Golden (11 page)

I didn't know what to say to that. Or how this guy, who I'd never met, knew me as Shane's girlfriend. Or why it made something in me tense up that he did.

“I'm Julianna,” I said finally. “And as far as I know, my future's not set in stone.”

“Well—Julianna.” He took a step toward me. In that moment his eyes danced with something I've gone back to more times than I can count, because of what he said next. “Maybe the saying is true then. Maybe we were supposed to meet out here on this balcony tonight.”

I don't know why I wrote all of this down . . . .

Actually, that's a lie. I just lied in my own journal.
I wrote it down because it's three a.m. and it's all I've thought about since I left Shane's. I wrote it down to remember it, because this night turned out to be beautiful.

We stayed out there under the stars, trading words like secrets, and I wanted to keep all of his for later. We talked about little things, like how he'd come here and stayed with his uncle for the winter because he wanted to try out a place different from the one he'd been in all his life. I said I wished I could go away too, but to a place tropical and warm, anywhere near an ocean. We talked about small towns and big dreams, about art and beauty and inspiration, and about traveling, and all the places we'd each want to see if we could. We talked like we'd always known each other, and when it finally came time for him to go, it felt like we had.

And I left too, because I didn't want to spend the night in Shane's bed after that. I wanted to come home and be alone, to think about it more. To think about him more. I hope that's not wrong. It doesn't seem like it should be, just talking to someone. What does seem wrong though, is that I've been lying in bed looking up at the real Orion in the sky, wondering if the one I met on the balcony had someone waiting on him, like Shane with me. I didn't ask, because if the answer was yes, I didn't want to know. It's almost enough to make me hope I never see him again. Almost.

I close the journal but leave my finger in the space where she left off. All of a sudden this story feels different in a way I don't expect, and I'm not sure I want that. Shane and Julianna were the golden couple. That's how everyone remembers them. That's how I want to keep remembering them. But I can hear a tiny shift in her words. And I can see her standing on the balcony with Orion, the night shining around them with something new and magical. I've never been there personally, but I know enough to know that things like this never end well. Part of me hopes she didn't ever see him again, and part of me has a nervous feeling that maybe she did. I open the journal again to find out.

May 26

I'm restless today and this town feels so small. Shane's gone, again. He's off learning to fly his grandpa's plane, and I'm here, waiting for him to get back, feeling pathetic. Days like these make me realize how much of my life revolves around him, and how little I have that's just me, or mine alone. Sitting here without him makes me feel totally unmoored—not in a free kind of way, but in a lonely one. The worst thing is, Shane's never made me feel like I had to give anything up for him. I did that all on my own, from the very beginning, almost without realizing.

But days like these, I realize a lot of things.

I don't have any close friends of my own. No best friend who knows everything about me, a person to call when I need someone besides Shane. After we got together his friends and the girls they dated became my friends, more out of circumstance than anything else. I like them, and I know them now, but I don't know if we'd be friends without him. It's like that with so many things. Shane's the reason for the music I listen to, the places I go, even the clothes I wear. They're all, in a way, because of him. Because I love him and, for me, that's always meant loving the things that make up his life. Some people might say that's how it should be, and others might say it's wrong. For me it's just the truth.

But when Mr. Kinney put that question on the board and gave us these books to answer it, it scared me. Made me think about the things I've done in my life so far. My one life. And aside from falling in love with Shane, I'm not sure I've done anything wild or precious, which makes me think about the future. We've talked about it. Made plans. He'll go to work for his family as soon as we graduate, and so will I. While he learns everything about running the mountain from his dad and grandfather, I'll work for one of his aunts—in one of the stores, or in the lodge, or the daycare—something important but not so important that I won't be able to quit when we get married and have kids, because in the Cruz household, there's nothing more important than family.

It's a future that would be perfect in so many ways, for so many reasons. But lately, if I let myself, I start to wonder if it'd be perfect for me. I keep going back to that quote, and to that night I spent talking with Orion, who was so different and free, he made me feel like I could be too. Like maybe I could do something that
is
mine alone.

I would paint, that's what I would do if I could choose anything.

I used to, a long time ago, before I came here. I used to love the barely-there weight of a brush in my hand, and the feeling that somewhere inside, I knew how to create something beautiful from nothing but a blank canvas and instinct. Aside from being with Shane, that feeling made me happier than anything else ever has. Like maybe it's who I really am, or what I'm really supposed to do. Which is why I've never told anyone, not even him. It feels too precious almost, to say it aloud. Like it would somehow take the magic away.

Shane would probably think it was cute if I ever told him. Anyone else would nod and smile at it like you do with a little girl who says she wants to be a singer or a model. But Mr. Kinney said to be idealistic here, so there it is. My big secret, on paper for all eternity. Maybe someday I'll be brave enough to actually do something about it. I can talk and write and daydream all I want about going places and making art and living a beautiful life, but if I never leave
this town, if I just settle into what's easy and already there, I don't know if any of it will ever happen. I may read this ten years from now and it'll just make me sad.

