Seven
DM INBOX:
@Nikki: This is probably a longshot, but if you’re ever in the Boston area and want to meet, let me know. I’ve been watching your videos since the accidental thirst trap debacle, and I resonate with your story so much. Plus, I think we’d make a really great match (;
@Jay: I could’ve sworn I passed by you in Dallas and it’s driving me bonkers not knowing. Any chance you were at the Flagship Half Price? I know we’re both readers lol
@LetiIsTrying: Just got asked again by my sister when I’m finally going to meet someone. Wishing our dating arrangement was real more and more every day.
I step out of the Uber, waving to the driver as he pulls away from the curb. Last night was my first time seeing Krystal outside of Havana Bar, and this is the first time we’ve made plans to meet up. I’m still not quite over the thrill of seeing her name on my lock screen. The message jolted me awake, this being the first time either of us has texted since exchanging numbers.
Excited to hang out today (:
Five simple words I’ve been unable to scrub from my brain all morning. Hell, the messages I’ve gotten on TikTok lately haven’t made me smile nearly as hard as Krystal’s text did. I thought about sending her a picture of the mural, but it’s really something that needs to be witnessed in person. We agreed to meet in the lobby of the Tower of the Americas. There’s a giddy anticipation building within me with every step forward.
Inside, she’s leaning against a pillar, hair swept back in a high ponytail, wearing ripped jeans and a black tank top that shows off the floral tattoo sleeve on her right arm. Roses and a mix of other flowers on a leafy vine snake their way down her upper arm and stop at her elbow.
A navy flannel is tied at her waist. There was a slight chill in the air this morning, but now that it’s noon the temperature has kicked up to blazing. The middle of February in Texas is more like a spotty, delayed winter until the sun comes out of hiding. If we came at night, I can imagine myself bundling her in that flannel, pulling it nice and tight around her body to keep her warm from the cold.
Gold hoops dangle from her ears, sparkling beneath the sun coming through the large windows behind her. As usual, the sight of her knocks the breath from my lungs, but this is different. This is the first time I’ve seen her in daylight, and I’m noticing things about her I hadn’t before. The tiny freckle dotting the edge of her mouth, the purple shimmer lining her lower lash line, how smooth-looking her light brown skin is.
“There you are!” She rushes forward when she spots me, throwing her arms around me in a hug I don’t expect, and I encounter yet another thing I never noticed about her: the fruity scent of her perfume. “Come on, I already got our tickets.”
She pulls me forward, her grip on my wrist gentle but firm. All I can do is follow in her wake. I finally learn how to speak again when we reach the elevators. “I can pay you back for my ticket.”
“Not necessary.” Her grin is a brilliant red today. When she leans forward to press the button to go up, the edge of her ponytail touches my nose. I get a whiff of her shampoo this time. The coconut scent is familiar and I inhale on instinct before I realize what I’m doing and force myself to take a giant step back from her.
“It’s totally necessary,” I insist. “You’re the one helping me, remember? I have to do something to repay you.”
“Okay.” The elevator dings its arrival, and she pulls me into the carriage. “You can buy me lunch. Does that make us even?”
“Definitely.” I nod. “I can do lunch.”
The metal carriage lurches upward, and just like the last time I was here, I have to resist a yelp. It doesn’t help that we’re surrounded by clear glass on three sides. I shut my eyes tight against the view outside growing smaller and smaller.
“Are you okay?”
I jump. Krystal’s voice is right in my ear, her body crowding my space. The few times I’ve had crushes in the past, I dealt with them by avoidance and secretly admiring from afar. The same way I was content to deal with Krystal, until she offered to help with the scavenger hunt.
Crushes are inconvenient for me. There’s no reason for me to be this nervous around Krystal when she’s helping me find someone else to have my first kiss with. There’s no reason for her mere presence to make my stomach swoop and bottom out when the view outside can do that just fine by itself. I’m messaging multiple women on TikTok, for Christ’s sake. I should be over this crush I have on her by now, shouldn’t I?
She rests a hand on my shoulder, concern lighting her warm brown eyes. I allow myself to take in a deep breath to ground myself, blowing it out through my nose.
“Sorry.” I shake my head once I’m recentered. “I sort of hate heights.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying to hide a smile. “And that made you think Tower of the Americas would be a good second location?”
“It’s more of a stepping stone to the main event.”
Her brows crease. “What do you mean?”
The smooth elevator doors slide open. I rush out of the carriage, Krystal on my heels. “Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, great art is in the eye of the interpreter. Find what moves you.”
“What?”
“That’s the second clue I’m workshopping.” I glance back at her. “Let’s see if you can solve it.”
Her eyes glint with the challenge.
“You’re on.”
