by Farrah Penn
I watch as he successfully completes the first equation, but then he lets me take the reins on the second problem. He has to remind me of a few steps, but once I do them in the correct order, I’m able to plot the right intercepts on the graph.
“See? You got this,” he says, and I’m even more relieved that he helps me through every problem until my assignment is done.
“I wish stuff like this came naturally to me like it did to Grams,” I say, surprising myself with the mention of her name.
I’m thankful he doesn’t take this as an opportunity to talk about her. Instead he says, “Well, I bet other people wish they could dance as well as you can.”
“That’s different. I’m decent at best, and that’s only because we have practice every week.”
Saylor grins, tapping a finger on my textbook. “So if you practice more of this, you should be decent at best.”
I roll my eyes, but I feel a smile come through anyway. I walked into that one. “Mrs. Donaldson makes sure we get plenty of practice, as you can see.”
Saylor stands up, stretches, then looks back at me. “Well, if you need any more help, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice small. I know he didn’t have to help me in the first place.
Saylor grabs his book from the table—The Spiritual Journey of Yoga’s Healing Powers—and flips through to his dog-eared page. His dozens of leather bracelets collapse upon each other from the movement.
“Why do you wear so many?”
Saylor looks down, then smiles. “They’re intention bracelets. I branded them myself, but I don’t know… I guess they’ve been good reminders for me.”
A few of the words catch my eye. Focus. Strength. Trust.
My gaze lingers on the last one a little longer. I take a deep breath. “Where’s Peach? Isn’t she usually here by now?”
When Saylor’s eyes meet mine, there’s a certain sadness in them. “Uh, your dad drove her to get some of her belongings. Her daughters aren’t really… well, they’re not ready to forgive her yet. I guess.”
I expect to feel angry—that means Peach is going to stay here longer, which is not part of my twelve-steps plan—but I don’t. Instead I feel sort of bad that I yelled at her yesterday. The last thing I want is to make things harder on her.
“Oh,” is all I can think to say.
“Well,” Saylor says after a beat. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I nod. “Yeah, okay.”
The back door closes, and I begin gathering up my books. That’s when my eye catches something sitting near my extra pencil, and I realize it’s one of Saylor’s intention bracelets. When I turn it over, I read the word that’s been branded into it: Forgive.
I’m not sure if he purposefully left it here or if it fell off, but before I can think about it too much, I fasten the thing around my wrist. I don’t know what draws me to it, but even so, I have a feeling Saylor won’t mind if I keep it.
TWENTY THREE
BECAUSE I REALLY DO WANT to raise my algebra grade, I end up in the library with Ana on Thursday. She’d agreed to stay an hour later than usual because of my Wavettes practice, which is nice of her. I find her sitting near the reference desk when I push through the double doors.
I’m a little intimidated as I walk over to the table she’s claimed for us. Ana has always been effortlessly gorgeous. Her dark-brown hair hangs down in a braid over her shoulder, and she sits upright with perfect posture.
When she spots me, she smiles. “Kira! It’s great to see you. It’s been too long.”
I’m reminded why she’s popular in her grade. She can easily make anyone feel welcome.
“It really has.” I take a seat next to her, setting my book bag in the chair beside me. “Thanks again for helping me out.”
“It’s no problem. Alex caught me up on what’s going to be on your test next week.”
I pull my algebra textbook and flip to the chapter we covered today about radical functions. “I should warn you that I’m pretty hopeless.”
She waves that aside. “I doubt it. Let’s see what you’re struggling with.”
For the next forty minutes, Ana patiently breaks down Mrs. Donaldson’s most recent lesson. By the end, I’ve even managed to solve a few homework problems on my own.
“See? I knew you could do it.” She smiles at me. Her eyes are the same shade of soft brown as Alex’s, and it catches me off guard for a moment. “Sometimes it helps when someone else explains it in another way.”
Relief breaks through my chest, even though I know I have a long way to go. “Thank you, seriously.”
She dog-ears one of my textbook pages and taps her pencil eraser on the remaining practice problems. “Come see me a few more times before your big test and do these over the weekend so you don’t forget. If you get confused, just text me.” She writes down her number on my spiral.
I glance up at her. “I really appreciate it.”
Ana shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “I had Mrs. Donaldson last year. I know how she can be.”
“Yeah, but you’re way smarter than me.”
She laughs modestly. “No.”
“Seriously. Alex told me how you guys are up super early to help with the restaurant, and you’re in a ton of clubs and volunteer with tutoring—”
Ana flushes. “Alex told you that? About Rosita’s?”
I try to backtrack. “Well, I mean, yeah he mentioned it once.” Now I’m the one blushing. I don’t want to offend or embarrass Ana. She’s so sweet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, don’t be sorry.” Ana studies me for a few seconds. “You know, I’m not surprised. He’s always been really open with you.”
If Alex’s former crush was obvious to me, then I’m sure Ana and Marlina were also aware. Alex didn’t seem ashamed when he told me about helping his mom out at Rosita’s. Then again, it’d always been easy to talk to each other. But that had slowed when—
Right. When Lacey asked him to Sadie Hawkins and in a weird fit of unannounced jealousy, I quit speaking to him as much.