I don't know why I'm like this today. Restless is the perfect word for it. I need to get out. Maybe I'll buy a new sketchbook and get in my car and just drive until I find someplace beautiful and inspiring. Maybe I'll do that, and in a way, it'll be like I'm flying too.

I leave off for a second to reframe the image of Julianna in my mind, because reading this journal is a little like how I imagine it would be watching film develop. Not evenly or all at once, but in fragments and layers. I had no idea that Julianna Farnetti painted, or that the life she and Shane would've had together made her feel restless, or unsure. Why would I?

But I can see it now, and understand it. We all have something we hold close or dream about, something that maybe seems too dear to tell anyone. I have, ever since my dad published his book when I was little. I decided at eight that I wanted to write stories and poems like him. I did, too, in notebook after notebook. And I brought them all to him, and when he'd set everything aside to read my words, I felt that thing she talked about. That pure feeling of happiness at having created something from my own imagination. But then writing became a thing associated with my dad, which meant it was a thing my mother didn't like anymore. So I
stopped. Probably for the same reasons Julianna stopped painting. It didn't fit into the life she had with a person she loved. I wouldn't have guessed it, but I understand this part of Julianna.

There's something else I think I understand reading her words, even though
she
probably didn't when she was writing them. Or maybe she did, but she couldn't bring herself to write it. But as a perfect stranger reading her words ten years later, I can see clear as day that her restlessness started to grow the night she met Orion.

“We make ourselves a place apart,

Behind light words that tease and flout”

—“REVELATION,” 1915

“I need a favor,” I say. And it surprises me how bold it comes out sounding.

Trevor drops his hand from the dial on his locker and turns around to face me. “Says the girl I pulled out of the mud yesterday. Good morning to you, too.” There's a smile in his voice, but he's surprisingly good at keeping a straight face.

“Sorry, I'm just in a hurry.” I back up a step. “Good morning,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Um . . . any chance you still have the keys to the art supply closet?”

With this I have his instant undivided attention, and it
takes everything in me not to hide behind my locker door like I usually do.

He steps toward me with a smile. “Maybe. Why?”

Because I need a place to hide out and read Julianna's journal this period.
“Because I might wanna see it today . . .” I try to channel Kat and sound playful and sexy when I say it, but I'm no good, so I opt for a practical approach instead. “And because I want to go through the old student work and see if any of it belongs to the same kids who wrote the journals I'm working on for Kinney. I thought it'd be cool to send that to them too.”
That sounds believable. I think.

He just looks at me for a second, probably trying to make up his mind whether I'm lying or just lame. I'm not sure which one he settles on, but he seems genuine when he asks, “You need some help?”

“No, no, no,” I say, trying to sound casual, only it comes out sounding ridiculous instead. “I'd rather be alone. Or, I mean, no. I don't need help. I just . . . it's a one-person job.”

“Hm,” he nods. “Too bad. I thought maybe you finally realized what you've been missing out on all these years.” He digs around in his backpack, fishes out the lanyard, and hands it to me. “Here. Have fun. By yourself.” Our fingers brush, just barely, when I take the keys, and I feel a little rush of gratitude and something else I decide to ignore. “Thanks,” I say. “And thanks for yesterday too. I owe you.”

“Don't worry about it.” The bell rings and people slog by us, making their way to class, but we stay standing right there. Trevor clears his throat. “So did you want me to show you where it is or something?”

“Oh—I . . .” I flash back to my art supply closet daydream and feel my cheeks flush. “That's okay. I think I can find it myself. Down the hall from Kinney's room, right?”

“Yep.”

“Perfect.” I pick up the box of journals and turn to go. “Thanks again.”

Trevor nods and we go our separate ways, and by the time I make it down the hall I feel a tiny pinprick of regret that I didn't just pretend I needed help finding it and let him walk me. Although that probably would've led to more awkwardness when it came time to open the door and slip inside. I would've had to turn him away at that point. I really do need the closet to myself.

I try and look casual as I wait next to the locked door for the second bell to ring. When I'm sure the hallway is empty, I slide the key in the doorknob, slip into the dark, and close the door quietly behind me. My hand finds the light switch on the wall, and when I flip it, I see I'm in a tiny room that's not all that different from what I imagined, except I'm alone and not kissing Trevor.

The shelves are a mess of cardboard boxes, some closed and some overflowing with paint-splotched brushes and palettes. Easels lean precariously in the corner; a fine, colored dust coats the floor. I decide there's no way Trevor actually brings any girls in here. It's not exactly romantic. Or even acceptably clean. But it is exactly what I'm looking for since I have to be at school but can't afford to be seen reading one of the journals I'm supposed to be sending out. Which I fully intend to finish doing once I read the rest of Julianna's.
I'm hooked now. I have to know what happens with Shane. Or Orion. I grab a stiff tarp from one of the shelves and sit down.