With a determined gait, she steps onto the balcony. Outside, a burst of cold wind blows my hair back. It’s only warm with the sun out, but under the shade it’s chilly. Krystal’s gaze lands on the crossed arms over my chest and the goose bumps on my skin, and before I know it, she’s untying the flannel from around her waist and offering it to me.
“But then you’ll be cold,” I tell her as she places the garment around my shoulders. Before she can offer to help my arms through the sleeves, I take a step back from her and do that myself. Her flannel is loose and oversized on me, but that just makes it cozier.
“Don’t worry about me, Angel. I have a clue to find. That’ll keep me occupied from the cold.”
The difficulty with this clue is that art is subjective. To find the answer and get to the third clue, the participants would really have to find what moves me . I’ve given away the biggest clue in my last video, but there’s a possibility that only those who’ve watched it and remember what I said will be able to catch on. Krystal’s ability to solve the clue will give me a better idea of how it’s likely to land in the scavenger hunt.
I spot the mural immediately, but Krystal’s back is turned to it. Her eyes trace the windows, her hand resting on a metal scope. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be looking.”
She turns around, and I catch the moment she spots it. A flash of recognition that rounds her eyes, jaw falling open slightly before she forces it closed with the click of her teeth.
My feelings exactly.
I can’t explain what I felt when I first came across the mural, only that it hit me in the chest with the force of a ten-ton punch. Moved, indeed.
But just as soon as she spots it, her eyes slide past the graffiti up to the sky. “Find what moves you.” The words are barely audible, but her lips move over them a second time, like a mantra. I try not to let the disappointment that blooms in my chest get to me. It’s right in front of you , I want to tell her. I thought you felt what I felt. But I bite my lip to keep from giving her any more clues than the vague one she already has.
She places her eyes against the scope, moving it around until she spots something in the distance. I can’t tell where she has it pointed to, but she lets out an “Aha!” like she’s solved the entire thing.
She waves her arm for me to look, and when I place my eyes against the scope, still warm from her skin, I’m not sure what I’m looking at until the words on the sign come into view. It’s an advertisement for First Friday, the art walk that takes place downtown every first Friday of the month.
She looks at me expectantly when I turn back to her. “Close.”
“ Close ?” she guffaws. “Where else can you find art that moves you? Forget a museum, First Friday is the place to walk around and make inaccurate interpretations to your heart’s content.”
“You’re still watching my videos.”
“It’s research.”
Still, I can’t help but delight in the way her cheeks turn pink.
“I have to see you the same way your followers do.”
“Okay.” I take a step closer to her. “What do you see, then?”
Her brown eyes track me curiously, rising to meet my gaze when I take up more of the space between us.
“Someone different than the woman I met five years ago.”
I place my hands in the pockets of my baggy shorts. Technically, they’re my dad’s from the ’90s. I’ve been raiding his closet a lot since my parents have been gone. I know better than to believe the clothes alone can do the work for me, but is that all she sees? The outward differences in the me I am now versus the me she met years ago?
“You’ve always been sure of yourself. Confident. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anyone see you vulnerable until recently. Not unless you had a few too many shots in you, that is.”
The facade I once created as a cover against my cousins’ attacks, the one I carried with me all through college and after when I flirted with men for attention and free drinks just to end up ghosting them, has been effectively shattered with one singular video I posted to the internet on a whim. In all that time, I’ve only ever been honest with myself around Krystal. She was always impossible to shake, even when I didn’t have a name for the way I felt about her yet.
“You bring that night up a lot, you know.” I lean against the railing to avoid her gaze, but she follows in my wake. “I think it’s time you return the favor. Tell me how beautiful you think my face is. We’ll go back to the bar if you need some liquid courage first.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Krystal says, smirking slightly. “I think you’re beautiful, Angel. Inside and out, but more so when you’re not afraid to be your truest self. When you’re not afraid to put yourself out there. To be vulnerable in front of the entire world.”
There’s a lump in my throat I’m unable to dislodge for one long, charged moment. I have to glance away from her to recover, to shake off the effect her words have on me, because despite what she just said, I’m still a little afraid to be that vulnerable in front of her.
“I think I also mentioned a love of obscure art graffitied on the side of downtown buildings in my last video,” I say. “Maybe the clue was misleading, but you were half right. The next clue is found at First Friday, but the sign isn’t what’s supposed to lead you there.”
“What else would lead you to—” She looks up, her gaze aligning with the mural. Krystal bites down on her lip, staining the tip of her front teeth with her lipstick. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
The mural is far from the only graffiti, but it is the most intricate form of vandalism within view. From the scopes, lots of art pieces can be seen displayed on the city street, advertising next month’s art showing.
Krystal squints at the slashes of purple, and then a soft sigh leaves her lips. She pulls out her phone, thumbs flying as she types.
“Natalia Aguilar. That’s the artist, right?”
I nod, staring up at the mural again where her name is legible at the bottom of the woman’s skirts in a swoosh of black ink.
