Chapter 3 #2
Ty nods, and takes my book while I take his.
Flipping through the pages, I’m more amazed with each passing page.
There’s no theme, no one clear direction, but clearly things he likes.
There’s a portrait of four guys standing together, a portrait of clearly Ty and another guy with shaggy hair, a side portrait of an older woman, directly following a side portrait of an older man.
Then there are florals and insects, snakes and dogs, in all different styles.
It’s obvious Ty draws what he sees as well as designs straight from his imagination.
“Wow,” I say softly, a whisper.
“Right back at you,” he says in the same kind of amazed tone that I have. “These are amazing, Roxie.”
“I need to work on my line work and my shading. I know it’s not as realistic as it could be, but I’m working on it.”
“I can see what you’re saying, but that comes with time and practice. My friend Asher is the one who got me into drawing and he’s been designing since first grade, I swear. I literally watched as his designs went from like mine to something almost real.”
I nod, but look at him with a shy smile and I bump his shoulder with mine. “I think your stuff is really, really talented.”
“Thanks,” Ty says with a barely there smile and bumps my shoulder back. “So, Roxie, tell me about yourself.”
“What, you want to do the favorite color talk now?” I tease, sticking my tongue out.
“Ay dios mio,” he slips into Spanish and I’m mesmerized.
“I wish I could speak another language,” I say softly.
“It is pretty handy,” Ty smirks, turning to another page in my book, one that I started last night and my cheeks burn.
It’s a sketch of him. Just like I remembered from class, sitting at the desk as he turned to look at me. It’s a very, very rough sketch and I almost want to jump across and grab my book back.
But Ty just looks at the book. He’s quiet, well, quieter than before, just staring down at my work.
It’s quiet for longer than I think it should be, and the nerves flutter in my stomach like butterflies. He’s been looking too long and he hates it.
Reaching forward, I try to grab the book but he holds it out of reach.
Stupid long arms.
“Is this me?” he asks.
“Maybe.” I quirk an eyebrow, sit back and cross my arms over my chest. I may be embarrassed but I’m not going to let it show. Another fun trait I’ve picked up to protect myself.
“This is…” His words tamper off in a breathless way and I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.
I don’t need his approval, his admiration, or whatever else to feel good about my work. It’s my work and I’m trying to be better.
“It’s a rough sketch. I only got to spend, like, fifteen minutes on it before lights out last night,” I say roughly, grabbing the book and stuffing it into my bag, turning on my back and letting the sun hit my face.
I’m pale, very pale, and I always have been. One of my foster moms said I reminded her of Snow White. All black hair, pale creamy skin and naturally red lips. I’m all softness on the outside, but I’m all bite on the inside.
Life has let me down too many times for me to have much ‘softness’ left in me.
“Roxie, look at me,” Ty asks quietly, tapping my arm gently. Peeking through one closed eye, I weigh my options. It’s not like I can sit here and pretend I can’t hear him.
“Yeah?” I mutter, sighing with the word.
“That picture is…really good. Can I have it?” he asks nervously.
“Really?” I sit up excitedly before realizing that he’s probably just messing with me. Way to play it cool, Westin. Jesus. I can’t play it cool with this guy, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“Yeah, really.” Ty nods, opening his sketchbook and grabbing a pencil from his bag. “I’ll draw you and we’ll exchange. Sound fair?”
My heart beats faster, excited at the chance to see myself through his eyes.
“Sounds fair,” I agree, pulling my book out to keep working on his portrait, we get comfortable and start working.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. When one of us breaks the silence, it’s because we have a specific question to ask, but other than that, it’s quiet.
I can hear the birds sing and chirp around us, the soft whoosh of the wind through the trees, Ty’s steady breathing that matches my own, the soft drag of our pencils on paper.
“Where’d you live before Haven?” he asks, breaking the companionable silence.
“Tonstown, just about three hours west of here.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” Ty shakes his head and I chuckle.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t. It’s the smallest town I’ve ever seen. One school for all the grades. Pre-K through twelfth. It’s got a stoplight and a gas station.”
“Wow, and I thought Haven was small.”
“Haven’s not bad. I’ve lived here before, a few times actually. I prefer it to the other places I’ve lived,” I confess, not bringing my eyes up from the page.
“When did you live here before?” Ty asks, and I ignore the gaze of his that I can feel on me.
“Uh.” I close my eyes, trying to remember the years. “First half of kindergarten, then back for all of first grade, then first half of third I think, but then gone until second half of fifth grade, and the last time was the first month of seventh grade.”
“Mierda,” he says in Spanish, and based on how he spits it out and both of his eyes widen, it’s a curse word.
“What does that mean?”
“Fuck,” he translates, but shakes his head and leans forward slightly. “You’re telling me that they moved you mid-year like that? That must be so hard.”
