Absorbed

Chapter Seventeen

A fter work, Stacey stopped by Gabe’s house. He deserved an explanation and an apology, in person. They were way past the point of a phone call. She bought an Abba-Zaba and a Mountain Dew, his favorites, and drove by his house on her way home, windows down for the feeble breeze. A block away, she could hear the sound of him playing the drums from his open garage.

Stacey held her peace offering up as she approached Gabe’s driveway. He was shirtless and sweating, hitting his drumsticks hard on the kit in a fast, complicated beat. He glanced up, but quickly looked back at his snare drum. Jaw clenched, Gabe struck the drums harder.

Stacey set the snacks on top of Gabe’s dad’s rusted yellow Malibu and leaned against the door. The car took up half the garage, its hood open and a box of tools resting on the engine.

When the song ended, Gabe set down his drumsticks and wiped his face and chest with a towel without looking up. He turned toward the door to the house, hesitating before finally standing and pulling on his shirt. Still avoiding eye contact, he made his way over to the Malibu, propping himself against the tire-well, his arms crossed.

Stacey swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m really sorry. I should have called you back.”

Gabe nodded, staring at the floor.

“Did you still go to Tower Records on Friday?”

He bit his bottom lip and nodded again.

Stacey moved closer. “I’ve been a really crappy friend. I’m so sorry, Gabe. How can I make things right?”

“Yeah…you have.” Gabe agreed coolly. “Those for me?”

Stacey grabbed the soda and taffy and held them out to him.

“Thanks.” Gabe took both treats, then stretched his arms wide, folding Stacey into a bear hug, his long arms fully encircling her shoulders.

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against Gabe’s collar bone, inhaling the familiar clean scent of Tide laundry soap with a hint of his sweat. When he rested his chin atop her head, Stacey’s confident facade began to crumble. Why did I ever choose Jessie over this?

Gabe let go and pushed Stacey away to arm’s length. He cocked his head and wrinkled his brow. “What inspired this?”

“I wanted to hang out.” She shrugged. “You busy?”

Gabe rolled his eyes and the dimple appeared in his left cheek. “I mean the haircut, dumbass.” He shook his head.

“I deserve that.” Stacey lifted her chin. “Like it?”

“Sure,” Gabe replied, taking it in from all the angles. “It’s different. Kind of Mad Love .”

“I’m cool with that.”

“Wanna go up to my room?”

Stacey nodded, then followed Gabe into the kitchen. She was struck with a waft of sauteed onions and browning beef.

Gabe’s mom was cooking dinner. “Hey, Stacey! Where’ve you been?” She had the same dimple in her left cheek as Gabe had. Her brown curly hair was cut short and teased, framing her pink, round face in a chestnut halo.

“Hi, Mrs. Saunders.” Stacey stopped beside the counter and folded her hands over the white tiles. “Just…working. Too much, I guess.”

“Me too,” she said, smiling. “You stayin’ for dinner, hun?”

“I don’t think so. My mom is expecting me at home. But thanks.”

“You’re always welcome. Your mom, too. Tell her I said hello.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Stacey caught up to Gabe on the stairs, and they turned the corner on the landing to go into his bedroom.

Gabe’s room was always tidy. Catching him off guard seemed impossible. His twin bed was made so the plaid bedspread lines were straight and aligned with the corners. There were never dirty clothes on the floor. His closet door was closed, and other than a few CD cases set on his desk, nothing was out of place. Stacey hoped she could keep her room that tidy now that she’d dumped so much clutter.

Gabe left the door ajar and set the Abba-Zaba in the drawer of his desk. He twisted the cap off the soda, taking a large swig before putting the lid back on. Stacey sat on his bed, leaving her Birkenstocks on the floor. She shimmied back to lean against the wall.

“What do you want to listen to?” Gabe asked.

“What’d you get Friday?”

“The new Warped Tour album.”

“Put that on. Can I see the jacket?”

