by Liara Tamani
“No, Woodside High has a better boys’ basketball program and one of the best photography teachers in the state,” Cole says, and walks over to sit beside me. “She’s always doing celebrity portraits for Texas Monthly and food photography for PaperCity Magazine and Houston Press. She even has credits in National Geographic and Travel and Leisure.” He looks around at my walls. “There may even be something of hers in here.”
“Oh, my bad. So, it’s Rex, basketball, and a teacher you don’t even know you’ll have over Mom,” I say, and scoot away from him, trying to make myself feel superior for only thinking of leaving Mom and never saying it aloud.
“Look, it’s not like Dad can stop me from seeing Mom. I’ll see her whenever I want. I could go by her shop or stop over for dinner or come spend weekends with y’all whenever. We’re not little kids anymore, Carli. Our parents are still our parents, yeah, but they can’t control us like they used to.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, and stand up. “Of course they can control us! Didn’t you hear Daddy? He’s filing for sole custody!”
“I’m almost positive Dad was just pissed when he said all that stuff. Divorce gets ugly like that,” he says in a calm voice, grabs my hand, and tries to get me to sit back down.
I snatch my hand away. “Oh, you’re such the adult. You have all the fucking answers.”
Cole doesn’t reply. He looks up like he’s surprised by me. Then like he’s sorry for me and disappointed in me.
I don’t know who he thinks he is, looking at me like that. He’s the one talking about leaving Mom on the side of the road. I should be the one giving him the disappointed looks. But I can barely meet his eyes.
He’s still looking at me, but his face isn’t saying anything anymore. It’s just as silent as his mouth.
I can’t take this silence. The stillness of it. The way it’s making me look back at this messed-up, pissed-off girl who has no problem pushing her own brother away. Not to mention the first boy who’s ever given her a glimpse of a higher version of herself. I can’t stand her right now.
“Sorry,” I say, and sit back down. The apology is meant for tonight and Friday, but I don’t say all that.
Pretty sure Cole gets it, though, because he puts his arm around me. “I still want us to stick together, I do. I just thought you should know where I stand. After this year you’ll only have one year of high school left, but I’ll have two. It’s a bigger decision for me.”
Is this boy really trying to minimize the impact this decision is going to have on my life? But I stay cuddled up under his arm, tell myself to calm down. “I’m not saying I won’t go live with Daddy, but we still have two weeks. Let’s use our time to think it all through.”
“You’re right . . . we should,” Cole says, and squeezes me.
“And promise we’ll talk about this again before we make our final decision, before you tell anyone?”
“Promise,” he says. “This stays between us.”
REX
There’s no reason I should still be awake. It’s after midnight, and I’m lying in bed with the lights out. The house is wonderfully warm. My belly is comfortably full. And the frame, the entrance to the hall that leads to my father’s room, got a great picture tonight.
After my father and I ate Thai takeout and watched a little late-night TV, he filled up the frame for over an hour, talking about my game.
We won, just like I thought. And I hit the winning shot—a three from the baseline. The whole team tackled me in joy. Josh even rubbed my head. And Danny actually texted me tonight after the 360 alley-oop dunk made ESPN’s high school highlight reel. I should be sleeping like a baby.
But I can’t stop thinking about Carli. About that text she sent—Sorry. That’s it. No elaboration. What am I supposed to say back to that? It’s okay? No, because it’s not. I forgive you? No, because I don’t. I need more words. An explanation of why she was acting like that. A promise to never treat me that way again.
My phone lights up and I quickly grab it off my nightstand. Another text from Carli saying the same thing: Sorry
I don’t respond.
The next day, fourth period, honors chemistry: I’m sorry
Oooo, she added the word I’m. All the words that usually roll off her tongue and this is the best she can come up with? I don’t respond.