“I have to get going.” Ana closes her spiral, giving me another warm smile. “But like I said, text me over the weekend if you have any more questions.”
“I will,” I say.
With a small wave, Ana grabs her backpack and walks out of the library. I pack up my things and head toward my locker to get the books I need for my homework tonight. As I’m walking past the auditorium, there’s a loud bang as the doors slam open. A bunch of kids emerge from the theater, including Alex.
My breath sticks in the shallows of my throat.
“Kira, hey!”
He begins to walk over to me. Somehow I find my voice.
“Hey.” My tone feels a few octaves too high. “I just finished tutoring with your sister.”
If Alex notices, he doesn’t say anything. “How’d it go?”
“Really good.”
He grins. “Good.”
A beat of silence falls between us, and I find myself wracking my brain so this moment doesn’t have to be over.
“We’re running through the first act,” Alex says. “For the fall play. All-hands-on-deck mode. I have to move a few props during scene breaks.”
“Oh! Okay. Yeah.” This is where I should turn to go, but I don’t. Instead I stand there like a massive dork.
He gestures toward the auditorium. “Do you, um… want to come watch?”
I’m surprised at the invitation. Aside from the holiday program the Wavettes put on, I’ve never been in the auditorium for a theater performance. But I want to be backstage with Alex. I’m suddenly grappling with this urge to spend time with him.
“Yeah, is it okay? For me to be in there, I mean?”
“Definitely.” He tugs on the back of his beanie. “You can watch from backstage with me.”
And just like that, I’m following him into the auditorium. Mrs. Henson, one of the theater instructors, is giving commands t
o a few actors on stage. Aside from her, the rest of the seats in the theater are empty.
Alex leads me down a small hallway that loops backstage. It’s mostly all juniors or seniors in this cast, but no one pays me any mind as we walk by. They’re running lines with each other or discussing costumes with the senior costume designer, who looks a little stressed out.
Alex stops at the right wing of the stage. It’s cluttered with a white dresser on wheels and a small office desk with a lamp on top of it.
“I kinda just wait here until scene break. Super exciting, right? But it’s cool seeing them improve.” He moves the lamp to the ground, then takes a seat on the desk. He pats the empty space beside it. “Here.”
My nerves thrum through my veins as I climb next to him. We’re sitting so close, and I’m so, so aware of him. The soft flops of his dark curls. The calluses on his hands from building props in the workshop. The slight overlap in his two front teeth when he looks over at me and smiles, like I’m the only person here that he cares about.
My heart beats deeply, an erratic rhythm in my head.
I think back to what Ana said. He’s always been really open with you. But he wasn’t the only one. Even though Alex wasn’t part of my immediate circle of friends, I’d still told him about my dad. I talked to him about it more than I ever talked to Jay.
Is it possible that our friendship has evolved so naturally that I’ve barely noticed?
He shifts. Our hands almost touch. I swallow and swallow and swallow. I imagine what it would be like if we made even the slightest contact. My skin would ignite. I would burst into flames.
I inhale sharply.
Then I panic.
This feels way beyond friendship.
“Sorry.” Alex’s voice is abrupt. Insecure. “This is boring. I—”
“No.” I interrupt. My synapses crackle with electricity. Does he feel it, too? “I like it. I feel very VIP.”
He breaks into a grin, but I catch his chest exhaling in relief.
“Why tech theater?” I ask, hoping talking will calm down my spasmodic heart rate. “Doesn’t everyone want to act?”
“Nah,” he says as we watch the actors run through blocking. “I’m better at designing and building. Besides, I get to watch it all happen from back here.”
I flick my gaze to the set on stage. The current scene takes place in a kitchen, but from the way the painted wooden walls are tri-folded together, I can tell it’s easily able to transform into a whole new room for a completely different scene.
“You used to write screenplays,” I say. “In middle school, remember? They were Supernatural episodes you wished existed. Oh, my god, remember the one with the murderous poltergeist?”
“Oh.” He glances down, embarrassed. “Man, those were awful.”
“They weren’t!” I mean it. “Do you still want to go to school for screenwriting?”
“I do, but I don’t think it’s such a smart idea.”
This surprises me. “Why?”
He keeps his gaze on the stage. “Because, I don’t know. That whole industry… it’s so risky—and it can be pretty unstable, from what I’ve read. Both my parents worked really hard to make sure we have everything we need. I should major in business, you know? Get a job where I can have that stability they were able to give us.”
“Is that what you really want?”
It’s the same question he asked me. I can tell he remembers, because he meets my gaze.
“No.” I’m surprised by his honesty. “But it’s the responsible thing to do. I want to make my parents proud. I don’t want them to have a son who’s in debt and who can’t find a job because I risked it all in a creative industry.”
“Alex.” His name sounds so sad in my mouth.
But he just shakes his head. “I—”
I don’t know what he’s going to say because it falls quiet on stage. The lights dim, casting darkness in our small corner.
Alex leans back ever so slightly, his shoulder brushing against mine. My stomach flips. Was that intentional? No, I’m reading too much into it. This desk is so small. It was an accident.
