Drawn

  They headed for the gym and I went to my locker. Pam waited there with her arms crossed.

  “Amica and Bethany?”

  I swapped out the books I needed for homework. “I don’t know. They’re being really nice.”

  “They’re only nice when they want something.”

  We walked out to the bus together and found an empty seat.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I whispered, and hunched down in the seat a little bit as the bus pulled away.

  Pam scootched down too. “Sure.”

  “You’ve kissed a few guys, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Does it feel the same every time?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “Like, do you feel the same? Was it different when Mark kissed you from when Dale kissed you?”

  She closed her eyes and smiled. “Mark’s was the best. The absolute best.”

  “But you know his didn’t mean anything, right? He was drunk, and being kind of stupid.”

  She sat up and turned to look straight at me. “But I’m in love with him. It’s real between us. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

  “What about Dale? How many times have you guys kissed?”

  “Five or six. Each one was different. You know, different place, and different stuff going on.”

  I frowned at her. “But if you’re in love with Mark, how can you enjoy kissing Dale?”

  “Kissing’s fun.”

  “But doesn’t it affect you? Like in your heart. Your feelings.”

  She nodded. “It’s different feelings for different guys. I don’t always like kissing Dale, but he likes it, and I like being liked.”

  Ugh. “I don’t ever want to kiss someone I don’t really want to kiss.” I looked out the window. The telephone poles pulsed by like railroad tracks. “So you can kiss a guy, and not feel anything about it?”

  “I think your first time is the best. You’ll definitely feel something then. Especially if it’s with the right guy, probably. It does something inside you.”

  “And after that?”

  She shrugged. “The more you do it the easier it gets. Less of a big deal.”

  I thought about Drew’s game, and how Bethany and Amica knew about it, and played anyway. “I don’t think I could ever kiss someone and not care about it.”

  Pam tapped her foot against the back of the seat in front of us. “Sometimes it’s just for fun. You try something with one guy, then you can try it out on another one. I want to have lots of experience when I finally get together with Mark. I don’t want to not know anything and be a disappointment.”

  “Don’t you think Mark would like it better if he were the only one you’d ever kissed?”

  She snorted. “That’s really dumb. I mean, you know Mark’s kissed other girls, right? That’s hardly fair if I don’t get to kiss other guys.”

  “What if he hadn’t kissed anyone else, either?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t the nineteen-fifties, you know.”

  Damon hadn’t really kissed anybody else, except when he was a little kid. And I liked that. I wanted him to kiss me first. And last. And everything in between.

  Could I draw it?

  I sat up. I could draw Damon and me, only kissing each other, forever.

  “What?” Pam asked.

  With my power, I could make sure he’d belong to me, and only me.

  The bus turned the corner onto our road.

  “Your face went weird, Juliet. What are you thinking?”

  My eyes drifted out the window while my mind worked on the problem of how to sketch Damon and me together for eternity.

  Pam tugged on my arm. “Come on. We’re home.”

  I grabbed the bar on top of the seat in front of me and pulled myself up. How do I put time onto paper?

  The bus driver pushed the door lever and I stepped down right behind Pam.

  “What is that sign doing in front of your house?” Pam asked as the bus pulled away.

  “What sign?”

  Pam clutched my arm. “Are you moving?”

  “Of course not.”

  I blinked in the bright light and looked up toward the house. None of the cars were there, but the driveway had been plowed and two big pots of yellow chrysanthemums sat on either side of the front steps. A red and yellow shingle dangled from a fat, white post that stuck up out of the yard. It creaked in the wind.

  “For Sale. Roth Realty. Open House Sunday.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Mom’s car pulled up as Pam and I stared. She got out, looked at the sign and cursed.

  “What is this?” I asked her.

  Pam shuffled backwards and she ran across the road toward her house.

  Mom cursed again. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She locked her car door and slammed it. “Come in the house.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off that stupid sign. “Get it down before someone sees it.”

  We went in the front door and Mom headed straight for the phone.

  I dropped my bag in the foyer and followed her to the kitchen. The painting I’d left for them on the dining room table still lay there, unopened. “Call the number on the sign. Tell them they put it at the wrong house.”

  She looked up at me, her mouth pressed in a grim line. “Howard.” She tossed her keys at the counter and they slid all the way off the end and crashed onto the floor. “The realtor put the sign up already.”

  I picked the keys up and threw them back on the counter. Already?

  “I told him tomorrow. This is not my fault.”

  My hands started to tremble and nausea crept up from my knees.

  “I want you to come home. Now.” She balled her hand into a fist and beat it on the counter several times. “Juliet’s here.”

  “We’re not selling our house. This is Nonnie’s house.”

  Mom waved her hand at me. “I don’t care if the university is going to topple into a pile of bricks if you leave. Get home right now.”

  “This is because of Jack, isn’t it?” I whispered.

  “If you’re not here in twenty minutes, I swear the deal’s off.” She slammed the phone down.

  “What deal?” I stood across the kitchen from her and tried not to shake.

