My Only (9 page)

I had a mil ion things to say, but I didn’t say any of them. I just sat there quietly as she returned her gaze to the windows. The bel rang a few minutes later and I sighed. “I haven’t helped you at al ,” I said as I handed her back the study guide.

“Yeah, you have,” she said as she took the paper. As we stood up, she shoved everything into her backpack. “I know you have a game tomorrow, but do you think we can study on Saturday or something?”

Thankful for another chance to hang out with her, I said, “Yeah. I have practice in the morning, but I’m done by eleven.” Olivia hoisted the bag onto her shoulders. “I work until one, but maybe after?”

Nodding, I pushed in my chair, then hers. “Yeah. That’s awesome.”

Knowing what I now knew about her, I felt closer to her and more relaxed about our friendship and I couldn’t wait to learn even more.

With real hope that I’d made a solid connection, I parted ways with Olivia, wishing her luck on her history quiz. I made a silent vow to myself that if nothing else, I was going to help her care about school.

“So what would you write down after reading that paragraph?”

Olivia looked up at me from where she was lying on my bed. She was wearing a red SpongeBob SquarePants T-shirt and jeans. “Um . . . Antietam.

Sharpsburg, Maryland?” She paused, obviously looking for an indication that she was starting off okay. I nodded. “1862.”

“What month?”

“September.”

“Good. Keep going.”

She took a deep breath and then sat up, cross-legged, facing me. “Bloodiest battle in American history? One of the first battles of the Civil War that was in the north. General Lee versus General McClel an. Over twenty thousand casualties. Turning point of the war.”

“That’s good. So if it was an essay question, would you be able to give the who, what, when, where, and why of it?” Olivia nodded. She was getting it now. We’d spent another half hour this afternoon talking about finding the important parts of the text. Now, she needed to start considering things we were implementing in A.P. History. “What about describing its significance?” She tilted her head to the side. Her pink tongue swept out and flicked against the corner of her mouth before she bit it gently. I had to keep focusing on the fact that I was supposed to be helping her. If I al owed myself to get distracted by how cute she was, especial y right now, I’d turn into a bumbling mess and end up like Casey.

But she looked so sweet with her tongue out and her brow creased. Her hands were folded together as she thought. She was quiet long enough for me to get worried. I didn’t want her to fail, so I just about answered for her. As soon as I opened my mouth, though, she said, “Wel , it stopped the Confederacy’s invasion of the north, but the Union didn’t pursue them, right? So if McClel an had, he could’ve ended the war early. And didn’t Lincoln give the Emancipation Proclamation because of the victory?”

I nodded. She’d just given enough information to flush out an essay question, and she’d done it with information we hadn’t just read. She must have gotten that from the lectures in class. “That’s awesome, Liv! What you just said was—” I stopped when I saw her expression change. “What?” I asked, suddenly afraid that I’d done or said something terribly wrong.

Shaking her head, she kept her eyes fixed on the
X-Men
poster behind me. Olivia sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. “My mom used to cal me Liv. And Livie. My grandparents only cal me Olivia.”

“I’m sorry.” I hadn’t meant to bring up anything painful. I’d just been excited that she’d done so wel . “I won’t cal you that if you—”

“No,” she said, looking back at me. “No, I like it. I miss it,” she said, her voice soft. There was one short moment of silence before she took a deep breath. “So I did okay?”

It felt odd to shift emotions that quickly, but I wasn’t going to dwel on anything depressing for too long. “You did great. You did exactly what we talked about. Just the most essential facts.”

“Here’s a fun fact for you: Cows can produce between twenty to thirty gal ons of saliva a day.” I blinked and sat back in my chair. “Um, that’s random and disgusting, yet interesting.”

“I thought so, too.” She unfolded her legs and brought herself to sit on the edge of my bed. “So what’s yours?”

“Mine, what?”

“Fun fact. I give you one, you give me one.”

“Oh,” I said, trying hard to keep up with the seemingly simple conversation. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. Let me think.” So many useless facts flooded my brain. I had to be careful which one I picked. It had to be something good. Something she might find interesting. It had to be something that would tel her a bit about myself without revealing how big of a geek I real y was.

Olivia liked dancing, so that meant she liked music. Drumming fit that, but I didn’t want to tel her about a drummer in a rock band because that would be too easy. Everyone already knew that Def Leppard had a one-armed drummer, and I didn’t think she’d care that ZZ Top—the band known for their long beards—had a drummer with the last name Beard who was the only member who was beardless. She lived with her grandparents, who were probably too young to have real y been into the Big Band music, but might have given their granddaughter an appreciation for it nonetheless.

“
Sing, Sing, Sing
is thought to be the first recording of a drum solo. Gene Krupa played it.” Her expression of happiness felt like a huge reward! But then she asked, “Is that the one that goes: ‘It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing’?”

I was taken aback. I knew she wasn’t giving it her al , but she had a nice voice to complement the beauty of the rest of her. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I shook my head. “No. That’s another one.
Sing, Sing, Sing
is mainly instrumental.” I opened up my laptop and pul ed up YouTube. As I searched for it, she came to watch over my shoulder.

When I started it up, she put her hand on the back of my chair. She was so close to me that I didn’t have to turn around to see her body start moving to the beat. I could feel it.

“Yeah, I know this song. It’s awesome. Can you play it on the drums?”

I felt proud. “Yeah. It was one of the first songs I could play al the way through.”

“So awesome,” she said, and I craned my neck and looked up at her. She wasn’t outright dancing, but she was moving like she wanted to.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? My dad’s off today and he loves to cook. I thought maybe you’d—”

“I don’t eat what everyone else eats, so I’m not sure I can.”

“What does that mean?”