Right?
In the darkness, my eyes find his chest. His breaths accelerate. In-out-in-out-in-out. Does he feel it, too? Am I the only one who feels this undefined friction between us? I don’t know. I try looking at him, but I can’t read his expression in the dark.
I focus on the stage. The only source of light is the spotlight that pours down on the two actors on stage. Alex adjusts his posture, leaving a bigger gap of space between us. The hopeful expansion in my chest immediately deflates. I’m imagining this. I’m overreacting to everything.
That’s when the lights go completely dark, startling me. Scene change. It must be. We both move to get off the desk at the same time, but I stumble. He quickly grabs my shoulder to stabilize me. The warmth of his hand penetrates through the sleeve of my shirt.
He doesn’t let go.
Not immediately.
Alex’s touch isn’t the VOOSH of raw energy I felt with Jay. It’s stronger. His contact is a gravitational pull, tilting my universe off axis. My skin is made of stars, and I am spinning, spinning, spinning through space.
“Are you okay?” he says, reeling me back to reality. I’m dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with the darkness. “I should have warned you.” He lets go, and it takes everything in me not to protest. “I have to move these real quick.”
I watch as his silhouette positions new props on stage. All I can do is stand there, trying to figure out what just happened.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I already know.
Alex disappears from the main stage just as the light filters back on. He’s smiling, adjusting the back of his beanie as he heads toward me.
“Try not to look so impressed. Those things can’t move themselves.”
I laugh, but it comes out strangely. My throat is dry, and I’ve suddenly lost the ability to string together an intelligible sentence.
He scratches his neck. “I won’t make you stay. You probably have better things to do.”
The thing is, I don’t.
I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.
“No,” I tell him. “I want to stay.”
It’s hard to tell because it’s so dark, but I swear I catch him smile.
That’s when I know.
Oh god.
I like Alex.
TWENTY FOUR
TODAY IS HOMECOMING, BUT INSTEAD of meeting my friends in homeroom I’ve been sitting in my car for the last several minutes. Groups of freshmen snap selfies outside of the gym while flaunting their mums like badges of honor. Red-and-white ribbons billow in the breeze and entangle their legs as they parade through the double doors.
My freshman mum from Jay is still hanging in my closet. I remember when he gave it to me, and how most of the ribbons were wrinkled and glue-gun spiderwebs hung from the fake petals of the mum. Even the lettering of my name was crooked. I knew it was a haphazard disaster, but I was so enamored with him that I didn’t care.
Jay had walked me the long way to my English class that day, specifically maneuvering past the gym so the basketball guys could see us together. When I sat down at my desk, Alex was looking at me like he was trying not to laugh.
“What?” I’d snapped.
He was eyeing my droopy mum. I’d spotted Lacey in the hall earlier. It was easy to tell he’d put some effort into hers.
“Nothing,” he’d said. “He walks with you like you’re some show dog.”
I rolled my eyes and brushed it off, telling myself he was jealous. But once we were at Breck’s house party after winning the game that night, I couldn’t help feeling like I was his Wavette accessory—that I could have been easily replaced by another girl on my team.
Maybe this is what happens when you fall out of love with someone. You begin to realize all the times you were let down. All the times you brushed something aside because your heart wa
s too preoccupied by the what-ifs and what-could-bes. That maybe you should have listened to the nagging part of your brain when it said you could do better.
I run my hands over my steering wheel. I don’t want to go inside and watch as Whitney’s treated mediocrely by someone who’d rather flirt with some college girl who spends Saturday nights bringing beer to a high school party. There was one point in time where Whitney and I valued each other’s honesty, but I know that’s changed. If I brought it up, she’d think I was jealous. I don’t want another fight—especially since I’m still walking on unstable ground with her.
I’m putting my keys back in the ignition right as a truck pulls up beside me. I immediately recognize the deep-green paint job and the rusting bumper.
Alex.
Nervous energy tingles in my fingertips. I spent another hour with him backstage yesterday after they finished the first act, and in between scene changes we studied for our Algebra II test. We’d spread out on the dirty theater floor, reading our notes beneath the glow of our cell phone lights. Whenever he leaned over to compare answers, delicate prickles of energy would explode like tiny fireworks in my brain.
He’s the only part of my twelve-steps list that I haven’t actively worked on. But if I don’t confront him about the text, I’ll never know.
Before I even consider what I’m doing, I walk around to the driver’s side and tap on the glass.
As Alex lowers his window, I notice he’s wearing his typical attire: a black long-sleeve shirt with a green DEEP FLAME PRODUCTIONS T-shirt over it. His black beanie sits atop his head, and his mop of dark curls appear springier than usual as they peer out underneath.
He grins at me. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Do you want to skip with me today?” I blurt.
He looks surprised. “Sure,” he says without question. “Hop in.”
My insides flood with relief. I walk around and climb in the passenger’s side. As soon as my door closes, Alex puts the car in Drive and we flee from the parking lot, away from all the gilded mums and past memories that hang over my head like heavy clouds on the verge of a thunderstorm.