Art & Soul (16 page)

“I’ve never skipped school on purpose.”

“There’s always a natural high doing something for the first time.”

Her lips turned up. “We’re totally skipping school today.”

I wanted to do a dance, but she would’ve thought I was a dork.

But then again, she already thought I was a dork, so I did a jig anyway.

“You’re such a dork.”

Then she danced with me.

She was the only one who could call me a dork and make me feel like Superman at the same time.

L
evi called
into school pretending to be my dad, stating that I was out sick. Then fifteen minutes later, he called pretending to be his father, stating that he was going to be missing school due to a family emergency.

“That was a very impressive Midwest accent, Mr. Myers.”

He held an invisible award. “I’d like to thank the Academy.”

I chuckled.

“All right, we have about a thirty minute walk to the next town to make it to the train station. Do you think you can handle that?” he asked sheepishly, zipping up two backpacks. “I didn’t really think this all the way through.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”

I didn’t tell him that my back had been hurting lately and that my feet had been swollen, because I was certain he would’ve canceled our secret adventure, and canceling a trip to see Jackson Pollock’s abstract paintings was against the law. Or at least it should have been.

He looked at me warily, so I put on a cheesy grin and changed the subject. “What’s in the backpacks?”

“Oh,” he said, his concern transformed into excitement. “It’s our art kits. I was reading online that all the cool, hip kids take art kits with them to art museums and fall into deep, soulful thoughts.”

“What’s in it?”

“All of the basics. A sketch book, pens and pencils, a water bottle, a dirty magazine for me, a Jane Austen novel for you, and double stuffed Oreos.”

I laughed. “Sounds about right.”

W
hen we reached
the train station I’d already eaten all of my Oreos, and two of Levi’s. He offered me all of them, but I refused, saying I wasn’t greedy. My feet were pounding and I felt as if standing was a task straight from hell. I’d never been so happy to see a train pull up into the station. When we sat on the train I ate the rest of his Oreos.

He laughed at my black teeth.

A
t the art museum
, I wanted to look at each piece and stay until the museum closed. Then, after it closed, I wanted to sneak back in and sit in front of Jackson Pollock’s paintings and lose myself completely so I could find myself again.

A person who never truly lost themselves could never truly find themselves, either.

Art was everything right and wrong in the world. It understood what words couldn’t say.

“Oxymoron,” Levi said as we sat and gawked in amazement at Pollock’s work of art. “
Greyed Rainbow
.”

“Maybe it was his favorite word, too.” Pollock’s painting was twisted with mostly black, white, gray, and silver paint, but across the bottom of the canvas were tiny strands of yellows, greens, oranges, blues, and purples. “He hardly used paint brushes. He used sticks and knives and all kinds of different tools for his splattering and dripping paint techniques.”

“I get it now, Art. I get why you love abstract: at first it just looks messy, but then you realize that it is messy, but at the same time it’s not. It’s controlled chaos.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“That’s what we should do for our final piece. We should do three live abstract paintings in front of the crowd. Each piece will be a different oxymoron. The first one you’ll paint loud and I’ll play the music soft. Second we could do an angry painting, and I’ll play happy. Then we could do love and I’ll play hate. And you could paint using sticks, rocks, and leaves from the woods. Tapping into your own Pollock.”

I turned to him and couldn’t stop smiling.

Brilliant.

He didn’t look at me, but he kept staring at Pollock’s work. “I like the way your brain works, Levi.”

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you,” he blurted out, still staring ahead. “I think about kissing you a lot. Then I feel bad that I’m thinking about kissing you because you’re going through some things, and hell, I’m going through some things, and the last thing you need to know is that I’m thinking about kissing you because that’s pointless. It’s so nonsensical, but very, very true, and that’s not all I think about.”

“What else?”

“I think about how you have forty-two freckles across your nose and how I want to kiss every single one forty-two times. I think about how you are the only one who laughs at Mr. Jones’ bad math jokes, and whenever I hear your laugh, I laugh too. I think about how you touch your stomach and smile when nobody’s looking. It’s like it’s your personal secret that the baby makes you happy, and you get to keep that to yourself. I feel bad that I noticed because it seemed like your secret, but I couldn’t help it.”

I swallowed hard and rubbed my arms as he continued.

“I think about how you’re beautiful when you’re sad and it makes me angry when you’re mad. I hate whoever made you untouchable, because if there’s anything I would want to do more than kiss you, it would be to hold you. I like you, Aria. I know I’m not supposed to for certain reasons, but I don’t care. I like you, and I hope that’s okay because I don’t know how to stop. I’m not asking for anything from you. I swear I’m not. Just…take your time, that’s all.”