Wednesday after basketball practice, grabbing my precalculus book out of my locker to take home:
I
M
S
O
R
R
Y
She’s getting a little creative with it. Won’t lie, makes me smile, but I don’t respond. You see, she ignored sixteen of my texts last Friday and three of my calls (yep, I still remember). I’ve only ignored one-fourth that amount, and she hasn’t even bothered to call. I have to make it to eight, so she at least knows half of how I felt. Yes, petty, but sometimes it beez like that.
Thursday, at 6:47 a.m., same time I used to give her a wake-up text: I’m sorry, Rex
Damn, she gets me with this one. I know it’s only one added word, but it’s my name and I can hear her saying it. I type, I’m sorry too . . . for ignoring you. I miss you. But I decide that once again I’m doing way too much and erase everything.
After school on Friday: What’s your address? I have something to send you
I wonder what it is. Did she buy me an apology present? Maybe some new Js. Did she make a donation to plant some trees in my name? Yo, what if she wrote me a poem and kissed it with glossy lips? Hahaha, I’m being stupid. But really, what if she did? I want to ask her. I want to joke and play with her. I want to talk to her and see her and hug her and kiss her.
But this is only her sixth text. So, I only respond with my address—no hello or how are you doing. She better be glad I’m even texting her back.
Secret Spots
CARLI
Nineteen East Shady Trail is this huge, white, futuristic house surrounded by a pine forest. It has a sloped roof that juts out from the rest of the house, toward the sky, and is perched on concrete piers. As I walk up the steel staircase on the side of the house that leads to the front door, trying to think of the words that will make Rex forgive me, it feels like I’m boarding a giant spaceship. Like maybe, just maybe, Rex will open the door and we’ll blast off to the stars, leaving all our earthly problems behind.
REX
I open the door and it’s Carli. At my house. Standing on my porch. Wearing some button-fly cutoffs and a vintage Jaws T-shirt. In front of the setting sun. Damn, she couldn’t be more perfect. So perfect I have to stop myself from picking her up, twirling her around, and carrying her into the house—honeymoon style.
Yeah, Rex. Forget about how she ignored you. How bad she treated you when you drove all the way over to her house in the freezing cold. And that look she gave you. Dawg, it was like she didn’t give a shit about you. Yeah, go ahead and let all that slide.
“Look who’s the stalker now,” I say playfully. I mean, somebody had to say something. The silence was getting weird.
“No, you gave me your address.”
“You said you were sending me something,” I say. “Not coming over.”
“Well, I lied!” Carli says, tilting her head and widening her eyes.
We both crack up laughing.
Call me a sucker, but damn being mad. I grab her hands, pull her into the house, and tell her, “I’ve missed you so much.”
Carli closes her eyes, almost like it hurts, and puts her head down. She looks like she’s about to cry. I pull her into me, and she buries her face in my shoulder. Warm tears soak through my T-shirt and she’s shaking.
What the hell just happened? I’m so confused. She was just laughing. Wait, did I do this? I swear to God I hate myself for ignoring her like that.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m so, so sorry,” I repeat, holding her tight and rubbing her back in slow circles, the way Angie used to rub mine as a
child.
CARLI
“There’s so much I need to tell you,” I say under my breath, voice squeaking and trembling all over the place. I don’t expect him to understand me. I mean, I can barely understand myself. One minute I’m acting like a raging lunatic, the next minute I’m laughing up a storm, and the next I’m crying uncontrollably. I swear I don’t know who I am anymore.
“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Rex says, separates from me a little, and kisses my forehead with soft, wet lips. “I want you to tell me . . . everything. I want to know all of you.”
I don’t lift my head. Thick mucus is running down the slope below my nose and hanging over my top lip. Can you say gross? Oh, my gosh; I got it all over the shoulder of his white T-shirt.
“I have a lot to tell you, too,” he says, lifts my chin, and looks me in the eyes.