Gabe pressed play on the stereo. He handed her the jewel case and sat beside her on the bed.

Stacey danced her bare feet along to “Anxiety.” “Cool cover-art,” she said, outlining the large guitar and the skateboard with her finger. They looked like they were drawn in permanent ink, then water-colored.

“You’ll like the Reel Big Fish and Sublime songs, too,” he said.

After a few minutes of listening to music, Gabe nudged Stacey with his elbow. “So… when you gonna tell me what’s really been going on?”

“What do you mean?” Stacey studied the skater doing an ollie in the bottom right corner.

“Well, first: why’d you ignore my calls?”

Stacey set the jewel case aside, pulled her legs up and crossed them under her. She tucked the short strands of hair behind her ears. “I started spending more time with everyone at the pool, like we talked about.”

Gabe nodded. “And…”

“And we all decided to go see Independence Day …when it came out…” Stacey looked into his green eyes. “…on Wednesday.”

“So, you told me you were busy Friday night for no reason?”

“No. I was afraid to tell you the truth. That I had a date. With Jessie.”

“A date?” Gabe scoffed. “That guy doesn’t take girls on ‘dates.’”

Stacey looked down at the bedspread and picked at a thread. “I know that, now.”

“So, what did you do on your date, then?”

Stacey tangled her fingers together in her lap. “He said we were going to watch a meteor shower.”

“In your car?” Gabe asked dryly.

Stacey nodded without looking up.

Gabe tilted his head back and searched the ceiling for a minute. Then he leaned toward her. She met his gaze. Gabe’s face seemed pained as he clarified. “So… you… and Jessie… You guys had…”

Stacey nodded before the word could come out of his mouth.

“And that was…your first time…right?”

She bit her lip, nodded again.

“Are you…two…together…now?”

Stacey’s eyes welled up. Staring blankly out the window, she shook her head.

Gabe ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. “I’m really sorry, Stace. He’s a jerk. It shouldn’t have been like that.”

One silent tear fell down Stacey’s cheek. She nodded again and wiped it away. “I’m afraid…” she said quietly, “he didn’t use…protection.”

Without hesitating, Gabe leaned forward and put his arms around Stacey. “No, no, no, no, no. Goddamnit!” He shook his head as he hugged her. “Fucking douchebag.”

Stacey let more tears stream down her cheeks. Gabe knowing somehow helped her feel less alone.

“Have you talked to your mom?”

Stacey pulled away. “I can’t! She’d be so pissed.”

“Maybe. But she’d understand.”

“No. I’m supposed to be smarter than this. Cause no problems. Take care of myself.”

Gabe exhaled. “She doesn’t expect you to be perfect.”

Stacey avoided his gaze. She wiped her cheeks and willed her strong new attitude to return.

“Your mom loves you, Stace. She’d do anything for you.”

She knew Gabe was right, but suddenly wanted to end the conversation. She had no intention of ever telling her mom anything.

Stacey bit her lip, nodded, and turned away. It was easier to lie without looking him in the eye. “I’ll think about it.” She stood and slipped her feet back into her Birkenstocks. “I should go. Thanks for–”

Her unspoken words hung in the air as she walked out of Gabe’s bedroom.

“How was your day at the pool?” Stacey’s mom asked, staring at her from across the table between bites. Since dating Greg, her mom had made more of an effort to cook real meals and to eat at the table.

“Fine.” Stacey leaned over her plate and bit into the soft tortilla, the fajita juices dripping into a puddle.

“Did you say you stopped by Gabe’s?”

“Um hmm…” Stacey nodded and chewed, her eyes down.

“How is he? Everything good between you two?”

Stacey chewed the last bite of her tortilla, nodding, and wiped her mouth. “I guess.”

Her mom picked at her rice with her fork.

The ticking clock intensified the silence.

Stacey leaned back in her chair and sipped her water. “How was work?”