My heart skipped, twisted, cartwheeled, and cried.

He was quiet before he said, “I hope you liked your birthday gift. Sorry it was late.”

But it wasn’t. It was right on time.

Our hands rested against the bench as we sat staring at the
Greyed Rainbow
.

Slowly I edged my pinkie toward his hand.

Slowly he edged his pinkie toward my hand.

Slowly, nervously, quietly, our pinkies locked together.

Yes, yes, yes.

S
omehow we managed
to return to the train station with two hours to spare before school let out. That meant that after our thirty minute walk back into town, I’d be able to spend eighth hour with Levi working on our foolproof project.

Mainly I just wanted to spend more time with him.

Being around him felt like being around someone who saw your scars and called them beautiful when you only saw your past mistakes.

“You know your brother got into a big fight on Saturday?” Levi asked.

“Mike? Yeah, well. He and his friends are always acting like idiots.”

“It was about you,” he said, making me pause. “Someone called you a whore, and he literally kicked their ass.”

“I thought he hated me,” I whispered as I started walking again.

“Quite the opposite.” He glanced down at the ground. “Your feet are swollen,” Levi said as we walked down the streets toward Mayfair Heights.

“They’re fine.”

“We can take a break,” he offered. I refused.

“Oh! Before I forget, here.” He stopped walking and unzipped his backpack. He pulled out three packages wrapped in newspaper. “This one is for you, this one is for Avocado—”

“Mango,” I corrected. “It’s the size of an mango now.”

“What?!” He reached into his backpack, grabbed a pen, crossed out the word ‘Avocado’ on the paper, and wrote ‘Mango’. “You have to keep me updated on the stats, Art. Geez. Anyway, this one is for Baby Mango, this one is for you, and this one is for you both to share.”

I tore open the one for me and Baby Mango and smiled when I saw a new CD player with a set of headphones.

Then there were two mix CDs.

“Yours has a bit more rap music than Mango’s. I tried to keep that one PG. There are a lot of violin classics on Mango’s. You can put the headphones on your stomach for the baby to listen. Then the kid can be a musical genius like yours truly.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” I asked, a little confused. Before he could reply, a voice shouted behind us.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?!”

I turned around to see Dad sitting in his plumbing truck, his face red as ever. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

“What am
I
doing here?! Why the hell aren’t you in school?!”

Levi stepped forward. “Sorry, Mr. Watson, it’s my fault—I—”

Dad put his truck in park in the middle of the road, swung open his door, and marched over. “Of course she’s with you, you little shit. Stay the hell away from my daughter.”

“Dad!” I screamed, watching him charge toward Levi. “It’s not his fault I—”

“You told me the kid wasn’t his!” Dad hollered at me, his hands in fists. “I swear to God if I catch you anywhere near my daughter again I’ll have you put in jail.”

“Sir,” Levi said, putting his hands up in surrender, but Dad didn’t care.

“Get in the damn car, Aria,” he ordered, wrapping his hand around my forearm, yanking me toward him.

“Ow, Dad! Let go!” I screamed. Levi stepped forward out of reflex, and Dad dropped his hold.

“Take one more step and you’ll regret it, boy. Aria, car. NOW!” He swung the passenger door open and forced me to climb inside. Within seconds he was in the driver’s seat, speeding off down the road, leaving Levi behind.

“What’s wrong with you?!” I cried, slamming my hands against his stiff arm. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“You can’t believe I did that?! Watch it, Aria, because you are this close to—”

“
To what?!
Pissing you off? Having you ignore me? Having you hate me? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve already done all of those things. I made one mistake, the first mistake I’ve ever made, and you decide to pretty much disown me?!”

His fingers were still gripping the steering wheel tight. “So this is your reasoning? This is why you’re skipping school, running around town with a delinquent, and acting like a goddamned five-year-old? Because I haven’t been speaking to you?! Jesus, Aria. Grow up.”

Tears streamed down my face, and I shouted, “He’s not a delinquent!”

“Bullshit, I know his father. I know the shit that goes on in Kent Myers’ house. Plus, James told me how the kid’s been harassing you at school!”
What?!
“They are dirt bags, and I don’t want to see you anywhere near that boy again. And, if it wasn’t already clear as fucking day, you are not allowed to date, Aria!”

He went silent and stayed that way for the rest of the ride as tears fell from my eyes.

When we pulled into our driveway, I rushed out of the truck. “I hate you!” I cried, rushing into the house past a confused Mom.

“What the heck is going on?” she asked, holding KitKat in her arms. “Aria, what are you doing here?”

I ignored her and ran to my room, slamming the door shut. I hurried to text Levi to make sure he was okay, but he didn’t reply. Even with the door shut and my own sobbing, I could still hear Mom and Dad fighting.

