Through Glass (3 page)

I would always remember that night—that uncontrollable emotion that had taken a hold of me then—when I watched him work. I could still see the same passion in his eyes as I had during that movie, just like now. I watched the dark smears on his fingers, the smudge of green on his forehead that only made him look darker, dangerous… more desirable.

I pushed the thought away for the hundredth time, trying to focus on something other than the way merely talking to him made my heart beat in a comfortable way; it was as though everything in the world would always be perfect as long as Cohen was there. Like the way his smile supercharged that feeling.

Even though he had been gone for almost a full year, nothing had changed between us. Crush and all, everything was the same, and I was already afraid to lose that. We talked while he sketched; as we had done through most of middle and high school. It was tradition and as normal as breathing.

I balled up another piece of paper from my notebook and hocked it at him over the gap. The paper swirled through the breeze, spinning until it zoomed right between the canvas and his nose.

He froze mid-stroke and slowly turned to scowl at me, his eyes narrowing playfully. I was torn between laughter and guilt; so instead, I settled for sitting still while I let the blush seep onto my cheeks.

“If you keep doing that, Lex, I am going to give you a crooked nose,” he said through his smirk, his smile only growing before he turned back to the canvas.

My joy faded as his words sunk in. My nerves began jittering through me as I clung to the windowsill I was sitting on.

“What?” I asked, my alarm peaking as my voice reached an octave I was sure wasn’t present a moment before. “You aren’t really drawing me, are you?”

Cohen didn’t even look at me. He smiled and my stomach fell fifteen feet onto the lilac bush somewhere below. He couldn’t be drawing me. He couldn’t. I wanted to be flattered or excited, yet the emotions wouldn’t come. I had seen the type of talent Cohen had and I wasn’t really that type of material. That simple thought brought me right back down to earth. Obviously he wasn’t drawing me, he was merely a lying jerk.

I scowled at him a little harder than was necessary, but it didn’t matter, he wasn’t even looking at me anyway.

“No, you aren’t,” I said, thoroughly aware that I sounded a little too “third grade”. Cohen only smiled more.

“Yes, I am, firecracker, see.” He waved a paint brush with bright red paint on it through the air for me to see. “Firecracker red.”

Firecracker.

It’s what he called me every time he wanted to dig underneath my skin, letting loose the temper I always tried so hard to keep hidden. Only he could do that, irritatingly enough.

“No,” I gasped, caught between laughing and screaming at him. I could already feel my temper bubbling uncomfortably.

“Yes,” he said, his dark eyes looking over at me for a fraction of a second before darting back to the canvas in front of him. “And I’m putting you in a green dress…”

“No!” I shrieked, my head spinning as my pulse quickened.

“Red hair, green dress…” Cohen continued, he wasn’t even paying any attention to me, which only made my temper bubble more. I wanted to laugh. I begged myself to calm down, but seeing that wicked smirk on his face did not help at all.

“I’ll look like a leprechaun,” I hissed, my hands automatically moving to ball up more paper. Darn him for being so far away from me; he deserved a good slug in the arm. Why did he always do this to me?

“Okay, firecracker, you tell me when you finally grow above five feet and I will paint you in grey not green.”

“I’m five-four, Cohen!” My temper finally hit its boiling point and I shrieked, my voice ringing in the stifling summer air that surrounded us.

“Chill, Lex.” Cohen’s voice lowered from his dark teasing to the calm that could only be found after the red-headed storm he had brewed showed up. “It’s not you. It’s just a landscape.”

He waited, but I couldn’t find anything to say. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I was still waiting for my temper to settle down and I was afraid I would say something I would regret. While my face didn’t feel quite as hot, I definitely wasn’t in any state to be sharing calm, cohesive thoughts.

Cohen only smiled. He had known since the eighth grade of his control over my oh-so-carefully-guarded temper. It was probably the same time he started calling me firecracker and tomato and gables; nicknames that heated my blood for more than one reason. Although, I was sure, one was more of a rejoicing for his attention than anything else.

“I just need another piece for my show this weekend.” He brought my thoughts back to the present and the bright red paint that still clung to his paintbrush.

Cohen had started showing his work a few years ago and I, along with everyone else he knew, had been prohibited from attending. The only reason I had known he had begun to show his pieces was because I had poked it out of him. Literally poked jabs to his side while he tried not to laugh. Why he hadn’t run away from me, though, I wasn’t quite so sure.

“Another one?” I asked, my anger at him melting away.

“Yeah. I was thinking of putting this one in, but I think I will keep it.”

I barely heard him, my mind was already buzzing around the perfect opportunity he had presented me with. I had been barred from those shows for years, but now, now I would secure my invitation.

“Can I come?” I asked, leaning toward him precariously.

Cohen froze, a grin stretching across his face for a brief moment before it disappeared, his face relaxing. The smile had come and gone so quickly that I wasn’t sure I had actually seen it. His eyes narrowed at me. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” I repeated. That was the closest I had gotten to a solid yes in years. The last of my temper melted away as jittery excitement seeped into me. Cohen looked at me as he placed the brush down on his paint stained desk.

