My Only (4 page)

Truth be told, I would’ve rather worked for M.T. Shelves, but I doubted it had the budget for more than the owner and his wife. The only reason they were stil in business was because they specialized in rare editions, odd titles, and “gently used and greatly loved” books. Another thing I liked about the old bookstore was its name. The owner named it after himself, M.T. and since the shelves were
always
packed with books, it was ironic.

Even the old commercials played up the fact that M.T. Shelves’ actual shelves were anything but empty.

There was something special about that place. The smel was nothing like Barnes & Noble. M.T. Shelves smel ed of dusty pages, stale cigarettes, and mothbal s. Perhaps it wasn’t as appealing as the Bath and Body Works store, but it was comforting. I would probably be seventy years old and stil remember it.

I wondered if time went by fast there, or if it was so slow on Saturdays that I could get lost in one of the endless rows of books, just browsing while on the clock. But here at the mal , it was already after one in the afternoon and my manager told me to take my lunch break. I liked to take a walk before getting something to eat, so I took a left out of my store and passed Hot Topic and Spencer’s Gifts. Down the way was Macy’s. I’d take a right and then walk back on the other side, finishing out the east corridor.

I was looking toward the center, trying not to make eye contact with the people offering a one-minute back massage for free or the girl who wanted to squirt me with some hideous cologne that Aaron would like. Unfortunately, I was concentrating so deeply on avoiding being molested or saturated that I wasn’t watching where I was walking. I bumped into someone just outside the toy store. It wasn’t just a bump. It was more of a slam. I had to take a few steps back to steady myself, and the person I knocked into landed on the tiled floor.

I’d run into a girl. She’d made a little “unff” noise when she landed, so instantly I felt like crap. “I’m so sorry,” I rushed to say, bending down to help her up. When she tilted her head to the side and swung her hair over her shoulder, I stood up straight. It wasn’t just any girl, it was Olivia. I shoved my hands into my pockets as she picked herself up.

She was looking right at me. I immediately looked down at her feet. She was wearing a nice pair of Vans—black and pink. “Wow. That’s a very impactful way of saying hel o.”

Her voice was light, but I felt horrible for running into her. I was embarrassed. I
had
to talk to her, so I bal ed my fists up inside my pocket and managed to say, “I’m sorry!”

I risked a quick look up at her. Her eyebrows rose as she nodded. “Hi. You live across the street from me.” I furrowed my brow as she spoke. She was starting a conversation with me. Inept and put on the spot, I couldn’t move or speak.

“I’m Olivia.”

I managed to meet her eyes for about a half a second before averting them to the corridor. The tal girl with the perfume attacked a woman who was probably over sixty years old. I could hear her cheerleader voice attempting to sel the grandmother a product made for a twenty-year-old.

“I’m in Current Events with you, I think.”

“I know,” I said, distractedly. Oh, my God, did I real y just say it like that? How big of a fool was I? She was going to think I was special needs or something! I needed to get away—fast! “Um, I have to . . . my break, and I can’t . . .” I trailed off as my feet propel ed me past her.

“Bye,” I heard her say behind me, but I couldn’t stop to think about it. I was such an idiot!

I was down in the food court waiting to buy what was supposed to pass as Chinese food when I heard, “Man, you’re like my shadow.” Turning around slowly, I came face-to-face with Olivia. She was shorter than I was by about half a foot, but there was something about her that made her seem tal er. Now that I was caught in the food line with no escape to be had, I took the chance to real y look at her. I’d seen her from a distance—dancing and studying. I’d seen her from a few yards away—smiling and laughing in class. But now she was right in front of me. She was natural. She wore no makeup.

One of the most striking things about her was her eyes. They were brown; not any unique shade of brown, but they were deep and knowing. Like she’d lived a long time or she’d seen more of life than most people our age.

The next thing I focused on was her lips. They were perfect. They looked like the lips you saw on supermodels—al col agen-injected and botoxed. But these were natural lips. Not to sound too much like a girl, but her top lip was like the top of a heart. Two perfect arches. The bottom was plump and pouty.

I wanted to say something stupid, like,
“Your lips are beautiful,”
or do something stupid like run my thumb over the bottom lip, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.

But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know how to respond. Was it a bad thing that I was like her shadow? What did that even mean? Should I leave the food court? Was it a joke? Should I laugh?

I had to say something, even if it was the wrong thing. “Wel , uh . . .”

Those deep brown eyes twinkled as she laughed. “I guess maybe I’m
your
shadow, since you were here first, right?” I gave her a tentative smile. My attention was pul ed away, since it was my turn to order. The lady behind the register yel ed something, so I stepped up, and ordered the orange chicken. I paid then stepped to the side and tried not to focus on how Olivia was right next to me as she ordered the eggplant and tofu. I tried not to listen to her make polite conversation as the lady took her money, and not to be amazed that Olivia actual y made the woman smile. I’d never seen the lady crack a grin in two years.

When my food was up, I took the tray and found a two-top table. A minute later I looked up to find Olivia had set her tray on the other side. “I’m sitting with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

I swal owed hard, looked down, and began to fiddle with my paper napkin.

“I’m Olivia Cartwright.”

“I know,” I mumbled as I skewered a piece of chicken with my black plastic fork.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not as pretentious as my name sounds.”

“I . . . I . . . I would never think that.”

“Soooo,” she said after a moment. “Now that I’ve introduced myself to you, like, a hundred times,” she paused to smack her lips together. The sound was like a pointed punctuation. “What’s your name?”

“Adam James,” I answered. I had wanted to eat my food, but suddenly I wasn’t very hungry. I set the fork down and placed my hands in my lap.

“And you’re a junior?”

