TMI (13 page)

The weather was crisp but unseasonably mild for early spring. Bailey drew up her hood and headed toward home, trying to avoid looking at Meg's house across the street. Looking at Gran and Gramp's house always made her feel warm inside. It was a cute two-story house that looked like it belonged in a Mother Goose story. Gingerbread trim adorned the porch. Flower boxes currently empty would be overflowing with cheery blooms in a few weeks. Meg always said she should bring an easel with her and set it up right there beside the path to the porch steps. She would paint it in watercolors.

Bailey eyebrows drew together. This whole thing with Meg was snowballing and—

“Meg?”

There she was, sitting at the foot of the porch steps, staring at her with a furrowed brow. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Um…well, I came to apologize.”

Bailey shook her head when every last ounce of anger evaporated. “I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't mean what I said today.”

Meg waved a hand. “Bay, listen. For what it's worth, I liked Ryder. I even emailed him again today. I think you're right. He really likes you.”

The frown disappeared and her smile exploded. “What did he say? Tell me everything!” She ran up the steps and curled beside Meg on the top one.

“He…well, he said I should back off. That we're tearing you apart.” Her voice cracked and she had to stop before she embarrassed herself.

“I want you guys to be friends,” Bailey said after a moment. “But it's hard since we can't hang out.”

“See, that's the part I don't get. Why can't you hang out?”

Bailey stared down the street, her face long. “Ryder's whole life is a mess. Remember when I told you he just moved here?”

Meg nodded.

“He's living with an aunt he hasn't seen since he was little. His mom is dead.”

“Oh, Bay!” Meg gasped. “What about his dad?”

She shook her head. “His dad's out of the picture. His mother was killed—”

“Killed? Like…murdered?”

Bailey nodded. “Yeah, Ryder was the one who found her body. Because he's underage, they won't let him stay in Montana, so he had to come here. He's living with relatives, but they're strangers. He was homeschooled, but his aunt wants him to go to real school. They argue all the time. He says he feels trapped. He has no car. No friends. The only cool thing there is to do is play Xbox.”

Meg stared at her feet. “You…um…already know a lot about him.”

A bright smile spread over her face and she hugged her legs to her chest. “Oh, Meg, I do! I feel like I know him almost as much as I know you.”

Bailey stood while Meg's eyes roamed up and down her face, searching for proof that she was lying. Finally, she nodded once. “I'll back off, Bay. But please…could you do me two favors?”

With her eyes narrowed, Bailey nodded slowly, hoping these favors were easy.

“Don't meet him alone. When he's able to handle all the stuff in his life and make a date with you, don't go alone. Call me. Call Chase. Call us both. Just don't go alone, okay?”

Bailey's lips tightened. Ryder wasn't—aw, hell. Meg was right. She had to be careful. “Okay.”

Meg grinned. “Thanks. And could you maybe not forget about me? I know it's immature, but I was here first. I look forward to the plans we have and it's not cool to dump me for some guy.”

Bailey lowered her head. “You're right. Ryder said the same thing. Thursday night,
TVD
?”

Meg managed a smile for a second or two. “Oh, I am so there. Do you think Damon is going to kiss Elena this week?”

They spent the next half hour talking about
The
Vampire
Diaries
.

And then Bailey's cell phone buzzed. Bailey's worried eyes shot to Meg's.

“Is that him?”

Bailey nodded.

“Go ahead. Reply. It's okay.”

With a touch of her finger, Bailey unlocked her phone, a tiny smile dancing on her lips as she read the text. “He says he's sorry for the other day.” She turned the phone sideways and tapped out a response. “I told him it's okay. We're okay.”

Another message arrived and Bailey twirled her hair. “Oh, this is good. What do you think?” She handed Meg her phone. Ryder's latest text was about the video game.

Ryder:
Was thinking about the point of UR game. Have to switch motive. Foundation should stop missions, not assign them.

Meg blinked and then shrugged. “I don't get it.”

“Oh…um,” Bailey shifted. “We thought it would be cool to have this shadowy government organization oversee missions and send players out on assignments. But Ryder's right. The game's called
Lost
Time
, not
Changed
Time
. All the missions
have
to fail. Otherwise history is rewritten. Have to invert the Foundation's purpose, which isn't a big deal since nothing's done yet. I can't believe I didn't notice that before.”

Bailey's thumbs flew over her phone and her brow wrinkled.

“Go build levels.” Meg gave Bailey a hug.

“Wait…are you sure?”

“Yeah, you're doing it, Bay. You're making your game.” She smiled and then turned to go.