  She swallowed and shook her head. “We’ll talk about it when your father gets home.”

  “I want to talk about it now.”

  “Don’t speak to me like that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m your mother!”

  My teeth felt like razorblades, and my lips tingled till I wasn’t sure I could control them enough to talk. I took a couple of deep breaths. “I wish you weren’t.”

  For a second she looked like I’d punched her in the face. Then she went hard as stone. “Well, maybe you’ll just get your wish.”

  * * * * *

  I ran up to my room and slammed the door. I paced from one side of the bed to the other, then back again.

  My bed. My room. My house.

  The phone rang and I dashed for it. Mom picked it up downstairs at the same time I answered it in my room.

  “Hello?”

  “Sheri?”

  “Dad?” I asked. “Why is there a for-sale sign in front of our house?”

  Mom’s voice cut in on me. “Why are you not in your car, Howard?”

  “Hang up the phone, Juliet,” Dad told me.

  “I want to know what’s going on!”

  Dad repeated his command, louder and with a couple of swear words thrown in. I reached over to slam down the phone, then stopped just short of the cradle. I tapped my fingernails against the handset, then wrapped my palm over the mouthpiece.

  “Juliet?” Dad asked. “Is she off?”

  “You’d better not still be on the phone, young lady.”

  Silence, except for their breathing. My heart pounded in my throat and that sour
taste slid up from my stomach.

  “I meant what I said. Get home now. I’m not doing this by myself.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Mom swore at him.

  He swore back at her. “It’s one hour, Sheri! You can’t deal with your own daughter for one hour?”

  “We’re supposed to talk to them together.”

  “They’re not kids. Mark’s almost in college, for crying out loud.”

  “Juliet’s still a child.”

  I bit back a scream.

  “It’s divorce, Sheri. No one died. They’ll deal with it.”

  I sat down on the bed. The walls began to move around me, like a car on a spinning amusement park ride.

  The phone pressed against my ear, but I didn’t hear anything else they said.

  My heart pounded in my throat and I felt dizzy enough to throw up if I moved. I had to grab onto something, hold tight to something, but everything moved, everything spun away.

  Two clicks, then a long buzz. I put the phone back on its cradle.

  The stuffed animals piled up in the corner looked at me through glassy pairs of round eyes. Where did they all come from? I couldn’t remember where I got them.

  I should’ve kept a diary.

  A notebook. I need a notebook, so I can write down everything before it’s all gone and I lose my whole life.

  They’re divorcing. They’re selling our house.

  Nonnie’s barrette. I had to get it back from Mia.

  My cork wall. My sketches. I stood up and grabbed the back of my chair to steady myself, then spread my hands over the prophetic drawings tacked to the wall.

  Damon. I met Damon at the dance.

  Damon makes the world spin but I hold onto him and he keeps me safe.

  I need Damon.

  * * * * *

  I dropped my bike in his driveway and raced to the door on legs that threatened to collapse.

  Please, God. Please, God, please let him be here.

  My finger trembled as I pressed the door bell. In the terrible wait to see if the door would open and who would open it, I felt wrong, out of place, as though I shouldn’t have come.

  But where else could I go?

  Then the doorknob turned and the hinges creaked and Damon stood in front of me. He smiled, his half-grin with the one dimple. Then he didn’t smile as his eyebrows drew together and he searched my face.

  I stood frozen on the threshold.

  The cold, white afternoon and the whole awful world pressed down on me like miles and miles of drowning ocean.

  Damon stood just steps away.

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  I plunged forward into his arms. My lungs filled up with him and a sob tore out of my chest as I convulsed against his.

  He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. He cupped the back of my head in his hand and I rested my cheek against the solid wall of his chest. Then he reached around me to close and lock the door.

  And all the bad went away.

  Peace, calm, safety. I had him and he held me and gave me breath. Everything would be okay, as long as we stayed like this.

  He took me into the living room and put me on the couch. He sat down beside me and I nestled against him. I cried until the tears dried up and my throat ached and I could only breathe and rest inside the cocoon of Damon’s wind and warmth.

  “What happened?”

  My chest heaved, in and out, and I gripped his shirt in the fist that rested against his stomach.

  “Julie?”

  I tipped my head back to look up at him. His beautiful, dark blue eyes glinted with flecks of silver. “They’re getting divorced. They’re selling our house.” On the last word my voice broke, my throat closed and my eyes filled up again.

  Damon cradled my head against his shoulder and stroked my hair. “Oh, man.”

  More tears washed over my wet eyelashes and soaked into his shirt.

  His hand squeezed my shoulder and he rested his chin on top of my head. “You’re going to be okay.”

  I breathed, deep and sweet, and a heavy ache for sleep washed through the desperate throb that gripped my head. My muscles unwound and my thoughts settled into a blanket of dark fuzziness that wrapped around me like the security of Damon’s strong, perfect arms.

  “I’m cold,” I whispered.

  He slipped his arm under my knees and pulled my legs over his. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapped it around me and tucked it under my feet.

  “Is anyone else here?”