She took a step back, al owing me to stand. I put my knee on the chair and rested my hands on the back of it as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

“It means that I’d like to stay for dinner, but I’m vegan, so I’m not sure I’l be able to.”

“Vegan? Like no meat?”

“Yeah. Or dairy. Or any animal products of any kind.”

I’d never met a vegan before. “Real y? What do you eat?”

She laughed, but I didn’t know why. She must have sensed my confusion or saw it on my face because her laughter quieted and she answered,

“Everything that didn’t come from an animal.”

“Oh.” I real y wanted her to stay for dinner, though. “My dad watches a lot of cooking shows. I’m sure he could make something for you. Do you want to stay if he can?”

“Yeah, of course. And it doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Pasta works. I can help him if he wants.” I chuckled. “I think he can handle pasta.” I went over to the door. “I’l go ask him if it’s cool.”

“Can we go to the garage so I can see your drums?”

“You real y like music, don’t you?”

From behind me she said, “It’s freeing.”

I stopped then turned, my hand on the railing. Since she’d appeared in Lakeside, I’d been taken with her. I’d been studying her. When she’d first arrived, I’d studied her outward attributes—facial structure, expressions, body, nonverbal cues—but now that we spent actual time together, talking, I studied what made her tick—who she was, what her general outlook on life was.

It was in moments like these—the quiet moments when simple two-word answers—revealed the most. Olivia was pretty open about herself. She seemed to know who she was, and more importantly, she seemed to like who she was.

I wanted to be like that.

“What?” she asked, her voice and face expressing a bit of amusement.

I pressed my lips together and my eyes narrowed, not in scrutiny, but in contemplation. She was such an honest person. Wel , she could have been lying, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like everything she said, everything she did, was an honest and true representation of herself. I wanted to know more.

“Why don’t you play an instrument?”

Olivia put her hand on the banister. She was directly across from me, only a foot and a half away, mirroring my position. “I never got the opportunity.”

I could’ve let it go at that. I could’ve started down the stairs or said something to fil the silence, but I didn’t. My eyes were staring into hers, and I wondered if anyone had ever told her that the golden flecks that accentuated her irises looked as if a master painter had placed each one of them there on purpose.

“My mom was a great mom, but we couldn’t afford instruments, you know?”

I nodded. I
did
know. I had at least five thousand dol ars wrapped up in drums. When we’d first gotten into band in middle school, Casey had rented his trombone. “Yeah,” I replied. “I’l teach you how to play the drums if you want.” Her eyes widened. “Real y?” I nodded. “That’s awesome!”

“But first let’s make sure you can stay for dinner.”

We headed downstairs. My dad was in the living room watching
Ace of Cakes
. I felt a little weird about putting Dad on the spot asking if she could stay for dinner in front of her. Things seemed to be awkward enough between my dad and me, so I took Olivia straight to the garage.

“Oh, my God, that’s awesome!”

Her excitement was infectious. She went over to my drum kit and tapped her fingernail against the crash cymbal. The sound was muted and soft.

I went to the shelf where I kept al my sticks and picked out some for her. “Here,” I said, offering them to her.

“Real y?”

I laughed. I’d just gotten finished tel ing her that I would teach her how to play the drums, yet she looked shocked that I was giving her drumsticks.

“Yeah, here.” I extended my arm until she took them.

Tentatively, she tapped one against the same cymbal but when it made a louder sound than she was obviously expecting, she pul ed her hand back. “Sit,” I said. When she did, I stood beside her. “That’s the bass drum, obviously. These are the toms. That’s a snare. Floor tom. That’s the ride cymbal. The crash. And the hi-hat.”

She took it al in, moving her eyes over each drum and cymbal. “Have at it,” I said.

“I thought you said you were going to
teach
me!”

“I am. First thing about the drums is just figuring out how each sound and then figuring out how the tone changes with the different sticks, mal ets, and brushes you use and also with what kind of stroke you use. You can real y bang on it or you can make the whole thing change by giving a few ghost strokes.”

“Al right,” she said breathily as she hesitantly brought the sticks down on the snare.

“I’l be right back, okay? I’m just going to go talk to my dad. Do you have to see if it’s okay with your grandparents that you stay?” She stopped playing and pul ed her cel phone out of her pocket. Olivia didn’t use it. Al she did was wave it at me and then toss it onto the beanbag chair a few feet from the drums. “I’l cal later.”

“You going to be okay if I go in?” I asked, but then felt stupid. Why wouldn’t she be okay?

Olivia winked at me before turning her attention back to the drum kit. Once inside, I headed straight for the living room. I wanted so badly for her to be able to stay, but in asking my dad if she could, I’d be revealing something huge to him. At least it felt huge. I’d never had a girl over for dinner.

Aaron had girlfriends over al the time. My dad and I had sat through so many stupid conversations, feigning interest in whatever Aaron’s girlfriend of the moment was into. Now I would be the one with company. She wasn’t my girlfriend, but the fact that she would be sharing a meal with us because I asked her was big enough.

“Dad?”

He looked up from his place on the couch. Usual y after work he looked so tired, but when he’d had a day off and was pretty wel rested he looked young, sometimes too young to be a father of high school seniors. I didn’t think I looked much like him. His hair was a dark blond or light brown. Instead of having brown eyes like me and Aaron, his were a bluish-green. But in terms of body type, Aaron was more like him. He was tal and thick. My dad was strong, and he looked it.

Today he had scruff—another sign that he’d had a night off.

“What’s up?” he asked.

There would be no easy way to ask it. Anything I said would result in him being shocked or surprised, but I didn’t know how big of a deal he’d make of it. He never said much about Aaron’s girls coming over, but with this being the first time for me, I thought maybe he’d make a thing out of it.