“Good. Same old blue-hairs coming in for their same wash-and-sets and perms.” She took a sip of wine. “It pays the bills. Lord knows I have plenty of those.”

“I have the money to give you for the swimsuits. Sorry I didn’t pay you back sooner.”

“Thanks. That will help.” Her mom smiled and their eyes met briefly, then she stabbed several strips of bell peppers and shoved them in her mouth.

Murphy shifted and groaned on the ground by their feet.

“I like the thing you put up on your wall. It’s really cool. It’s a dream catcher, right?”

Stacey cringed. “Thanks.”

“Are you going back to those art classes?”

Stacey shrugged.

“You should. You’re really talented.”

“No one else was going. She probably isn’t doing it anymore.” Especially since it ended so awkwardly last time.

“You never know unless you show up, right?” her mom said.

Stacey looked at the clock. It was after seven. Ms. Moreno might still be there for a while. If she showed up at all anymore. Stacey turned back to her plate, pushing a shriveled tomato through the puddle of sauce with her fork.

Looking over the rim of her glass, her mom said, “I can clean up dinner. You should go.”

“I guess I could drive by. See if she’s there.” Stacey stood and picked up her plate and silverware. “Need anything while I’m out?”

“Nope.” Her mom’s expression softened. She looked hopeful.

Stacey was surprised to find the high school abuzz with activity.

The lower parking lot had dozens of cars parked near the football field and gym. The golden glow of the gym’s lights poured out from the open double-doors, where large fans exhausted the hot air. The floodlights around the track highlighted about seventy boys in full pads and practice jerseys, running drills in small groups around the field.

Stacey drove up to the staff lot behind the art building. Unlike around the athletics department, the rest of the school still felt abandoned. Once again Ms. Moreno’s car was the only one in the lot, and hers was the only classroom with lights on.

Stacey stepped around a large fan in the doorway, only to see several more fans blowing around the room, creating a hum that muffled Stacey’s footsteps and the buzz of the fluorescent lights.

Paint palettes and paper were set up in the center of the room with mason jars of water. At another large table in the corner, Ms. Moreno’s work surface was covered with drawings and paintings of eyes in varying sizes and shapes. Some were pairs, some were singular staring eyes. They all looked up at the art teacher who was intensely focused on the full-page eye she was sketching in pencil on the pad in front of her. Ms. Moreno held her face close to the paper, a deep line between her brows, and a white eraser gripped in her left hand.

Stacey stood beside the watercolor table, avoiding the creepiness of that many eyes looking up without faces. She cleared her throat noisily to be heard above the fans.

Ms. Moreno jerked her head up, and looked over, surprised and confused. When she realized it was Stacey, her face relaxed. “Hi.” She set her pencil and eraser down, and stood. “It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“Yeah, I’ve been…a lot was going on. Work. Fourth of July.”

“I get it. I’m glad you’re here. Your new haircut looks cute.”

Stacey rubbed the nape of her neck. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, this is for a class I’m taking. Kinda weird to see so many eyes in one place, right?”

Stacey nodded, her eyebrows high, but remained glued to her spot.

“Don’t worry,” Ms. Moreno chuckled, crossing the room. “It’s not the Art Escape project for tonight. I had something else in mind. Hopefully you’ll like it, since you’re around the water so much.”

“Too much.”

“Well, I promise we won’t be painting the community pool.” Ms. Moreno pulled out the metal stool beside Stacey and sat down. She set pencils, rulers, and paper on the butcher block in front of her and Stacey.

Stacey sat on the stool beside her and grabbed the pencil. “I thought we were doing watercolor.”

“We are. But an important part of watercolor is planning out your project, because you can’t always paint over something to redo it the way you can with acrylic or oil paints.”

“But won’t we see the lines?”

“We’ll draw really lightly, and we’ll only put the lines we absolutely need, that will be covered with dark paint, or where there’s a natural line, like a horizon, where two colors will meet and it will be less noticeable. Done well, the pencil can add to the overall composition or completely disappear.”