“I only discovered her work recently,” I say. “Figures she’d close her shop before I had a chance to commission something from her. From what I can tell, she’s gone dark on social media. All her accounts are private despite having over two hundred thousand followers across platforms.”
“You didn’t hear?”
My brows furrow at her.
“She was dogpiled by people online after transitioning to queer art.”
“What?” I shake my head. “Wait a second, how do you know all this?”
“I used to follow her years ago,” she tells me. “She’s locked her accounts on and off over the years. I’m not sure if anything happened recently, but watching everything go down the first time was sickening.”
“What happened?” I ask before I think better of it. I’m more than familiar with all the ways people can act like vultures when they’re safe and hidden behind a screen. “You know what? I’d rather not dredge up her past for the sake of gossip.”
“I think she’s talked about what happened in a couple of interviews,” Krystal says as I pull out my phone and aim its camera toward the mural. “If you’d rather hear the story in her words, I can send them to you.”
“Thanks.” I nod. “I appreciate that. Do you mind if I record here?”
“You insufferable influencer,” she teases, mouth spreading into a grin. “You’re filming in public spaces already? Here.” She holds out her hand for my phone. “I’ll help you.”
“I’ll try not to be too obnoxious, but no promises,” I say, readying myself when she gives the signal that we’re recording. Then I put on my most charming smile as I stare into the camera. “Welcome back to the scavenger hunt series. You might notice I’m in a different location today, and that’s because I’m scouting potential locations and workshopping clues. What do I have ready so far?” I rub my chin in thought. “Not a whole lot. We’re still at the beginning stages, but I can say that so far, it looks promising. More soon, until next time.”
Krystal hands me back my phone once we’re done and glances up at the mural again, looking contemplative.
“Why this mural? Is there a particular reason?”
I’m nowhere close to an art critic, and I can’t quite explain what it is about the woman in the painting that speaks to me. If it’s me projecting my own emotions onto the mural, or the artist’s intent fully realized. Marcela didn’t get it. Maybe Krystal won’t either. I don’t answer her right away, mostly because I don’t have a coherent explanation. I’m used to tucking away the parts of myself I think people won’t like or understand. If I’m being honest, it’s probably why I came out so late in my life.
“What do you see?” I ask instead, tipping my chin up to the woman told in purple slashes of paint.
She turns back to the mural. There isn’t much of a reaction on her face. Her throat bobs on a swallow. Lines appear on her forehead as her brows crease, but her mouth is an unmoving straight line.
“It’s… intense, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah. That’s one word to describe it.” I laugh. “I don’t know. Art’s supposed to make you feel something, right? Something about it makes me feel… seen, I guess? Does that make sense?”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s silly. I’m literally projecting myself onto a piece of graffiti.” I shake my head. “I really only came out to a handful of people. My parents and Marcela. Then I made that TikTok update and started acting as if everyone knew. I let go of the front I used to put up. I’m finally the person I was so afraid to be, and I’ve never felt freer.” I tip my chin up to the mural. “I feel like her . It feels like I’m holding my own heart in my hand, brandishing it like a weapon.”
“A weapon.” She glances up at the painting, arching a brow.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m so used to breaking my own heart before anyone else gets a chance to. To believing there’s something wrong with me. That I’ll never be enough. That I may as well not even try falling in love if I’m not capable of it. I know better now. I know who I am, and no one can tell me otherwise.”
There’s something inexplicable shining in her eyes. She reaches for my arm, hand falling at my wrist. Her grip is firm but gentle, warm on my chilled, goose-bumped skin.
“My first thought was it made love seem brutal,” she says, staring up at the mural. “I don’t see what you see, but I guess that’s the cool thing about art. Everyone has a different interpretation.”
“I imagine fighting for it can be brutal. For love, I mean.” I tilt my head at her. “From what I read on First Friday’s website, Natalia Aguilar showcases her work during every First Friday. If I can get the timing right, I’m hoping to put on the scavenger hunt two weeks from now. Natalia’s exhibit will be the third location. A lot of her recent work is inspired by queer identity, especially asexual and aromantic identity, which is why it feels important that she’s part of the scavenger hunt. If she wants to be, that is.”
“I like that idea,” Krystal says. “Are you going to reach out to her? Do you know if she’s still doing First Friday?”
“She’s still listed on their website,” I tell her. “But it could be an oversight. Getting in touch with her is a good idea. Maybe she has an email on her website somewhere.”
She opens her mouth to reply when I catch a flash of metal from the corner of my eye. I turn around as what looks like scaffolding is elevated beside the building until it’s aligned with the mural. I’m not sure what’s happening until the man inside turns a nozzle.
“Is he—”
Krystal doesn’t need to answer my unfinished question. A spray of water hits the mural, and paint begins to run.