I quickly turn my head to wipe the snot on my shoulder. And now it’s smeared all over my right cheek. Great, just great. But it’s weird . . . I don’t feel embarrassed. The fact that Rex can see me like this and not run away . . . see me like this and still look at me like I’m his everything makes me feel safe . . . and free . . . like I’m home.
“There’s snot all over your shirt,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s all over your cheek, too.”
“I know. I can feel it crusting up on my skin.”
“Damn, you nasty,” Rex says, and gives me a smack on the lips. The kiss is quick, but his lips do indeed touch mine. Yes, where the snot just was. This boy must be into me, like, for-real-for-real.
REX
After a quick stop in the bathroom, I give Carli a tour of the house. Trust, not my idea. But she seems to really be into its design. She’s talking about its clean lines . . . its floor-to-ceiling windows . . . its lack of trim around the doors . . . its sloped ceiling . . . its linear air vents . . . its unadorned walls . . . its minimalism this . . . and modern that . . . and on and on and on.
“I’m glad you like it, but I sure as hell don’t,” I tell her, walking up the stairs.
“Seriously? How could you not? Look at it. There’s so much empty space. Even these floating stairs. I mean, it’s everywhere. I don’t know . . . it makes me feel light and airy. Free in a way.”
“You get all of that from a whole bunch of blank walls and hard-ass furniture?” I ask, stepping off the top step and heading to my room.
“I guess my house is the exact opposite. There’s stuff everywhere you look. And you’ve seen my room, my walls. Looking at so much stuff can get exhausting. Don’t get me wrong; I love my mom’s decorating style and I love everything I put up on my walls. But right now my mind feels so full. I’m just saying some emptiness would be nice.”
I open the door to my room. “Well, you’re not about to get it in here.”
CARLI
Rex wasn’t kidding. Everywhere I look there’s something new for my eyes to land on. Other than the wall straight ahead with the sliding-glass door leading outside, there’s stuff everywhere.
“I’ll grab us some snot-free tees,” Rex says, and laughs.
“You’re never going to let me forget about that, are you?”
“Nope,” he says, and disappears into his walk-in closet to the left.
“I can’t wait until you slip up and do something embarrassing,” I say loudly, walking toward the wall-to-wall shelving unit to the right.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
On the top shelf, there’s a display box with a collection of pinned beetles between an old encyclopedia set and a framed pencil sketch of someone hugging a huge tree. On the shelves below, there are two globes, various art history books, a record player, a big stack of records, four African female busts wearing Rex’s baseball caps, a small green lamp sitting on a gold tray, and a ceramic red-and-blue clock. On his nightstand there’s a miniature rocking chair holding a silver watch on a stack of worn novels.
“Who knew you had such eclectic taste? I like . . . I like,” I say.
“Huh?” Rex shouts from the closet.
“Oh, nothing,” I mumble under my breath and walk over to his desk in the corner near his closet. His desk is actually an old wooden drafting table with a brass-and-steel file cabinet underneath it for drawers. On it there’s a silver vintage pencil sharpener and five neatly sharpened number-two pencils beside an opened precalculus book. Dang, this boy loves him some math. Above his desk there’s a roughly sketched portrait of a woman with two french braids.
I want to ask, Is that your mom? But I’m not ready to feel anymore sadness. Instead, I divert my eyes to the glass dome paperweight sitting on the upper right corner of his desk on top of a small notepad from Hotel Locarno Roma.
“Cool! You and your dad have been to Rome?” I shout, picking up the paperweight. There’s an abstract purple-and-blue watercolor painting inside.
Rex’s muffled voice comes from the closet. “Ha! Real funny. I seriously have so much to tell you.”
I’m tired of shouting. So I put the paperweight down and follow his voice into the closet, where he’s bent over looking inside his bottom built-in drawer along the left wall. When he sees me, he stands up with a shirt in his hand.
But there’s not one on his body.