“Okay….What are we drawing?”

“This.” Ms. Moreno flipped over an 8x10 photo that had been lying face down.

Stacey groaned. “The National Monument?”

“It’s a simple exercise in perspective drawing AND…drum roll, please.” Ms. Moreno tapped her hands rhythmically on the table. “Reflections on water.”

Stacey pursed her lips and nodded slowly.

“I can see you aren’t impressed, but…give it a chance. I took this photo when I chaperoned the Washington D.C. trip last spring. I love how clearly visible the monument and clouds are on the reflecting pool. And it’s easy to draw and recreate it with pencil and a ruler.”

Stacey tapped her eraser on the table, irritated. “Lucky you.” There was a sarcastic lilt to her voice. “This way I get to ‘experience’ it, too, right? Like the northern lights? I can stay in Mesa Valley forever and just pretend I went places?”

Ms. Moreno’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. She eyed Stacey carefully for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Stacey.” Ms. Moreno put her pencil down and rotated toward Stacey on her stool. “I didn’t mean to… I couldn’t have gone on a trip like that growing up, either. It doesn’t matter what we paint.” She flipped the 8x10 face down on the table. “We don’t even have to do this project. Or paint. We can just talk.”

Stacey could feel Ms. Moreno’s eyes on her, but she refused to look up from the white page on the table. “It’s fine. Let’s paint it. You’re here. I’m here.” She picked up the ruler and set it on her page.

Ms. Moreno turned back to the project, but left her hands in her lap.

Stacey huffed, then flipped the photograph back over. Using the ruler, she drew a large rectangle for the reflecting pool on the bottom half of her page, then a taller, skinnier rectangle above it.

Ms. Moreno sat silently, watching Stacey.

Frustrated, Stacey erased her monument, making the top more pointed. When it still didn’t look right, she dropped her pencil. “Are you going to help me, or what?”

“It seemed like you wanted to do it by yourself.”

“If I wanted to figure it out on my own I wouldn’t be here. You said it would be simple. This is too hard.”

“It is simple, once you identify your vanishing point.”

“What? What’s a ‘vanishing point’?”

“In this case, the vanishing point is at the far end of the pool, here,” Ms. Moreno pointed at the spot near the center of the photograph. “The monument travels upward from there, and the reflecting pool comes from that point toward the viewer. That’s why it looks wider at this end, even though you know it’s a rectangle in your mind.”

Stacey stopped listening. She stared at the water in the image, but saw the little boy she had pulled from the deep end two days before.

“Is that what it’s called—the vanishing point—when you can’t see what’s under the surface because the light is too bright?”

“No. I think that’s…refraction?” Ms. Moreno looked up at the ceiling. “It has to do with the angle of the light source. It’s more of a physics thing, but I think that’s why these reflective images are better in the morning and at night than the middle of the day. The angle of the sun in the sky makes the reflection clearer. Why?”

“The bright sunlight makes it hard to see, sometimes. In the deep-end of the pool.”

Ms. Moreno turned on her stool again. “Did something happen?”

“It’s no big deal.” Stacey shrugged. “A little boy sank to the bottom when he went off the diving board. The sunlight was so bright on the top of the water that it took me a second to know for sure what I was looking at. I got to him in time, but…” Stacey sighed.

“That must have been really scary, Stacey. I’m sorry that happened.” Ms. Moreno put her hand on Stacey’s.

Stacey pulled away. “Like I said, not a big deal. He’s fine.”

“I understand.” Ms. Moreno studied Stacey a few seconds longer, then lifted the photograph. “Another thing to understand about refraction is that it can affect how deep water appears. See how it looks like this water could be really deep because it looks so dark around the reflection of the white monument?”

Stacey nodded.

“It’s actually only about eighteen inches deep on the sides and thirty inches deep in the middle. The way the light refracts makes it appear deeper.”

