The Weight of Rain (42 page)

“You wanted labels, I gave you them. Now I want you to start realizing that what we have isn’t going to end in June.”

My heart aches. Physically aches. I wish I hadn’t opened that letter today. I wish I didn’t know I was accepted to Florence.

“I love you, Lo. This shit isn’t going anywhere, certainly not in a few weeks.”

Tears course over my cheeks and my nose runs. I can’t see King clearly, but I hear the sheets shift and feel his arms encircle me seconds later.

“You got in.” There’s no inflection to his words because they aren’t a question. He knows. “Lo, you can’t be upset, babe. This is great! It’s amazing! You worked your ass off for this!” He briskly runs his hands up and down my arms as if trying to spark some enthusiasm.

“How am I going to leave you?”

“You aren’t,” he says adamantly. “You’re going to go on a work trip, and then you’re coming back. We’ll figure out where you’re going to live, but you’re coming back to Portland. And while I think long-distance relationships seem like hell on earth, we’re going to walk through the fire together, and we’re going to come out on the other side. I don’t care how hard it is. I don’t care that it’s going to be a fucking pain in the ass to find time to talk because you’re going to be nine hours ahead. You and me, Lo, we can do this. We’ve got this shit.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, and that’s how I know we’re going to make this work. We’ll figure it out.”

“King, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you.”

“Now tell me you believe we can do this.”

S
ATURDAY ARRIVES
too fast. I’m sitting in the stands between Summer and Mercedes, waiting impatiently to see King for his first event. He’s just been announced, and my heart is beating a mile a minute with anticipation and nerves.

“He’s gonna kill it,” Summer says, changing the lens on her camera. “The cocky bastard is going to create a name for himself today.”

I see Kash first, his bright red hat visible in a sea of helmets and other baseball hats.

“This is going to be epic.” Mercedes is calm, poised in her seat, ready for things to start, fully confident in King’s abilities.

“Alright, any special shots or you just want as much as I can do?”

“The latter.”

Summer laughs softly and brings her camera to her face, obscuring the expression I know is mocking me.

King rides along the top of the rink a couple of times and then proceeds to bounce the bike in place a few times on the back tire. I’ve seen him do this a hundred times and still I’m captivated, watching the fluency he has with the bike. He slides down the ramp and does a single flip, landing seamlessly on the next one, which he pedals down with a fierceness and determination that I can feel in my own muscles. He goes up and rotates so many times I lose count before he lands again, this time securing to the concrete with only the front tire and swinging the bike around as he stands on a peg, precariously close to the edge. The crowd is insane. They’re cheering and screaming, so amped up on the show he’s delivering that I’m realizing everyone is feeling the adrenaline rush he’s creating. He bounces the bike a couple of times and then soars back down the ramp, landing and then flipping along with the bike so that it looks like the bike is doing a back handspring with him along for the ride.

It’s perfectionism in motion. Not a single thing could have been done more flawlessly, and the crowd knows it. Their cheers grow louder before he lands his final stunt and moves so that he has both tires firmly on the ground. Then his bike is down, his eyes wide.

“Go!” Summer demands, pushing me out of my seat. She points with one arm, still holding her camera with the other, and I don’t ask. I go.

King must see me as I hedge against the rail to the aisle, because he’s running toward me, his fingers releasing his helmet. I climb over the wall that holds the audience back, and Kash is on the other side, offering me his hand, but I don’t need it. I hop down, and the moment I do, King is there. He’s sweating and his muscles are vibrating with adrenaline and excitement that I know is going to make him crash later, but right now, I want to bask in it with him. My hands are fisted in his shirt and my lips are sealed with King’s, giving and taking in a kiss that clearly states we wish we were alone and could ride out this high, pushing each other to the very limits.

When we part, King holds either side of my face and presses his forehead against mine. “Thank you.”

“This was all you, babe.”

“This was all you believing in me.”

“You owned it, King. It was flawless. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” I don’t know if he can hear my last words over the announcement being made and the deafening crowd. Still, I yell how much I love him, and hear him yell something in response, and though I can’t understand it, I know he’s saying the same.

A
LTHOUGH IT’S
Monday, I have a bounce in my step as I make my way to the Knight residence. My hair is being unnaturally even-tempered for how damp it is, and I don’t have to work at the restaurant or shop. I essentially have the next six weeks to finish school, watch Mercedes, and spend time with King. Not to mention I’m starting to feel comfortable with my decision to go to Italy for the summer. I’ve never been abroad, and in this case I will not only be going to a beautiful city filled with culture and beauty, and as King assures me, delicious food, but I am going to have the opportunity to work on some of the amazing art that fills the city.