  Both of his arms circled me again. “Just you and me.”

  Safe in the fortress of this place, alone and hidden with Damon, I snuggled up like a baby. He cradled me and I slept.

  I didn’t ever want to wake up.

  * * * * *

  When I opened my eyes again dusk darkened the house. I lay alone on the couch, curled on my side under the blanket. Light from the kitchen filtered into the living room. Two low voices brought me out of the smoky fog of sleep.

  Even more tired than before, I woke up with a headache and the sense that I’d slept through something important, somewhere I should have been instead.

  I sat up, hugged my knees and struggled to hear the voices.

  Damon and Adam. Dishes clinked and something sizzled. I smelled oil and potatoes and salt. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and slipped into the kitchen.

  Adam stood at the stove and shook a skillet over the burner. Damon leaned against the counter by the window with his back to me.

  “Where’s she moving?”

  Damon shook his head.

  I cleared my throat and waved when they both looked over. “You can cook?”

  “Got no mom,” Adam answered. “It’s cook or starve.”

  “Hey, sleepyhead.” Damon came around the peninsula in the kitchen and leaned on the other side of it.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. I get it.”

  “Is your dad home?” I asked.

  “Not till tomorrow.” Damon pulled out a barstool. “You hungry? Adam’s doing ham and hash browns.”

  “Impressive.”

  “They’re frozen. He’s not that great a cook.”

  “Better than you.” Adam bounced the skillet and a storm of golden potato shreds rose and fell. “Your mom called.”

  Something cold and dark rose up in my chest. “Did you tell her I’m here?”

  “I told her you and Damon were doing it in the basement.”

  “What?”

  Adam cackled. “I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes get that big that fast.”

  “Adam didn’t talk to your mom. I did.”

  “Yeah, he told her to call back later, ‘cause you guys were doing it in the basement.”

  “Shut up, Adam,” Damon said. “We don’t even have a basement. I told her the truth.”

  I went to sit at the peninsula. “Which is what?”

  “That you were upset. And that you were asleep.”

  “What did she say?” I clutched the blanket tighter around me.

  “Nothing. She hung up on me.”

  “When did she call?”

  He sat down next to me. “About an hour ago.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. I didn’t want to go home. Ever.

  Oh, right. After they sold the house I never would.

  Damon touched my arm. “You okay?”

  “I have to do something.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “I need to fix this.”

  “It’s okay,” Damon whispered.

  Adam turned off the burner and put the skillet on a hot pad. “Fix what?”

  I can fix this.

  Why did it take me so long to think of it? I could take care of this. I had power.

  “Julie?” Damon asked.

  “Can I go up to your room?”

  Adam whistled.

  “I need some paper. And a pencil.”

>   Damon squinted his eyes at me for a few seconds, then sat down and blew out his breath. “Julie.”

  “Please.”

  “She’s begging you, man.”

  He threw Adam a dirty look, then shook his head at me. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

  “I think it will.” I didn’t wait for permission, but went straight up to his room. “Paper. Paper.” I looked around his desk and on the shelves.

  He came up the stairs and stood the doorway.

  “I have a power, Damon. I can fix this.”

  “You don’t know what you have.”

  I exhaled hard. “You’ve seen it. I can make stuff happen.”

  “What makes you think it’s you?”

  Are you kidding me?

  “Damon, where’s your paper?”

  He leaned against the doorway and stared at me. “I don’t feel good about this.”

  “It’s not your thing. It’s mine. I need to do this.”

  He leaned over and opened the top drawer of his desk. A sheaf of typewriter paper filled the drawer.

  I sat down, took a sheet and grabbed a ballpoint pen from the front tray. I rolled the pen in my fingers a few times, and thought about what to say.

  “Julie, I’m serious. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Just watch.” I knew this would work. Why else would I even have a power like this? God gave it to me for exactly this kind of thing. I just knew it. “I’m drawing Mom and Dad, making up and staying together.”

  I laid the tip of the pen to the paper and outlined mom’s face. But the shape didn’t come out right. I cursed and crumpled up the paper. “I need to calm down. I’m too freaked.”

  I threw the paper in Damon’s trash can and took out another. After several slow, deep breaths, I repeated the words and tried again.

  Dad’s profile came out okay, but then I set his eyes too far back. I screamed and tore it up.

  Damon kneeled down beside me. “Julie. Stop it.”

  “I can’t! I have to get this.” I pulled out another sheet of paper and took a pencil this time. “Mom and Dad. Making up. No divorce.” I started with Mom’s mouth, but I couldn’t even get her lips, the easiest thing about a face, to form the right way.

  The eraser left fat rolls of pink rubber on the page as I scrubbed out her mouth and started again.

  “Mom and Dad are not going to divorce! They are not going to sell our house!”

  I tried their hair, their foreheads, their noses and ears. Nothing looked right.

  “I can’t see them!” I screamed and broke Damon’s pencil in my clenched fist.

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Stop.”

  “No!” I took another sheet of paper and a new pencil. I’d draw the house.