Chapter 2 #2
“I liked it. It was cute.” His lips pull into a half-smirk as he says it. Not in a mean way though. More in a ‘look-how-cute-my-
kid-sister-is’ kind of way. It makes my skin crawl, but I push through the discomfort and smile back at him. He doesn’t take my art seriously either.
If only to fill the silence, I murmur a quiet, “Thanks.”
Mom pats my shoulder as Dad says, “You’ll have to show us that one, sweetie.”
But I already did, last week, before I submitted it for an assignment for one of my classes.
You said it looked great, but of course you don’t remember.
All my artwork looks the same to you and Mom.
You casually support it—my painting—the passion you prefer to call a hobby.
You smile politely when I show you my work, but you don’t really see it. You don’t really see me.
I swallow down my bitterness. “Yeah, okay.”
Mom and Dad grin, completely oblivious to the widening fissure in my heart, as they turn back to Grayson. “You were so close to your PR again today, champ,” Dad boasts, his eyes alight as he lassoes Grayson back into a conversation about something he actually cares about.
But I’m grateful. I need some time to get this sour taste out of my mouth. It tastes like jealousy.
I check to make sure Mom and Dad have Gideon and Everly in hand before I excuse myself and start walking back to the parking garage.
They won’t keep Grayson for much longer.
They’ll ask him about his classes, his studio apartment, and his girlfriend, Nadia.
I don’t need to hear about how perfectly he’s juggling it all. I already know.
Feeling irritable, I compulsively check my social media again as I walk.
A new video from Phantom immediately populates on my feed.
In the video, they are spray-painting graffiti on the side of an old, rusted train car.
The spray paint’s neon colors are loud and flamboyant, illustrating a multi-colored ghost with a dark crown placed crookedly upon its head.
Phantom signs their name beneath the image before turning to the camera and flipping off the viewer—me.
Their eyes are concealed in shadow beneath the white ski mask.
Royalty indeed.
I scoff as I exit the app, far too riled up to properly appreciate Phantom’s genius at the moment.
My phone suddenly dings as a text message comes through from my best friend, Alexis, asking on a scale from one to ten how unbearable Grayson’s game was.
I’m surprised to be hearing from her, but I reply with the number seven and an upside-down smiley face emoji anyway.
Alexis moved from Illinois to Tennessee just over thirteen months ago.
She got into her dream university, Vanderbilt, her parents’ alma mater.
No matter how much I wanted to beg and plead with her to stay, in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I couldn’t stand in the way of her dreams like that.
We promised each other the distance wouldn’t change anything between us, but of course it has.
Alexis is kind, generous, and has the biggest heart, but she’s also forgetful.
If I text her ten times, she’ll remember to reply once.
So unless we talk on the phone, we barely communicate, which is why this spontaneous text from her is such a treat.
But it also makes me miss her all the more.
I’ve been so lonely without her. She was the first friend I ever made.
And the older I get, the worse at making new friends I seem to become.
There are a few students in my art classes that I talk to at the local community college I attend, but the only person I hang out with outside of classes is Noah, my childhood friend-turned-boyfriend.
Sometimes I’ll hang out with other people that run in Noah’s circles––jocks and gamers mostly––when he invites me along to parties or tournaments, but that’s been happening less and less recently.
I think he’s figured out that I rarely enjoy myself around his crowd.
They don’t get me, just like I don’t get them.
Noah is the exception, though. He respects me, appreciates me, and encourages every single one of my dreams, artistic or not.
When I’m around him, I never feel overlooked or forgotten.
I can talk about anything and don’t have to worry about being judged or questioned or held to some impossible standard. With Noah, I’m enough, just as I am.
And it’s everything.
“Sorry for making you wait, sweetheart,” Mom coos, interrupting my thoughts. I push off the van door that I was leaning against as she unlocks the car.
“It’s fine,” I mutter as I open the door and climb into the back seat once more.
“I gave Gray a hug for you,” Gideon tells me with a smile. He looks so much like Dad with his dark brown hair and bright green eyes, it makes my chest feel too small to hold the breath I’d taken.
“Good,” I say while rustling his hair. “You’re better at giving hugs than I am anyway.”
“Yeah, I am,” he agrees with a giggle.
Dad asks as he buckles himself in, “Who’s ready for burgers?”
I grumble under my breath while everyone else responds with a resounding, “Me!”
If the restaurant they pick doesn’t have a vegetarian option, it looks like I’ll be having french fries for dinner again tonight.
The perfect end to the perfect day.