Chapter 6
Chapter Six
13 YEARS AGO
Lukas
After ten summers in my mother’s house, I should be used to the side-eyes the family gives me. Adam stole my iPad charger again, so I’m trapped in the living room using the slow one that overheats. I hate being out in the open like this where anyone can walk by and verbally assault me. Two more summers and then I’m done. I’ve served my time.
Mom and Angie walk through the space on their way to the front door. “We’ve got a dentist appointment today, don’t forget to preheat the oven at four,” Mom says. It’s the tenth time she’s reminded me, and there are sticky notes all over the house. She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and glances at her phone. “Waverly, what time are you getting picked up?”
She leans in the doorway. “One of my cousins should be here in twenty minutes.”
Mom frowns, and I can’t tell if it's because Waverly will be here without her and Angie, or alone with me. Or maybe she doesn’t like the idea of a strange man coming by the house. Either way, she gives the same flash of disapproval whenever I’m around. I know it’s me. I’ve seen the family photos, the ones I’m not in. Mom’s so fucking happy in them.
“Um, okay.” She pushes her hair out her eyes with her wrist and sighs. “Don’t forget to lock the door.”
Waverly and I share glances, neither of us sure who Mom was reminding.
Angie grabs my hoodie from the hook. “It’s always cold there.”
Awesome, I’ve lost that too now. My bags are always lighter on the flight home.
The front door slams and it’s only Waverly. She’s wearing a little sundress and I can’t tell if she’s too old or too young for it. It’s tight and low cut like it fit her last year. Her shoulders are pink from the sun.
“What are you drawing?”
I try to give off my leave me alone vibe- avoiding eye contact, ever present frown. Everyone else picks up on it, why can’t she? She approaches and I get a hint of oranges and vanilla.
Wolverine’s claws aren’t giving the right level of shine and his eyes aren’t right. “It’s only a doodle.” Her shadow casts over the page. Her tiny frame only towers over me when I’m sitting at the kitchen table.
“It’s perfect!” she squeals, and my chest tightens. She points to my journal. “Can I see more?” If it was Angie, the journal would already be out of my hands.
I nod and hand it over to her. She flips through. “You’ve got so many different styles here. Manga and realistic, cartoony and kawaii. What’s your favorite?”
No one’s ever asked me that before. Her wide, green eyes watch me, and my throat fills with spit and becomes dry all at once. I didn’t think it was physically possible. “Um, I don’t have one. It’s whatever my pen wants to make.”
She speaks in a hushed, awed tone. “That’s incredible.” She returns my journal and asks, “Are you going to art school?”
I shrug, “Haven’t given it much thought. Maybe I could manage my dad’s shop.”
Her whole face lights up like I’ve given her ten thousand Christmas gifts at once. “You’re gonna take over the shop? You’ll be amazing!”
The back of my neck starts to sweat. Has anyone been this excited about me? Ever?
She moves in closer to me, my knee touching hers. “I’ve always thought tattoo artists were selfless. You spend hours creating art and you give it away, never to be seen again. And you're a permanent part of a person’s life.”
I don’t know how or when, but my index finger lifts her chin. There’s a second of confusion on her face followed by the bloom of pink across her cheeks.
“Waverly.” Her name sounds like a dream. My lips brush against hers, soft and warm. She leans into mine as a tiny moan escapes her. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this. Not a distraction from my otherwise shitty existence and time in this hellhole, but her. She has always been the best part of coming here—her smile, her laughter...
I pull away slowly, waiting for her to react. Is she mad at me? Does she hate me? Will she run and tell Angie about this?
Her eyes stay shut as she lifts her finger to my lips, barely missing my nose. “Shhhh,” she says, opening her eyes and standing up. Waverly walks out the room and her pounding feet echo on the stairs. Then the house is quiet.
What have I done?
I should run and apologize to her.
Instead, I spend the next ten minutes mindlessly finishing my drawing and replaying our kiss in my head. Damn if she hadn’t been perfect. But why did she tell me to shh before I said anything?
The printer springs to life, screaming and straining for minutes on end until it becomes white noise.
I erase Wolverine’s nose and try again, this time more narrow, and it looks less shitty.
Again, Waverly thunders down the stairs.
Focus on what you can control. The pencil on the paper, one line and shape at a time. Trust the process.
Again, her shadow casts on my drawing, and she drops a stack of papers next to my journal. I blink at it, recognizing the words and iconology, but my brain isn’t fully making the connections.
“This is a list of art schools on the West Coast and all the requirements you need to get in.” She places her hands on the table and leans across, a tiny smirk on her face.
“Why?”
“Because that’s where you live.” She shrugs and shifts from side to side. “You kissed me because I said something nice to you. I figured, if I gave you actual support, we might use tongue next time.”
Waverly is a master of catching me off guard. “What?”
She rolls her eyes. “Ever since my boobs came in, I’ve been patiently waiting for you to work up the courage to make a move. We’ve got ten minutes before my cousin picks me up.” She pushes her hair behind her shoulder and wiggles her eyebrows. “So, what are you waiting for?”
Well, there are worse ways to spend ten minutes. I grab her wrist and pull her toward me. “Get over here.”
She squeaks in delight, and I’d do anything to hear that noise again.