That's what Meg always wanted for her, Bailey reminded herself after Meg left. The confidence to stick to something. Meg was always telling her she needed more confidence, needed a boy who'd build her up, not tear her down. Someone who wouldn't build the game for her but encourage her to build it herself. True, Meg would have blocked Ryder immediately if he'd tried contacting her the way he had Bailey, but Meg was all about playing things safe. Bailey needed this, needed the connection. Ryder was not only encouraging her to design her own video game but helping her get over Simon, and if she was lucky, he might even help her find her dad.

The days went by and the weather slowly grew warmer and wetter. Bailey had kept her promise. She'd invited Meg over on Thursday night for their weekly vampire viewing. And she'd stopped shutting Meg out.

Meg was doing her best to stop being judgmental and overbearing. Everything was going so well. Ryder had even given her a great tip on a college she'd never considered—New York City's Cooper Union. If—and this was a big if—if she could get in, the tuition was covered for all students. Meg could hardly wrap her brain around the concept—a full ride. All she'd have to cover would be living expenses. Of course, she had to submit a home test and art portfolio too, but thankfully, there was still over a year left to work on those requirements.

She hadn't been able to find a new job though. That had her worried. She'd asked Pauline for money, but her mom lectured her on better saving habits between paydays. Her mother didn't know the theater was closed and Meg decided not to add to her worries. She'd find work somewhere. In the meantime, she'd squandered what money she had left—and that included what she found between the sofa cushions—for her train ticket to the city the following Saturday morning.

She stood on the sixth floor of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, Bailey and Chase at her side, awed by the hundreds of pieces in the Print/Out exhibit. Print/Out was this year's homage to the evolution of commercial art. She'd been looking forward to it for weeks, and now that she knew about the Cooper Union, she hoped she'd get ideas for something she could do with an art degree—something she'd never seriously entertained because it didn't meet her Plan requirements. Meg turned to grin at Bailey.

She was texting.

Meg rolled her eyes and turned to grin at Chase.

He stared at the display, confusion muddying his vibrant eyes.

Meg turned back to the display with a sigh. She had her two best friends with her, and yet, she was here alone. She noticed the name of the artist. “Hey.” Meg nudged him with her elbow. “All of this was done by an artist named Ellen Gallagher.”

He smirked. “Probably a distant relative.”

“So?” Meg spread her arms. “What do you think?”

“Um…she really likes yellow.”

With a snort, Meg nodded. “Bay.” Meg waved a hand under her face. “Bailey! I told you cell phones aren't allowed in the building. Put it away before you get caught.”

“Oh…right.” She slipped the phone back in her pocket like it was the last drop of water on a hike through the desert.

Meg caved. “Okay. Okay, I give up. Come on, you guys.”

“We're done?” Chase brightened considerably.

“With this floor. I want to go down to the next floor and look at some of my favorites before we leave.”

Meg turned to the escalators, Chase sighing heavily beside her. She swallowed a grin and dragged them to Van Gogh's
The
Starry
Night
. “Well? What do you think?”

“This is your favorite?” Chase looked dubious.

Meg nodded. “One of them.” They hadn't stopped to view it when they were here for their research project.

Bailey and Chase exchanged glances.

“Okay, look.” Meg grabbed Chase by his shoulders and oriented him in front of the oil. “Look at the colors. Van Gogh's famous for rendering the dark with these bold streaks of light. And the clouds! God, I love the movement. And the way he painted the stars—they look like tiny galaxies. People say Van Gogh painted this from a vision, and I can almost believe that, you know?”

Meg caught Chase's eye and was surprised to find he was looking at her instead of the artwork.

“What?”

He smiled for a fraction of a second and looked at the floor. “Nothing. I…it's nice seeing you so excited.”

Her face burst into flames, and Meg was certain it bore the same shade of red as the jacket she wore. Pyrrole Red, she decided. She cleared her throat and led them to Dali's
The
Persistence
of
Memory
.

“I love this.”

“Um…why are all the clocks melting?” Bailey asked.

Meg smiled, staring at the canvas. “This is Salvador Dali. You look at some artists' work and say to yourself, ‘Wow. Pretty.' Maybe you wish you can do something so good. But that's not what Dali did.”

Chase shifted his weight to one side. “Okay, so what did Dali do?”

“He painted ideas. Concepts.”

Bailey and Chase exchanged another look. “You lost me,” she said. “What concept?”

Meg peered at the painting. “Confusion, I guess.”

“If it confuses you, why is it art?” Chase frowned.