“Senior,” I said. How would she not know that? She had to know Aaron was a senior.

“Real y?”

I took a little offense to being pegged as a junior by this girl who didn’t know anything about me. I answered a bit defensively, “Last time I checked.”

“You’re Aaron’s brother, right?”

I nodded shortly in answer.

“How can you be in the same grade if he’s older than you?”

“What?” At this point I thought she had to be a moron. What the hel was she asking? “He’s twenty-two minutes older than me.”

“Oh,” she said. Her eyes were narrowed, as if she was studying me intently. I should’ve been nervous under her gaze, but now I was just baffled.

No one had ever
not
gotten it before.

“We’re twins,” I said to clarify.

“So, fraternal?”

I sighed. “No. We’re identical. We shared the same placenta. We were one egg that split in half, just like al the other identical twins out there.”

“But you guys aren’t identical. I mean, you look like you’re twins, I guess, but you just look . . .
younger
.” On edge, I looked away. “I assume you’ve taken biology.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you know that DNA varies in everyone.”

“My old Biology teacher never covered twins. Sorry.”

She was stil looking at me like I was a science experiment, but she was leaning back in her chair, arms folded over her chest. I didn’t want to be upset with her. I didn’t know why I was upset with her, except maybe because it always seemed to hurt when I thought about how different I was from Aaron. My desire to be like him physical y, emotional y, and mental y was causing me to respond this way.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. “Al babies have a piece of their DNA that isn’t just a replication of their parents. That’s what makes al of us unique. We’re not copies of other people. We’re not just half our fathers, and half our mothers. There’s something that is just us in our DNA. Chromosomes that are unlike what we were given by our parents. That’s what gives offspring their variation.” Olivia’s expression had shifted from casual curiosity to genuine interest, so I continued. I explained it the way my doctor had explained it to me.

“Aaron was closer to the placenta, giving him first dibs on nutrients.” I picked up my fork and started to eat. There wasn’t much time left in my break.

But before I real y started to chow down, I added, “Plus, my cord was wrapped around my neck. No one’s sure how long it’d been like that, but it denied me oxygen and probably al the good stuff from my mother. Like hormones and nutrients. He was healthy and I was in the NICU for weeks.” It might have been a lot of information to give someone I’d just met, but she’d asked.

It was silent at our table. She started eating. It wasn’t until we were both almost finished that she said, “You’re smart.” I didn’t know what to do with that kind of compliment, so I shifted in my seat, looked away, and general y acted like an awkward idiot.

“I’ve got to get back,” she said.

When I looked up, she was checking her watch. “Me, too,” I said with a nod.

We cleaned up our table, dumped our trash and then walked back to our wing of the mal . When we reached Barnes & Noble, we stopped.

Lingering outside the entrance, I was unsure of what to do or what to say, but that seemed to be par for the course.

“So how long have you worked here?” she asked.

“Two years.”

“You must like books, then.”

I wanted this girl to like me, so I forced myself to interact. I pointed at her name tag. “You work at the toy store?” Duh. Of course she did. Her uniform, the name tag, and the fact that I’d bowled her over outside of the store told me that much.

“Yeah,” she said. She didn’t make it sound like she thought it was a stupid question. “I applied at a few places, but I guess I just wasn’t Build-A-Bear material.”

I wanted to keep it going. “Do you like it?”

“It’s not as cool as a book or music store, but it’s okay. There are worse things to do to make money. I don’t have to touch food or old people.” I chuckled. “Also, I don’t have to work with Ms. Sourface back at the Chinese joint. Could you imagine that?” I laughed again, feeling myself relax a bit.

“You have a nice laugh, Adam.”

“I should get back to work.”

She stopped me mid-turn with a hand on my forearm. “So, I was told that you’re the guy to see about history.”

“Huh? What?” I blinked rapidly. It wasn’t going to help me figure out the huge shift in the conversation, but I did it anyway. “History?”

“Yeah. Ms. Clark said you might, you know, tutor me, or whatever. And Aaron said you, like, live and breathe history, so I thought . . .” Suddenly, al of the dots connected in my mind. The whole time we’d been talking, it wasn’t about the pretty girl getting to know the nerd. This wasn’t a made-for-TV movie, but it felt as clichéd as one. How could I have been so stupid? She wasn’t interested in
me
. She was interested in how I could help her improve her history grade.

As embarrassed as I felt, I had to save
some
face. I would just tel her that Ms. Clark was wrong and my brother was lying. Or I could just say that I wasn’t available.

But why wasn’t I available? Not even someone who knew me would believe that my social calendar kept me too busy to tutor.

“Wel ,” I started, “I’m not a . . .” I glanced through the window and saw Delaney chatting up a soccer mom with a stack of romance books. I wanted to be inside the safety of my store. I wanted to go back to what I knew. I wanted to just crush on Delaney, who was total y out of my league, but she never made me feel it. “I mean, sure,” I said, without realizing I’d just agreed to tutor Olivia Cartwright.

“Thanks so much! I’l see you, Adam.”

The rest of the day I was lost in a self-berating haze. I finished my shift wondering why I always did stuff like this to myself. Why I let myself believe that a beautiful girl like Olivia would real y be interested in me. As I practiced marching with my drum, my body moved on autopilot as my mind mul ed over our interaction. She only needed me for tutoring, and honestly, she was probably just pumping me for information on Aaron.

Next to him, who would be interested in me?

Early Sunday evening there was a knock on the front door. My dad was stil sleeping in preparation for his night shift, and Aaron was out doing something with his friends. I’d been at the kitchen table reading over my English assignment. I didn’t want to study upstairs—mainly because I’d feel compel ed to look over at the Cartwrights’ house and see if Olivia was in the window.