Pictures of You (24 page)

             
“What is it?”

             
“A flu survival kit,” he said with a goofy, proud look on his face. “Let’s see…vegetarian chicken noodle soup.” He pulled it out. It was in a foam To-Go container with a plastic lid.

             
“No way. Where did you find vegetarian chicken noodle soup? You’re my hero.” My stomach rumbled. I’d been living on saltines for the past couple of days.

             
“There’s this little veggie café I’ll have to take you to sometime. And of course, some orange juice.” He pulled out a carton. “With 300% of your daily allowance of vitamin C. You can never have too much of that.” He reached into the bag. “A Sesame Street coloring book, with the ever coveted set of ninety-six Crayola crayons.
With
a built-in sharpener.”

             
“I’ve always wanted this. I never had anything bigger than the sixteen count.”

             
“Well it’s about time all your Crayola dreams came true.”

             
“And I love Sesame Street. How did you know?”

             
“Who doesn’t like Sesame Street?”

             
“Mary, for one. She says the show creeps her out.”

             
He laughed. “You’re kidding. Okay, I also brought you some short stories.” He pulled out a manila file filled with white paper.

             
“Wait.
Your
short stories? You’re going to let me read them?” I asked, eager to finally get my hands on them.

             
“Yes, but if you hate them, promise me you won’t keep reading just to be nice,” he said, holding the folder out of my reach until I agreed.

             
“Okay, I promise.” I flipped through a few of the pages. A smashed fly decorated the title of one of the stories.

             
“And, last but not least, an ‘80s mix CD.”

             
“You made me a mix CD?” I said, wanting to cry. “No one’s ever made me a mix CD before.” Cute doodles of spaceships and weird little aliens decorated the CD insert. I knew he’d put a lot of thought into it and it was probably the sweetest thing any guy had ever given me.

             
He looked surprised. “You’re kidding. If I’d met you earlier, I would’ve made you a hundred of them.”

24

             
           The day after Adrien’s visit, I began feeling like myself again. A little weak and tired, but more restless than anything. I took a refreshing lukewarm shower, washing my hair twice. I’d just finished reading his short stories. He was a quirky and inventive writer and he came up with the most unusual metaphors. One story was about a geeky high school student (wearing a dorky dinosaur shirt) trying to gather courage to ask his longtime crush to the prom. I wondered if it was autobiographical and just picturing Adrien in a dinosaur shirt made me bust out in laughter.

             
As I ran a comb through my chaotic hair, I heard muffled voices coming from the front room. I assumed it was Mary and Keaton until I pressed my ear against the bathroom door. I recognized his voice immediately. Adrien was here. Their voices remained obscure until I flipped off the bathroom fan and opened the door just a sliver. I heard Mary say, “Tember’s sister actually stole John away from her. She never saw it coming. It surprised everyone. We never thought John was the cheating type. We thought he was smitten with September. Well, he seemed to be at first. Abby had told me September was pretty crushed when he dumped her…Tember said John and April weren’t remorseful in the least. They justified the whole thing and accused Tember of blowing things out of proportion. They felt
entitled
to cheat. Like they were meant to be together and September shouldn’t get in their way.”

             
I struggled to catch Adrien’s reply. “I had no idea. Anyone would be an idiot to let September go…”

             
Mary continued, “Even if April and John
were
meant to be, like soul mates, or whatever, they should’ve handled it better.”

             
“Definitely,” Adrien said.

             
“Can you imagine? September was in love with him and now he’s going to be her brother-in-law. I mean, gross.”

             
“That would be really weird and awkward.”

             
There was a long pause before Mary said, “Are you sure you can’t go with her to her parents’ anniversary thingy? She’s ultra dreading showing up solo.”

             
“I wish I could be there for her,” he said. “I have an important commitment to keep.”

             
I swallowed twice and squeezed my eyes shut. The words “important commitment
”
rung in my ears. Again, I pictured a young Adrien in a dinosaur shirt until I felt genuinely happy. I marched out of the bathroom, determined to enjoy what little time I had left with the boy who I couldn’t help but love. But first I grabbed a CD from my room. I thought the mix CD he made me was so sweet, I made him one yesterday. Like his, mine was also ‘80s. I put on some of my favorite love songs. I was sneaky and included a few songs with messages of hope and even squeezed in a couple of guilt trips. Actually all of the songs’ lyrics were messages to him, things I would say if there were no consequences.

              “Hey, Adrien,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

             
He smiled, making my insides soften like a Tootsie Roll left in the car on a summer day. “Rumor has it you’re feeling better. I wanted to spend the day with my favorite girl.”

             
“Sounds good to me,” I said, flushing a little. “I have something for you.” I handed him the CD.

             
“Oh, wow. Thanks.” His eyes trailed the long list of tracks. “Kate Bush, OMD, Corey Hart, The Human League…Good stuff! I can’t wait to listen to it. I’ve heard most of these but some of them are new to me.” He shoved it into his jacket pocket. “I still can’t believe we have such similar taste in music. No one our age listens to this stuff.”

             
“I know. Very strange.”

             
“So why didn’t you tell me about John and Abby? That’s a pretty big deal,” he said, stroking Tiger’s back. Blissful, he hummed like a diesel, his eyes two slits.

             
I plopped down on the couch next to them. “Careful, you’re going to spoil him. Just like you spoil me. Soon you’ll find us both at your doorstep and there will be no turning back.”

