ve soothed me, but they didn’t. Because he was wrong. It did happen here. To Killian. Or…maybe he was
n’t from here. That was a possibility. Since I’d never heard him talk, I would never know. But it was definitely something I wanted to find out.
I finished my cereal while repeating the term in my head so I wouldn’t forget. As soon as he checked his watch, I knew it was time for him to leave, and then I’d be able to use the computer and get the information I needed. He kissed the top of my head and repeated the same rules just as he did every morning: don’t leave the house, don’t answer the door, and don’t tell strangers I’m home alone. I knew he hated leaving me without the supervision of my brother, but really…anytime Jason was home, he never paid any attention to me. Either way, I was completely unsupervised.
I waited until he backed the car out of the driveway before turning on the computer in the dining room. I had limited knowledge of the Internet, but I knew enough to understand the concept of Google—thanks to Mrs. Beatty and her constant research assignments last year.
In the search box, I typed “Chelsea smile.” I had a friend at school with the same name so I knew how to spell it. However, what popped up on the screen was nothing like the girl with red hair and glasses. My stomach turned as I scrolled through each page, taking it all in, along with the pictures it provided.
I couldn’t imagine Killian going through that.
And then I remembered him telling me it’d happened when he was eight.
Sympathetic tears fell into my lap.
In a hurry, I changed my clothes and headed next door. It was early, and I hadn’t expected anyone to be up, so I knocked on what I assumed to be his bedroom window. I had to take a guess since I’d only been in the house once. But I remembered he had blue curtains.
It took me rapping on the window three times before the curtain pulled away, revealing a tired boy behind the glass. He rubbed his eyes and squinted against the sunlight, but as soon as he recognized me, a grin tugged on his lips. He held up one finger and then vanished again.
I stood against the back of his house, waiting for him to…do something. I wasn’t sure if he’d come back to the window or not. It wasn’t until I heard footsteps in the grass that I realized he’d come outside, and then he came around the corner. His long legs peeked out of the bottom of frayed cargo shorts, his plain white T-shirt wrinkled as if he’d grabbed it off the floor. His hair was all over the place, and I so badly wanted to tuck the wild strands behind his ears so I could see his face better. The notebook in his hand, tucked against the side of his body, made me smile.