He stared into me with those dark eyes and my pulse quickened again.
Get over it, Lex, he’s just your friend.

He smiled again and I couldn’t help returning it, even though my better logic screamed “friend-zone” at me from the back of my mind.

I had forgotten how much I had missed him. I forgot how much he had come to mean to me. Right then, I wanted to accept those feelings.

“Yeah, I think it may be time for you to see.”

All I was missing was freckles.

It was the same thought I had every time I looked at myself in the mirror. I had everything except freckles. I had the red hair that was too bright to be considered auburn, the fair skin that made me look like a porcelain doll and green eyes the color of old soda bottles. I had everything other than the freckles.

Of course, if I had the freckles, it would make the whole “Anne of Green Gables” look that much worse. Not like it wasn’t bad enough as it was. It was the only reason I had been glad when Cohen went to college; no daily reminders of my tomato red hair.

Firecracker.

Ugh.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror in my locker to make sure that everything was in place before grabbing my
Mysteries of the Indies
book and attempting to shove it into my bag.

This would have been much easier if I didn’t already have two other books in there. Whoever planned all of my classes on the side of the school opposite to my locker should be injured in some painful way. At least I only had a few weeks left.

“So, I was thinking,” Sarah began the second she leaned against the locker next to mine. “We should do a double. I’ll take Luke and you should invite Cohen.”

“I’m sorry?” I practically screeched at her in panic, the large book slipping from my hands to land on my sneakered foot.

“Cohen, your best friend, the boy you’ve been fawning over for the past eight years. He’s home from college. I know because I saw him at the McDonalds last night so don’t try to tell me otherwise.” She smiled and handed me the book while I closed the locker and threw my book bag over my shoulder. I would just have to carry the book. Why I needed to study mythology from India I had no idea.

“Bad idea, Sarah.” She sighed in her overdramatic way and I looked at her, getting the full brunt of her diva face.

If I was Anne of Green Gables, she was a Barbie doll. Blonde hair, blue eyes—she had it all—even the light dusting of freckles over her button nose.

No wonder the eyes of the male population followed her wherever she went. I was simply happy she didn’t try to date them all. Not that we each hadn’t had our fair share of boyfriends, but I didn’t want that kind of reputation.

“I don’t see why it would be, he practically stalks you through that window of his.” She smiled and her blue eyes sparkled. I wasn’t sure if I could disagree with that, but then again, I essentially did the same thing.

I shook my head in an attempt to get the knot out of my stomach that just talking about him had given me.

Get over it, Lex,
I told myself for the millionth time in an attempt to actually do it. It wasn’t working very well.

“Do I need to remind you of Sadie’s 2011?” I said as melodramatically as I could.

“You were a freshman and he was legally obligated to say no.”

Well that stung.

“He was
only
a sophomore,” I said silently, instantly regretting the moment I let the words out of my mouth.

“Yes, but you weren’t even technically going to this school yet,” she pointed out as she poorly disguised her laugh. She was really pushing this and it really wasn’t good for my temper. I could already feel it prickling under the surface of my skin, hot and angry.

I rolled my eyes and began to weave my way through the tidal wave of students that were headed in our direction in an attempt to make it to homeroom on time.

“I think the phrase he used was ‘I have no desire to sacrifice the friendship of someone so close to me,’” I said in my best Cohen imitation.

Sarah only rolled her eyes at me as we broke free from the busy hallway intersection and into the sparkling halls of the lesser crowded English hallway.

And yes, I did have it memorized. Not that I had tried, but when you get stung in such a public way, you don’t forget what was said. Most people would have stopped talking to him, too, but he’s stubborn and I’m forgiving. It’s a bad combination. Well, that and he fell out of his window while trying to plead forgiveness. The guilt from that helped, too.

“He was younger then.” Sarah’s voice echoed strangely in the emptier hallway.

“Exactly my point. I can’t date a college boy.” I turned toward her, walking backward for a moment in an attempt to drive my point home, however she only rolled her eyes at me.

“Says the eighteen-year-old high school senior who is graduating in less than a month.”

“I can’t Sarah,” I reiterated as I fell into step beside her again, not even attempting to restrain the dejected moan from my voice.

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked me. I felt my nerves jump a bit.

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She was obviously going to wait for me to answer. If I didn’t, she would just ask the question with varying levels of decibels and embarrassment.

“Both,” I admitted, my tone snippy as my temper leaked out.

“Well, neither of those count.” She smiled.

We walked into first period English and right to the row of desks at the back. Sarah sat in the desk across from me, her body already moving to lean over the bar as close to me as possible. Her eyes were calculating what to say next.

I felt my stomach muscles flop around like a dying fish. I knew that smile and I knew what was behind it.

“You already asked him, didn’t you?” The dance of the dying fish in my stomach increased and I fought the need to run into the hall and shove myself into any available locker. Instead, I decided to sink lower into my desk.

“Yes,” she grinned, “and he said yes, so you can’t get out of it even if you tried.”

“I don’t know why I would want to.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice if I tried. It was probably a good thing Sarah was perpetually immune to all sarcasm or she might have taken offense to that.