“What’s going on, Adam? What are you doing with Aria?”

“I found her running around town with that kid.”

“What kid?”

“Kent Myers’ son! I swear to God, I’m going to kill them both.”

They began fighting—again: Mom telling Dad that he needed to calm down, and Dad shouting that she needed to stop babying me.

“If I catch Myers’ kid anywhere near Aria again so help me—”

“You’re acting ridiculous, Adam!”

“No, Camila. You need to stop with this whole thing. You already know my thoughts on that piece of shit over there, and I am sick and tired of you acting like it’s not a big deal that our daughter is pregnant!”

“I know it’s a big deal. I’ve been dealing with the big deal while you’ve been making up excuses to never come home and reasons to never look her way. You didn’t even come home for her birthday.”

They didn’t stop for an hour. I was surprised they even still had voices.

“Whatever. I have to take Aria to her therapy appointment before I go back to work.”

“Yeah, because those are working out great. Who’s going to watch KitKat while you’re gone? I have to go back to work, too. This shit made me run hours behind schedule.”

“I’ll take her with me, okay? You just do what you do best: go away.”

The front door slammed and the house went silent.

“Aria, I’m putting KitKat in the car, meet us out there.”

After wiping my eyes, I hurried outside to the car. “Mom, I’m sorry. I can explain…”

She wasn’t interested. “We have to hurry home after your therapy appointment today, Aria,” she said as I climbed inside and buckled my seatbelt. “I’m on call at the hospital tonight and your father said he’s working late again, so I need you to watch your sisters since Mike’s at football practice.” She kept going on and on about why I had to watch Grace and KitKat, but that didn’t matter much to me. I knew she was on the edge of falling apart because she kept tugging on her ear, and I knew it was my fault. “I really didn’t want you to have to deal with watching over your sisters because I’m sure you’re so tired, but there’s just so much going on and your father isn’t making this any easier on anyone. And skipping school, Aria? Really? It’s just not…it’s not good. Plus, I need to finish the paperwork for you to be homeschooled next semester, I need to go shopping and bake cookies for Grace’s class, I need to make sure you have a way to get to your next doctor’s appointment, and, and, and—”

She took a breath before her hands flew to her face and she began to sob uncontrollably. I’d never seen Mom cry. There was something so scary and heartbreaking about watching your lifetime Superwoman fall apart in front of you. I unbuckled my seatbelt and edged closer to her, wrapping my arms around her.

Sometimes it was so easy to forget that adults were just kids in bigger bodies, and their hearts broke just like ours.

I
was warming
up some soup for Dad when there was banging on the door. When I walked into the living room, I saw Dad opening the door to Mr. Watson. Hastily, I approached the two of them.

“Keep that shit kid of yours away from my daughter,” Mr. Watson scolded.

Dad turned toward me, confusion in his stare before he blinked and a sly smile crept across his face. “Adam, it might be best if you get the hell off of my property.”

“I mean it, Kent. I know the kind of life you live over here and the last thing I need is for my daughter to get involved in this kind of thing.”

“You mean your pregnant daughter?” Dad smirked. “It seems that she’s plenty capable of getting into enough trouble without the help of my son. Now get the fuck off my property.”

Mr. Watson’s chest was rising and falling hard, his heavy breaths releasing through his mouth. His eyes moved to me standing behind Dad. “I mean it. Stay away from my daughter.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dad chuckled. “Tell Camila I said hi.”

“Don’t talk about my wife.”

“Why not? Isn’t she talking about me?” Dad mocked.

Mr. Watson flipped Dad off as he headed back to his truck and drove away. Dad’s laughter faded away when he turned to me. “Why the hell are you running around town with a pregnant girl?”

“She’s my friend.”

His brows lowered. “You’re real weird, kid. Just lay off of that girl, all right? Camila’s already got enough going on in her life and the last thing she needs is that dick of a husband coming down on her because my dick of a son likes to fall for the knocked up kids. Leave her alone, all right?”

“But—”

“I said leave it!” he ordered.

“Okay.”

He grumbled and walked past me. “And stop watching the damn comedies sitting in the foyer. There are places to sit in the living room.”

I didn’t know how to react. For the first time ever, Dad was inviting me to watch the black and white comedies with him in a roundabout way, but he’d also told me to stop talking to Aria. I was a winning loser.

As we sat in the living room, Dad told me he’d traded his old beat-up car for another one that happened to not be stick shift. He handed me an extra pair of keys and told me I could use it if I wanted to sometimes. I wondered if that was his way of apologizing for giving up on chemotherapy. If so, I just wished he would take the keys back.