I bound up to the door with a smile stretching my lips wide and check to see if the door is unlocked. It swings open, revealing someone is home. A song is playing in my head, a sketch occurring in my mind as I shed my coat and bag and then stop, hearing soft murmurs followed by a sound that has become nearly foreign. My feet take me down the hall until I reach Mercedes’ room, and I stop in the doorway, where my heart lurches to my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything wreck me like watching Mercedes cry. It creates a chaotic mess of emotions that make me think of the time I tried splatter painting, which involved dipping a paintbrush and then using sharp, jerky movements to splatter paint across a canvas. Lights covering darks, hues that didn’t belong together comingling, undefined shapes and borders. It was too messy for me, and I feel like that now. My anger is peaking. My eyes are heavy, stinging with tears. My need to make her happy and laugh is pushing me to forget the other emotions, and it ends with me staring at King, whose eyes have lifted from Mercedes to look at me.

“They all hate me, King. I can’t go back.”

I watch his throat move as he swallows words and threats I know he’s experiencing because I am as well. “They don’t hate you. They’re jealous.”

“They aren’t jealous! There’s nothing to be jealous about. That’s what people tell others so they don’t feel bad. They
hate
me! They hate everything about me!”

“There is nothing about you that anyone could hate. It’s not possible. They’re being assholes to get a rise out of you. It’s people like that you should pity. They don’t see the joy in life. All they see is the threat they offer, and to try and maximize that threat, they act like a bunch of assclowns and attack. They’re vicious and heartless. You have to…” King’s words drift off, and his brows furrow in pain. He isn’t sure what to say. I’m sure his instincts are providing instructions on how to be a bigger asshole in return, but something is stopping that advice, and it turns my stomach because although I hate the thought of her being equipped with how to be the bigger bully, I loathe seeing her in this kind of pain and feel subsequently responsible for prolonging it.

I take a step closer to the bed to ensure she will hear me when King doesn’t speak. “You don’t want to become them, Mercedes. You want to be like Summer: talented, strong, and loving. Those girls at your school are never,
never
going to be like Summer, not even half as good because they’re going to get so distracted in their lives by trying to ruin others, they’re going to miss their own opportunities.”

King releases a deep breath and closes his eyes, making it unclear if he believes my insight or hates that he does.

The afternoon is slow. My previous mood has, like the rain, washed away, but as many rainbows as I try to create, Mercedes refuses to see any of them. I can’t blame her. Sometimes we all need to respect and acknowledge the pain we’re experiencing. Otherwise, it just festers. Sadly, King vanished shortly after I arrived, and I hate wondering if he’s upset with me for interfering.

I
SET
up the stairs of my apartment complex, my hand reaching for my phone to see if King’s sent me anything, and stop when I see Charleigh on the landing, her movements stalled, waiting to see my reaction.

“Hey,” I say, taking the last step so I’m standing on level ground with her.

“Hey.” There’s a faint smile on her lips.

“So, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened exactly. I think I just got a little jealous of you spending so much time with your new boyfriend, and you not introducing him or telling me about him, that when I heard you dropped out of the show, I was so shocked I didn’t know how else to really react.” I try to trace back to that day and what all we said to each other. “I understand why you’ve made the decisions you have.”

“Because of King?”

“Not just him. Because of Mercedes, and Kash, and Summer, Allie, and you. You guys have all taught me about love and how life is too short to waste it doing something you don’t love.”

“I’m sorry I blew up on you. I never meant to hurt you or Allie. You both mean so much to me, and I just got caught up in things. I want you to meet him, but I also want to spend some time with you, catch up.”

“I’d like that.”

“Have you heard back from Italy yet? Are you going to be saying things like
ciao
, and
mi scusi
?”

I take a deep breath and nod. “I’m hoping my accent will be better than yours, but yeah.”

Charleigh’s eyes grow wide, lacking a reciprocating smile. “You’re going?” The lilt in her voice makes it difficult for me to decipher between it being a question or disbelief.

“June second.”

“But it’s good … right?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

Charleigh’s eyes are still wide as she nods, her motions stiff and forced, making it clear it was disbelief.

“Hey, if you don’t have anything going on Thursday, I was wondering if you and Allie could convince a few of your stylish people and models to do a field trip?”