My Only (15 page)

“It’s cool. I’m sorry I left,” I said. “I’m just not as good at talking as he is.”

“What are you talking about? You speak real y wel .”

“Fine,” I said, and sighed. “I’m not as good with interacting as he is. He talks to people al the time. I don’t.”

“You’re talking to me now, and I see you at school. You talk to people al the time.” Yeah, my friends. “But they’re not . . .” I stopped short, wanting to hit myself for almost blurting that my friends weren’t hotties that I wanted to kiss.

“What?” Olivia said.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Me, too,” she said. Olivia stood and checked her watch. “How about we try again at lunch tomorrow. It’l be like a snacky study session.” I had to admit, she could always make me grin. “Yeah,” I agreed, nodding my head. “Absolutely. I’l bring vegan-ish things to eat.”

“ ‘Vegan-ish’? No, no, no, no, no. Al the way vegan or it doesn’t count. No honey, no dairy, no flesh, no—”

“Apples have flesh,” I said.

She rol ed her eyes. “No
animal
flesh. No animal by-products.”

With a smirk, I said, “What about fruit
leather
?”

Olivia laughed. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen or heard in my entire life. “You’re a brat.” I couldn’t stop grinning. “I swear, vegan goodies only.”

She backed away toward the door. “Good. Now get back to your game.”

The exchange made up for what had happened. It left me with a feeling of excitement.

The next day, we met up for lunch. As promised, she brought her history textbook and notebook, and I brought vegan snacks. I thought we would find a quieter spot in the cafeteria, but instead she linked her arm with mine and pul ed me outside. We sat on the steps that led up to the second floor. She picked a spot next to the half-wal that served as the railing. It helped shield her from the wind.

It was cool outside. A more pessimistic person would have cal ed it chil y, but I was just happy to be alone with her. No one else was out here.

Lakeside High’s campus was beautiful, but I doubted many kids ever took the time to notice, but sitting out on the cold steps, it was hard for me not to become aware of how many trees lined the field in front of us. The leaves were turning and the gusts of wind were just strong enough to gently pul a few from the branches. The multicolored leaves floated down to the green blanket of grass like the cottonweed in the summer.

I turned to Olivia. I didn’t know anyone else who would choose to sit outside on a day like today. I was thankful she brought me out here.

“What?” she said with a laugh.

“Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. I liked her so much. I wanted to hold her hand. Part of me lobbied to do it, but another part held me back. What if it was too much? What if she pul ed her hand away? What if it ended up being the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me?

In order to stop my mind from whirling out of control, I reached into my bag and grabbed out the insulated lunch bag. I flipped open the top and pul ed out three containers. I opened them al in turn. One was sliced apples that I’d squeezed just enough lemon juice on top of to ensure they wouldn’t turn brown. Another was baby carrots, and the third was celery with peanut butter and raisins on top.

“Oh my God, Adam! Ants on a log? This is so awesome.” At first I didn’t let myself believe that she truly thought it was cool, but I could tel she was being honest. “My mom used to make me these al the time.”

I hoped that was a good thing.

“Here,” she said, pul ing an old-fashioned metal lunchbox from the bottom of her backpack.

“Hel o Kitty?” I asked.

“Wel , you like comic book stuff,” she said. “I enjoy Hel o Kitty.” She unclasped the box and pul ed out two bags. “Sandwiches.” Olivia tossed one onto my lap.

I had no idea what a vegan sandwich would consist of. Pul ing it out of the baggie, I brought it close to my face, eying the healthy-looking bread and the slices that
looked
like meat.

“Oh, don’t be a baby. A vegan sandwich isn’t going to kil you.”

I laughed. “I’m sure it’s not. I’m just wondering what it is exactly.”

“Bread.”

“Duh,” I said, rol ing my eyes dramatical y.

She nudged me with her shoulder and said, “Brat.” Then she said, “Tofurky slices. Don’t make fun of them, they’re awesome and have no cholesterol. Plus it’s better for the environment.” I figured she knew what she was talking about. “And then it’s just soy mayonnaise with no eggs, and lettuce.”

I held it out, acting like I was scared of it.

“Oh, put your big boy pants on and give it a shot!”

Again, I laughed and took a bite. It wasn’t bad. She started eating, too. As she did, she flipped open her notebook and unfolded a piece of paper. “Study guide,” she said.

I took the paper from her and was surprised to find her handwriting al over it. She’d obviously already studied, so I reviewed the information on the page. “This is good, Liv.”

“Real y?”

I nodded as I tapped my index finger against the middle of the paper. “Yeah. You did bul et points and everything. And you covered every base: when, where, why, and how it was significant.” Leaning back against the step behind me, I shook my head. “There’s nothing left to teach you.”

“Oh, please!” she said as she elbowed me in the gut. “Just because I can bul et point doesn’t mean I can pass the test. Help me study?” Just as always, her expression was genuine. As if I could, or would, ever say no to spending more time with her.

“Of course, I wil .”

The next Saturday afternoon, Olivia came over at the perfect time. Aaron and my father had gone shopping for something sports-related. She had come over again under the premise of studying, but not much of that was getting done. She’d taken her test on Friday and thought she’d done wel enough. Now, apparently, her reward for studying was dancing in my room.

Olivia had brought over a stack of CDs. One by one, she placed them in my laptop and she imported song after song. After her playlist was complete, she adjusted the order in which they would play and then queued up the first one.

Most of them I’d never heard before. I wasn’t much into music. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t go seek out new songs. The ones I’d heard were either blaring out of Aaron’s room at some point or playing as background music at the grocery store or a restaurant.

It was now in the middle of the playlist. A goofy-sounding song came on. Olivia told me the group who sang it was cal ed They Might Be Giants.