I shrug. I’m used to it by now. “It is what it is.”
“I’m surprised we haven’t met before,” Ty says softly, and he almost sounds far away like he’s trying to remember if we had.
“Maybe.” I shrug. It’s a possibility, Haven’s bigger but not that big.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can still feel his eyes on me. It makes my skin tingle like he’s touching me. My heart beats a little faster and it makes me feel uncomfortable—in a good way.
“What?” I ask, half-snapping, half-softly, and my hair falls to the other side.
“Nothing,” Ty stutters, and turns back to his drawing, moving himself so that I can no longer see it.
“Okay.” I let the word trail between us because I know he’s thinking something, but if he doesn’t want to share, I’m not going to push.
We work silently for a few more moments before my stomach growls embarrassingly loudly and I want to crawl into a hole and die.
“Someone’s hungry, huh?” Ty smirks, looking at his phone to see the time. “It is lunch time. Past lunch time actually.”
Damn it.
“We’re going to need to start walking back soon. I, unfortunately, have a fi—work tonight,” Ty says, his eyes widening just a bit as he catches himself before a slip up.
What was he going to say?
“You work, too?”
“Yeah, I have a couple odd jobs,” he answers vaguely, picking up his book and opening up his backpack.
“I just work at the dollar store, trying to save up some money to be able to go to cosmetology school. Sooner than later. I’m not meant for this eight to three school day. I want to learn a trade and be independent. As soon as I possibly can.”
Ty looks at me, his actions slowing down as he stares.
I follow him, moving to put my stuff away but notice he stalls and so again, I follow him.
“What?”
“Being independent isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he simply says.
“It’s got to be better than what I have now.” While the home I’m in now is good, I heard the mom say that they wanted a baby. Every single time a mom has gotten pregnant or found a baby to adopt, they’ve kicked me to the curb so I’m preparing myself.
“It’s harder than you’d think,” Ty says quietly, almost mumbling under his breath.
“And you know?” My tone is sharp, too sharp for someone that’s shown me kindness like he has today. But at the same time, what does he know about what I’ve gone through?
“I’ve been out on my own with Asher and his brother, helping provide for my family, for the past six months.
I get no help from my mother and all she does is expect me to help pay for things.
I’m fifteen years old. It’s a lot that I didn’t sign up for,” he snaps, zipping up his backpack aggressively.
And that’s when everything slots into place.
My hand darts out to grab his arm before he turns away.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m not used to someone…understanding and not judging.”
“I don’t judge,” he grumbles before putting his hand on mine. “Not out loud at least.”
Damn him for his dry humor that makes me laugh.
His fingers play with the leather cord I have tied around my wrist.
“What’s this?”
“A string I got from my first house after my parents gave me up. I was only five, and the first house seemed…okay. Safe. They took care of me and they were actually nice. Until I got in trouble one too many times at school. Then they sent me off.” I look down, not willing to make eye contact with him.
I don’t usually share these kinds of things with people… but there’s a connection here.
A bond.
An understanding.
Ty nods, twisting the string once around the tip of his finger before dropping his hand.
“And you wear it?”
“Every day. It’s a reminder not to get comfortable. Not to trust that everyone means what they say.” I drop my hand and pick up my backpack. I’m nothing if not honest. “Let’s go.”
Ty nods, and there’s a puzzled look on his face, but he slings his backpack on his shoulder before stopping suddenly.
“You know you can trust that I mean what I say,” he says lowly.
“I know I can trust that you’ll try.” I smile. That’s the best I can give him right now.
Ty and I push through the forest line just as the upperclassmen are rushing out for their lunch breaks. A bunch of seniors and juniors running to their cars to go buy cheap fast food in order to not have to endure the cafeteria.
“Lunch?” Ty asks, pointing towards the cafeteria with a smirk.
“Food!” I rave and we run inside, chuckling.
“Asher!” Ty calls out, raising his hand to greet a guy standing with his foot kicked against the brick wall of the school.
He’s got brown wavy hair, cut in that shaggy way that seems polished yet effortless at the same time and the most piercing blue eyes.
When he hears Ty’s voice he tips his head up in greeting.
“What’s up, man?” He sees me tailing along beside Ty with my head held high and cocks an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”
“I think you mean, ‘who are you?’” I scoff, insulted and annoyed at being talked about instead of talked to.
“Sorry,” Asher says, turning to face me head on. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Roxie.”
“Asher.”
“I heard,” I nod. “Food?”
“Food,” they both repeat and we make our way to the cafeteria. We walk into the building, along the hallway and I can’t help but notice as we do, it’s not awkward. I’m not the third wheel. It’s not that Ty suddenly forgets me as soon as his friend shows up, he includes me.
Asher starts talking about this new idea he’s thought up for a business and Ty’s nodding along, but they’ve left space for me.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel accepted.