She thought about that for a moment. “The Impressionists painted things you could recognize, like landscapes, city scenes, moments captured in time. Dali didn't paint those things. He painted abstractions. Questions. There's something kind of cool in painting stuff that still makes people wonder eighty years later, you know?”

“Like is time even real?” Chase murmured.

Meg glanced at him, but he was still staring at the work.

“What?” He caught her eye and frowned.

“That's…that's a good one.” Meg turned back to the painting. “Every time I come here, I stare at this painting, but that question never occurred to me. I figured it was more like we can't understand time or we rely too much on time. But you—I think you nailed it.”

His face broke into a beautiful and maybe relieved grin. A surge of want rose up in her so strong, it felt like it had its own pulse. It would be so easy.
Tilt
your
head
, it whispered.
Touch
his
hand. Just smile,
it murmured. Oh, she wanted to. Her hand came up all by itself. Slowly, it moved closer to Chase. She felt him tense. She heard his quick little gasp of breath. Their hands were a breath apart, and that's when her mind decided to replay all its stored images of her mother crying over which bills to pay.

Meg forced her hand back down. “We should go find Bailey.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chase said on a sigh. He seemed surprised she was gone.

They roamed the galleries and finally found her in “Shop Modern,” the gift shop, thumbs blurring over her cell phone's keyboard, a private smile ghosting on her face.

“Bay?”

She jerked. “Oh! Sorry, guys.”

“Are you texting
him
?” Meg demanded.

Her body stiffened. “Yes, I am.”

Okay, this was a
moment
. Meg could pout and demand that she be with her like Bailey had promised. Like she'd done for her. Like Meg always did for her without ever—

Meg took a deep breath.

Or she could be supportive and trust Bailey's judgment, even though her batting average was pretty much a 1.000 when it came to picking losers. Even though—

Meg took another deep breath. She could do this.

“Why doesn't he meet us so we can all hang out?”

Bailey's lips pressed into a tight line and her shoulders fell an inch. “I asked him. He has to work.”

“Aren't you afraid you'll get him into trouble texting him so much?”

Bailey's eyes snapped to hers before she lowered them, shrugging sheepishly. “I won't.”

Chase's hand squeezed Meg's in warning. She bit back the rest of her argument and just nodded. She wandered around the gift shop, not ready to go home yet but unable to afford anything worth buying. The glossy cover of a book of Impressionist prints caught her attention and she ran a hand over it. Then she lusted after the acrylic paint kits and felt the paper quality in the sketch pads. It must be incredible to be able to paint without worrying about conserving materials.

“I guess we saw everything,” Meg said when she'd tortured herself long enough.

Chase and Bailey fell into step, and they headed for the exit. Outside on Fifty-Third Street, Chase halted, patted his pockets, and cursed. “Hey, I think I left my phone in the men's room. You guys stay here. I'll be back.” He took off at a jog.

Bailey was still texting.

The aroma of street vendor pretzels made Meg's stomach growl.

“Wanna split one?” Bailey asked.

“Um…sure.” Meg half-smiled. She was hungry but didn't have enough money to splurge. When Bailey headed to the push cart, Meg promised herself just one bite. Meg sat on the steps and waited, watching people walk by. A few moments later, Bailey was back, tearing a hunk of hot pretzel off and popping it into her mouth.

“Mmm. That's good. Here.” She handed Meg the rest.

Meg hesitated. Instead of taking it all, Meg tore off a piece and returned the remainder to Bailey. She'd bought it. She should get most of it. She ate another piece and offered Meg some, but Meg shook her head. She'd had her one bite. Bailey sat next to Meg and pulled out her phone. A secret smile played on her lips while she read a text.

“Ryder?” Meg asked, even though she knew it was, but she was trying to be understanding. Supportive.

The smile grew. “Yeah.”

“Is he still at work?”

She nodded. “For about two more hours.”

Chase jogged over. “Sorry about that.”

“Find your phone?”

“Uh, yeah.” He held it up. Then he jerked his chin toward Bailey. “Ryder again?”

Bailey grinned and kept texting. She never noticed Meg's mouth tighten into a line, but Chase did. He took her elbow and pulled her away.

“I thought you talked to this guy and changed your mind about him after he went all art school for you.” Chase waved a hand around.

“I did. I—Look, I still don't want her to get hurt, okay?”

“Megan, you have to stop running her life.”

Meg rolled her eyes. Why did everyone keep telling her that? She started walking toward Penn Station, mentally justifying her actions. She had good reasons for not trusting Ryder. Very good reasons. Several of them. But Meg couldn't tell Chase. They were Bailey's secrets, and Meg kept her secrets just like Bailey kept hers.