REX
Carli is looking at me like I’m a straight-up snack. Like if she could, she would fold me in half, slap some peanut butter on me, and chomp away. I’m not gon’ even lie, she has your boy feeling a little shy up in here. I bite my lip to ease the embarrassment.
CARLI
Oh my goodness. He did not just bite his bottom lip. Is he trying to make me lose my mind? In this small space with his smooth, brown skin . . . his hard chest . . . his six-pack. And don’t even let me get me started on his dips. You know those creases that start at his hips and angle down toward his . . .
REX
“This is the smallest shirt I could find,” I say, trying to take some of the attention off me, and hold out a long-sleeved black-and-navy striped tee.
CARLI
Did he just invite me to come closer? Is that what he did? Okay, if he says so.
The first thing I do when I get to him is rub my hands down his chest and abs—hard and moisturized. I usually behave a little better than that, but I can’t help myself.
Then I start taking off my shirt. I mean, I’m looking at him so it’s only fair for him to be looking at me, right?
Rex must agree because he’s helping me get it over my shoulders and head.
He grabs my bare waist with both hands and I swear . . .
REX
If I could run off into my future with Carli right now, I would. No lie. But for now, I pull her body into mine. We’re so close I can see the faint tear streaks on her cheeks, so close I can feel her heat. Like it’s seeping into my chest, taking over me.
I gently dig my fingers into her waist, and she parts her mouth and reaches her lips toward mine. Her lip over my bottom lip, her tongue over my tongue, her breath mixing with my breath. Soft and wet. And hard.
CARLI
I’m feeling Rex like I’ve never felt another boy, and I want to feel more. I press into him and kiss him harder. Faster. It’s like my mouth, my body, can’t get enough.
His hands are underneath my ribs and I’m up on the dresser.
My lips race toward the closest part of his face, his forehead, and then down to the mole on the side of his nose, back to his mouth. My hands wrap around his neck, and his travel up over my bra.
He pulls away, his big black eyes asking me if it’s okay.
Yes! And I let out a moan as his fingers touch the tips of my nipples. Again as his wet tongue moves in circles, as his mouth sucks.
His hands on my thighs. His fingers up the outsides of my jean shorts.
But I want them on the inside.
REX
Carli’s moving her waist in circles. Somebody, help. Please. We cannot have sex in this closet. Don’t get me wrong, we could very well have sex in this cl
oset. Dude, if we don’t stop with all this kissing and touching and circling, we will definitely have sex in this closet. And it would be amazing. I’ve waited forever and a day to make love. But I don’t have condoms. And what I wouldn’t love is having a baby right now.
CARLI
Rex takes his mouth off me and slides his hands down to my knees.
“Will your dad be home soon?” I ask.
“Nah, he’ll probably be at the hospital all night,” he says, and brings one of his hands back up. I will it to my breasts, but he reaches higher and runs his fingers along my collarbone underneath my thin, gold chain. Balancing my medallion on his middle finger, he says, “I’ve never really taken a good look at this before. It’s dope.”
“Thanks,” I say, lean down, and grab his bottom lips with my lips.
He pulls away. “I don’t have any condoms.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling heat start to escape. There’s nothing sexy about the thought of getting pregnant right now. I might not know what I want to do with my life, but I do know I want options.
He hands me his shirt and I put it on. It smells like him, a mixture of pine trees and sweat. “You must’ve not washed this after you wore it last.”
“Don’t know. Here, you want another one?” he asks, bending down to look in his drawer.
“No, I love the way your funk smells.”
“Okay, you’re officially nasty,” he says, laughing, and slides on a black long-sleeved T-shirt.
“And you love it.”
REX
Back in my room, I’m sitting on my bed and Carli is walking around looking at everything. Touching everything. She picks up a small gold-and-pearl turtle off my nightstand and lifts its shell. “Where do you get all this stuff?” she asks. “Do you go antiquing?”
“Antiquing? Man, nah. I found it all in some boxes marked for donation during our move. It all belonged to my mom.”