Chapter 9
“This is Stella’s room?” JJ asked two days later when I showed him where he’d be staying for the weekend.
“Yeah, sorry about the size,” I replied, apprehensively wondering what he thought of the small accommodations. He was probably used to the best suite a hotel could offer. “We don’t have a guest room.”
“I don’t mind.” JJ dumped his duffel bag on the floor and slowly spun in a circle, head tilted to the side.
He looked like a detective inspecting a crime scene; everything was a potential clue, and he didn’t want to overlook a single detail.
After another rotation, he glanced at me, brows furrowed. “Is this really her room?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. It’s not as…angsty as I thought it would be? Where are the black walls, obscure band posters, and collage of moody Polaroids?”
I let out a laugh. “Our mom wouldn’t let her paint the walls that dark. As for the posters and pictures, she took all that with her to the dorms.”
“It still doesn’t feel like her,” JJ said, and it struck me how well this boy knew my twin.
He was right after all. When she left for college, Stella brought her most important possessions with her.
Then, over Christmas break, she’d cleaned out what was left for her New Year’s resolution.
Without all the clutter—the stacks of sketchbooks and vinyl records, the pile of patchwork quilts that lived on the end of her bed, and the array of candles and houseplants that seemed to multiply on every flat surface—the space had become an empty shell of its former self.
I even missed the curtain of iridescent blue beads that had hung over her door and snagged my hair whenever I walked in.
“Well,” I said, lifting my shoulder in a half shrug, “she’s barely here anymore.”
With a grin, JJ flopped down on the bed. He locked his hands behind his neck, elbows spread wide, then let his head roll to the side so he could look at me. “You think Oliver will be pissed at me?”
“For what?”
He thrust his hips off the mattress into the air. “For sleeping in his girlfriend’s bed.”
My nose wrinkled up. “Don’t be gross or I’ll make you sleep on the couch.”
JJ didn’t answer. He jerked into a sitting position like he’d just remembered something important. “Hey, when do I get a tour of your room?”
“You don’t,” I said, crossing my arms.
Not when one of the walls was covered in posters of the Heartbreakers.
If JJ saw that… I didn’t want to think about the overwhelming amount of embarrassment I’d be forced to endure.
I’d lived through that terrible feeling once before, and even though Oliver had been nice about it, I had zero plans to experience said humiliation a second time.
Because knowing JJ, he’d tease the living daylights out of me.
Then again, his ego might get the better of him.
It wasn’t hard to imagine JJ whipping out a Sharpie and eagerly signing every poster he could get his hands on.
“Why not?” He swung both legs off the bed, eyes glittering in excitement.
“I like my privacy,” I said feebly.
Another grin slid onto JJ’s face as he stood, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, my stomach bottomed out.
There was a smugness to the curve of his lips, like he knew something I didn’t.
“Be honest. Is it because you have one of those creepy shrines to Oliver hidden in your closet? Framed pictures of him covered in lipstick marks, toenail clippings, flickering candles? Because I would pay to see that.”
Ew! “No,” I said, shooting him a scathing look. “Why in the world would I want to collect anyone’s toenails? That’s disgusting.”
“Then why are you being so defensive?”
“I’m not being defensive!”
“Says the person whose cheeks are practically on fire.” His gaze darted to the open door, then back to me, almost like he was contemplating making a break for it to find my room.
“JJ…” I said in a warning tone, taking a step back to block the door.
“Cara…” he taunted. We held gazes for a long moment, and he must have read something in my expression, because the playful look faded from his face. “You know I’m teasing, right? I’d never actually judge you, no matter what’s…ah, in your room.”
In the silent moment that followed his statement, the world around me seemed to stop, then a startling realization clobbered me over the head. He knew. JJ already knew about my collage.
“Did Oliver tell you?” I guessed.
His lips twitched. “Maybe.”
“I hate you both,” I muttered. Letting out a long sigh, I sank onto Stella’s beanbag, one of her few remaining possessions that reminded me of our childhood. “If you really want to see my room, I’ll show you later, but I’d like to clean up my laundry first, okay?”
“As long as that’s not an excuse in order for you to take everything down,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “I think it’s cute that my girlfriend has posters of me on her wall. Very supportive of her.”
“Fake girlfriend,” I corrected him.