“You’l like this one,” she said as she came closer to the bed where I sat. “ ‘Istanbul (Not Constantinople)’ is like history set to music.” I flashed her a disbelieving look and she shrugged. “Okay, not real y, but it talks about old times or whatever.” She leaned over and grabbed my hand. “But you’re going to have to dance to this one.”

She pul ed me up. I wanted to resist, but I thought it might be even more awkward if I stayed a heavy lump on the bed and ended up pul ing her down on top of me. I probably would have liked that scenario in the long run, but the idea of a beet-red face as I tried to stumble through an apology made me think twice about it. I let her pul me up, and when I was standing next to her she started dancing.

I did not.

“Oh, come on, Ad. You’re a flippin’ drummer! You’ve got rhythm, you just need to let it move your whole body instead of just your arms.” In theory, she was correct. Being a drummer gave me a good sense of rhythm, but I didn’t trust my body to look anything other than spastic.

“You’re not dancing,” she sang, drawing out the words. Her long arms were extended, index fingers pointing at me.

My heart was thumping. I wanted to comply, but I had a fierce fear of looking incredibly stupid. Olivia grabbed my hands and tried to make me move, but I was frozen.

The song ended, for which I was grateful, but she didn’t let go of my hands. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “It’s just me, Adam. I know you can dance if you just let yourself.”

The next song began as nothing but a slow rhythm created by a guitar. It was one I knew and liked. Jack Johnson was a main component of many of my playlists. This song, “Gone,” was a particular favorite, not solely because of the beautiful y relaxed and simplistic melody, but also because of the lyrics. They’d always served as a sort of validation of who I was compared to my brother. The song spoke of materialism—of how things make people awkward—which was how I felt. I owned the things I needed and some things I wanted, but nothing like Aaron who bought things just because. He didn’t even have a job, but perhaps that was why he frivolously spent the money my dad gave him. He had no clear idea of what earning money entailed.

The song was nice and slow. I knew it didn’t last long, my body sort of swayed with hers. We weren’t pressed together, dancing close like we would if we were at the Homecoming dance together, but we
were
dancing.

This reminded me that Homecoming was drawing near. Tickets were already on sale and the posters that lined the hal ways promised a great time “under the stars.” I began to have a brief fantasy about asking Olivia to go, about dancing with her in the middle of the gym, about being the kind of guy she’d want to be with. But the imaginings were short-lived.

“My mom and I used to dance to Jack Johnson al the time.”

I pul ed away to read her expression. It seemed more contemplative than sad. It didn’t give me much to go on. I didn’t know if she wanted to talk more about her mom or if she was just mentioning the fact in passing.

The song was over, and I quickly stopped dancing. I didn’t know the next song, but there was something about it that was soft and warm, like a fond memory. My feet moved, but not to dance. I went to my desk drawer and pul ed out a stack of photos. Feeling awkward, but wanting to share, I shoved them in her direction.

Olivia gave me a funny look, but took them. She sat down on the bed, and I sat down next to her. “Your mom was pretty,” she said. I didn’t even have to tel her it was my mom. “You and Aaron have her smile.”

My chest felt tight. I let out a breath of air that sounded like a nervous chuckle then ran my hand through my hair. “No one’s ever said that before.”

“No one talks about her much?” she said. I shook my head and Olivia turned her gaze back down to the pictures in her lap. “Why not?”

“Aaron thinks my dad can’t handle it. He thinks it’s too much for him.”

Olivia was quiet as she flipped through a few photos, then she shook her head. The action drew my attention to her face and not the photos of my mother. Olivia blew out a breath that moved a few stray locks of hair out of her eyes. There were a few strands left that were clinging to her eyelashes. It looked annoying, so I brushed them away from her face. It wasn’t until my hand returned to rest on top of my thigh that I realized what I’d just done. I swal owed hard, hoping her reaction wasn’t horrible. My fingertips had just grazed her skin. Now I could feel them. It was like the blood was trapped in them, pulsating against my skin from the inside.

I thought I saw her lips pul up a bit, but I didn’t dare to look at her ful -on. My heart was thumping.

When she didn’t say anything, I relaxed a bit. I wanted to touch her face again. She was soft and smooth and the feeling of her flesh beneath my fingers was a singularly unique sensation. Aaron was lucky enough to have touched many girls like that, but I was even luckier to have touched
Olivia
in that way.

“He must have loved her a lot,” she said.

I focused my attention on the picture pinched between the index finger and thumb of her right hand—my parents’ prom photo. The setup was classic. Two kids under a cheaply made lattice arch. Big fake flowers threaded through the opening of the woven wood. But it was my parents who real y set the picture apart from stock high school dance photos. My mom was grinning at the camera while my dad was bent around her. The arms of his dark suit contrasted against her pale pink dress. His hair was a bit long and it covered the eye that was facing the camera. He had scruff on his face because Grunge was the style of the day. His cheeks were sunken as he exaggeratedly pushed out his lips to press against my mother’s jaw.

I took the picture from Olivia and held it up. There was something so sad about that happy snapshot from their lives. She could’ve possibly been pregnant in this picture. They were so young when she died. I wondered how my father even coped with her loss. Or the added stress of twins. And the even worse stress of one of the twins being in the NICU for so long.

I took the stack of pictures and quickly sorted through them until I found the one I wanted. It was a picture of my father holding Aaron in one arm and me in the other on the day I came home. Although he wore a smile on his face, he looked so sad, he looked like he’d aged ten years since the prom photo. This was exactly why I thought my father might’ve hated me. He never acted like it, but how could someone
not
hold a bit of resentment toward the person responsible for the loss of the love of your life?