             
His lips curled upwards. “That wouldn’t be so bad. Seriously, though. I had no idea. Now I get why you need a date to your parents’ party. What happened with your sister and your ex is pretty awful.”

             
I shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. The last thing he needed was another thing to feel bad about. Of course I wanted him to come with me, but I wasn’t going to press the issue. Not again. Not when his impending suicide was such a delicate subject and my asking might push him away. But I knew I still hadn’t tried everything I could to stop him. I couldn’t let him destroy himself. Couldn’t he see how
wonderful
he was? What was there left to do? Was there any hope? Rose’s words bobbed to the surface of my mind. I could always call his parents. Maybe he could be hospitalized. Forced to get professional help. There may be drugs for this. Anything to keep him around.

             
“And speaking of parents, I want to hear more about yours. They live in Las Vegas still, right?” Adrien nodded. “Remind me of their names.”

             
He laughed. “Why would you want to know their names?”

             
Okay, this wasn’t going to be that easy. Maybe if I found out where he lived, I could find a phone number and talk to one of his roommates. He had to have roommates. No one our age could afford living alone unless they were rich. “So…Just out of curiosity, where do you live?” I said, keeping my tone light and casual. “I feel like we’ve known each other forever and I’ve never even seen your place.”

             
He studied my face carefully. I knew then he’d figured me out. He was too smart. Thankfully he didn’t get ticked this time. He let it go and changed the subject. “Did you get around to reading my stories?”

             
“Yes, I read them all. You really kill me. You’re really funny, but in a subtle, clever way. I love your dry humor…your brutal honesty. It’s very refreshing. You’re very talented. I’m surprised you’re not published yet.”

             
He pursed his lips as his brows rose. “Wow, was I fishing for compliments?”

             
“I’m being totally honest. You really have what it takes. You’re going to be a hotshot writer someday! It’ll all go to your head and you’ll lose your endearing humility. Ugh. It’ll be tragic.” I laughed. “So forget what I said. I love you the way you are: humble and self-deprecating—” I stopped cold, realizing I’d slipped and confessed my love for him. Did he catch that? My flushing cheeks betrayed me again. Wasn’t there a magic pill for this? An anti-blushing ointment?

             
“I love you, too, September,” Adrien said so softly, I wondered if I imagined it. For a few seconds I could’ve sworn he was going to kiss me. His hand inched up my arm, giving me instant goose bumps. It trailed over my shoulder and stopped and rested gently on my neck, his thumb toying with my throat, my cheek, my jaw. His green eyes—his beautiful, beautiful baby grass green eyes—caught and held mine, then wandered down to my mouth and back to my eyes. My lips were on fire as he began closing the gap between us. At that point I was aching to feel his mouth on mine. A dizzy rush came over me. He was so close I could smell him.

             
I could’ve screamed at Mary for her rotten timing.

             
“Yahtzee anyone?” she said, an eyebrow raised, her lips in a twist.

             
I settled on hitting her in the face with a throw pillow.

***

              I promised to get off work early to meet Adrien and Mary at Blue Moon to see Keaton’s band, Foolish Thing Desire, perform. It was really strange to see all of the members of The Striped Goat—everyone but Abby—in a new band, with a new lead singer, some guy I’d never even met. But weirder than that was the way Adrien behaved after our almost-kiss. Distant wouldn’t be a strong enough word. Maybe more like aloof. Although originally he wanted to spend the day with me, “his favorite girl,” he’d said, he apparently had something “important” come up. He did agree to meet with me after work for the gig, but I almost wish he hadn’t.

             
Blue Moon, an all-ages club and popular hangout for hipsters, goths and artsy types, was just a couple miles from my apartment. The Striped Goat played there a lot on weekdays. The inside, a cave, smelled of sickly sweet Italian soda, sweat and mildew. Unstable blue cocktail tables, along with mismatched stools dotted the room. A few people sat at the bar, including a guy who reminded me of Chris and touchy-feely couple sharing an Italian soda. Only a handful of people were here to support the band, including Tyrone’s parents, which was a surprise. They’d always frowned on his dreams of being a musician and thought of it as a silly phase he’d eventually grow out of. Maybe tragedy brought them here and changed their minds. His parents were old money and dressed it. Their haute couture apparel looked out of place in the seedy club.

             
The band played a slow song that dripped like sap as I walked in. Their guitars nearly collided on the minuscule stage, framed by heavy blue velvet curtains. A glittery half-moon hung low over the band, almost knocking Marcus’s top hat off. I was surprised to see how everyone had changed. Marcus had finally chopped his sparse ponytail off. Tyrone wasn’t so skinny anymore. He’d been working out. Keaton looked about the same, but his eyes gave away sadness, something I’d never seen in the Striped Goat days. The accident had forced us all to grow up too soon. The new lead singer was impressive, although I didn’t want to admit it. His voice was low and powerful. He was annoyingly attractive and charismatic, too. I’d hoped he’d be horrible because it was painful to see Abby so easily replaced.

             
No, no one could replace her. We all knew that. But life marched on without her—a bittersweet fact.

             
I spotted Mary and Adrien at one of the tables in the front.

             
“Hey,” I said, sliding in between them, sitting on an empty stool with a crack in the vinyl.

             
“Hey, glad you made it,” Mary said, squeezing my hand. Her hair was a shocking pink, cut quite a bit shorter, now brushing her collarbone.