JJ ignored this and turned his attention to the vanity, a sole vestige of clutter. “I made a decision during my flight,” he said as he ferreted through the makeup, jewelry, and nail polish.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I’m going to help you this weekend.” As he spoke, JJ selected a perfume bottle and gave it a sniff before wrinkling his nose and swiftly setting it back down. “You provided me with a well-timed escape from family vacation hell, so a little quid pro quo is only fair.”
“Who says I need help with anything?” I replied, for no other reason than to be argumentative. Bantering with JJ was easily the best part of our unorthodox friendship.
“Well, obviously a warrior princess such as yourself doesn’t need help, but we have an entire weekend together. Might as well cross something off your bucket list, right?”
I perked up at his suggestion. “Like what?”
“How about number one? Not only do I have a wicked idea for a new tattoo, but I already researched the best parlor in Minneapolis.”
So he’d put thought into this. Warmth spread through my chest at the realization.
“That would be great if I knew what I wanted a tattoo of.” Honestly, it was a shame. I’d love to go with someone like JJ who’d been through the process before, as it would make the experience less daunting.
“I thought you wanted an infinity symbol?”
“Yeah, when I was fifteen.”
“Pick something else,” he said, as if it was that easy.
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. How about an alligator? You seem to have an unhealthy obsession with them.”
“Just because they’re my favorite animal doesn’t mean I want one tattooed on my body forever.
This is going to be permanent. It needs to mean something.
” Because on the off chance I stayed in remission for a while, I had to consider the future.
What if I picked a design I thought was cool now, only to hate it a year down the road?
After all, at one point, I’d thought an infinity symbol was the epitome of cool.
“Does it have to though?” JJ countered. “I mean, if you really think about it, the process of getting a tattoo in and of itself is meaningful, and I’m not saying that just because it’s part of your list.”
I cocked my head. “How so?”
“Well, everyone has scars. Maybe you busted open your knee as a kid or burned your hand while pulling something out of the oven. The point is those insignificant moments will be with you forever, whether you like it or not. Tattoos are a lot like those scars. The only difference is they’re the ones you get to pick, and that’s what makes them mean something. ”
“Wow.” I self-consciously rubbed the scar just below my collarbone—an ugly red welt that indicated where my chemo port had once been. Dr. Mitchell told me it wouldn’t leave much of a mark, but I’d always scarred easily. “That’s really deep, JJ.”
“Thank you. Every now and then, I put my two brain cells together and come up with something smart,” he said in a silly, self-deprecating way. “It’s surprising, I know.”
“What was your first tattoo?” I knew from interviews he had more than the sleeve and the griffin, but I didn’t know what they were or which one was the original. “Did it have any meaning?”
He shook his head. “Nope, none at all. Do you want to see it?” Before I could answer, JJ undid his belt buckle, and a second later, his pants hit the ground.
I froze, my mouth suddenly dry. JJ was wearing a snug pair of boxer briefs that left little to the imagination.
Just below the hem on his inner thigh was the outline of a cartoon army tank.
It was small, probably the size of my palm, and the only part colored in was the confetti spraying from the gun.
“…drew it in art class,” he was saying when I finally snapped back to reality.
“Really, JJ?” I exclaimed, slapping a hand over my eyes.
“What, you don’t like it?” He sounded disappointed. “I know it’s simple, but that’s what I love about it.”
“I like your tattoo,” I reassured him. It fit JJ perfectly—the tank matched his tough exterior, while the confetti represented his colorful personality.
It was obnoxious but in a playful way that made me smile.
That wasn’t the point I was trying to make, however.
“For the love of God, put your pants back on!”
“Huh,” he said in a contemplative way. “That’s a first. Nobody’s ever told me to put my clothes on before. Usually they hang around for round two.”
Without thinking, I tore my hand away from my eyes and speared JJ with a sharp glare. “First of all? Gross. Second of all, gross. Third—”
“Gross?” JJ guessed, a hint of a smile tugging on his lips.
“No. What I was going to say is that your sexcapades are in no way comparable to whipping off your pants in front of me for no reason at all!”
“No reason at all?” JJ mock gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “You asked about my tattoo, remember? And I thought you’d be impressed by my manly thighs.”
“With that tan line?” I shot back. “Yeah right.”
In response, JJ flexed the muscles in his legs, and I instantly blushed.
Dear God, he’s built.