Stacey thought about The Plunge at night, after they turned off the lights inside the pool. How the lights around the pool reflected on the surface of the water, but the pool itself looked like a black abyss.

“Do you want to give it another try?” Ms. Moreno asked, lifting up a blank piece of paper.

Stacey shook her head gently. “Not really.” She nodded toward the drawings of eyes. “You’re taking a whole class on how to draw eyes?”

Ms. Moreno grinned. “Well, no, but that’s a major focus.” She snorted. “Dumb joke, I know.”

Stacey pinched between her eyes and forced a chuckle.

Ms. Moreno went on. “It’s about communicating a whole story with a single picture, through important details.”

“How can a single eye tell a whole story?”

“Think about it: we can tell a lot from a person’s single eye.” She walked over to the table where she’d been working.

When Stacey didn’t follow her, Ms. Moreno gestured for Stacey to come across the room.

Once Stacey was by her side, Ms. Moreno continued. “We can tell if they’re happy or exhausted. The wrinkles reveal if they’re old, or we know they’re really young because of how wide and bright the eyes are.” She lifted up a pair of round blue eyes that were above the tops of chubby cheeks, with a few short lashes, and set it beside the image she had been working on. The single eye was surrounded by a web of fine lines, the dark lid heavy.

“So, yeah, that’s a baby and that’s someone who’s old. But those are details about a person. You said an eye can tell a whole story.”

“Yeah, the eye is the main character. The way they’re looking out of it tells a lot about how they feel. Their perspective. The rest of the story is visible in what the eye is looking at, in the reflection of the light on the pupil.” Ms. Moreno pointed to the reflection on her full-page eye. Stacey got closer. There was water gathered in the bottom of the eye, like the person was sad, but trying not to cry. In the reflection on the pupil there was a clear image of an old, large knuckled hand being held by a small child’s hand.

“Wow! That’s amazing.”

“Thank you. I’ve been working on it the past couple weeks. Trying to get it right.”

“Do you have a reference photo or something?” Stacey studied the details more closely.

Ms. Moreno shook her head. “Only memory.”

Stacey set the pad down. “This is someone you know?”

“Was.” She picked up the sketch. “My grandma. She raised me until I was seven. When she died.”

“I’m so sorry.” Stacey bit her lip.

“It’s okay.” Ms. Moreno sighed. “It was a long time ago. I want my project to be a tribute to her. How much she did for me.”

“It’s really beautiful. I’m sure she would have loved it.”

Ms. Moreno set the sketch down and looked at the collection of eyes staring back. “Fun fact: the human eye is 98% water. That’s why it reflects light so well. It’s what gave me the idea for the other project.”

“So our eyes really are pools?” Stacey picked up a pair of eyes that looked kind. Gentle. Tired. Like her mother’s eyes. “And the reflection can show how deeply someone cares.” She set it down again.

Ms. Moreno crossed her arms. “Maybe. It’s also easy to be deceived, when someone refuses to look back.”

Deceived. Stacey glanced away, pretending a sudden interest in the wall of windows. The night disappeared behind the reflection of the bright classroom.

“Or when everything about a person is too bright and shiny,” she mumbled. “Then the darkness reveals the truth.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Stacey, is there something going on?” Ms. Moreno leaned against the table. “Anything you need to talk about?”

Stacey shook her head. She had a sudden urge to get far away.

“Cool project,” Stacey said, crossing the room. “Creepy, but cool.”

“Thanks. D’you want—?”

“I should go.” Stacey grabbed her keys from where she’d left them on the butcher block.

“Okay…” Ms. Moreno’s voice was thick with disappointment. “I’m glad you came. I’m always here, Stacey. Stay safe.”

Stacey maneuvered around the buzzing fan in the doorway, into the dark parking lot. “What a waste,” she mumbled to herself.

Backing out, Stacey avoided the gaze of her own reflection in the rearview mirror.