Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse

  How far I’ve removed myself from living, and

  How by trying to smile, I’ve made myself

  Look like someone trying to be happy, but

  Failing.

  I think I feel happier, but

  I’m an expert at analyzing pictures, and

  This one says I’m not there yet.

  This one says I still hurt,

  Still need to heal,

  Still need to

  Forgive.

  WANNA HANG OUT TONIGHT?

  Trevor’s text interrupts my third attempt at

  Taking a self-portrait.

  Something shrinks in my chest at

  The thought of simply hanging out with Trevor.

  Hang out? I text back.

  Or go out?

  Whichever makes you most comfortable, he replies.

  Friends hang out.

  But boyfriends take their girlfriends out, I tell him.

  Are you saying I’m your boyfriend?

  I don’t think;

  I press the call button.

  “ARE YOU SAYING YOU WANT TO BE MY BOYFRIEND?”

  I ask him when he picks up.

  “And don’t you have class right now?”

  “Yes,” he says, his voice real low,

  Like he’s answered his phone in the middle of calculus.

  “And yes.”

  It’s all I can do not to drop my phone,

  Surprised at what I’ve done,

  The line I’ve crossed.

  This whole reactionary lifestyle is

  Something I could get used to, because

  It’s helped me do things,

  Say things, that…

  Feel right.

  I take a deep breath,

  Determined to just keep reacting.

  “So we’ll go out tonight,” I say.

  “You can take me to one of those famous

  Drive-through places

  You were bragging about over the weekend.”

  “Deal,” he says. “Gotta go.”

  He hangs up before I can respond, and

  I hope he doesn’t get in trouble for talking on the phone

  During class.

  6:30, okay? comes a text from Trevor.

  I smile and

  Quickly open the camera app and

  Take my picture.

  “DAD,”

  I say,

  Entering his office before dinner.

  “Yep.”

  He looks up from his paperwork.

  “Dad, I—”

  I close my eyes to make this easier.

  “I’m going out with Trevor tonight.”

  Dad shifts in his chair, which

  Emits a high-pitched squeal.

  “Oh.”

  I keep my eyes pressed closed,

  Seeing a bright red light behind my eyelids.

  “See, I was sort of dating him when I found out about Mom, and

  We broke up then, but

  I still like him, and

  He still likes me, and

  We’re going to dinner tonight.”

  I pull my eyes open.

  “If that’s okay.”

  Dad studies me for a few moments.

  I can’t keep my feet still, and

  My fingers keep twisting around each other.

  My throat feels dry, and

  I’m blinking way too much.

  “You were dating Trevor Youngblood when Mom…”

  Dad’s shoulders slump, and

  He places both hands on his desk.

  “No wonder you were so angry,

  So withdrawn.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “You lost more than a mother.”

  He stands and

  Moves around the desk to

  Wrap me in a hug.

  “I’m sorry, Livvy, and

  Yes, you should go have a good time with

  Trevor.”

  I stand stiffly for only a moment before

  I hug my father tightly.

  “You don’t think it’s weird?

  I mean, he’s my step-brother now.”

  “Barely,” Dad says.

  “He’s never there when you are.

  It’s not like you guys are living in the same house.”

  Remembering the bands on my toes,

  The one that reminds me to be honest, and

  I open my mouth again.

  “Well, he’s been there twice in

  The past couple of months.

  He was there over the weekend.”

  Dad pulls back and

  Looks at me.

  His eyes show

  The questions running through his mind.

  “Nothing’s happened,” I tell him.

  “But he’s asked me out again, and

  I…I want to go.”

  Dad nods.

  “I’ve seen you change this past little bit,

  Since you’ve been homeschooled.

  I thought it was because of the photography, or

  Gramma-Linda, but

  Maybe…”

  He doesn’t finish, but

  I know what he means.

  Maybe it’s because of Trevor.

  “CALM DOWN,”

  I coach myself as

  I wait for Trevor to arrive.

  “You’ve been out with him before.”

  I still feel jittery and scared,

  My insides quivering beneath

  My skin.

  Finally, a knock lands on the door.

  I whip it open to

  Find Trevor standing there.

  “You ready?”

  His voice is steady and calm.

  He’s wearing jeans and

  A jacket,

  Normal attire for February.

  He’s freshly showered, and

  He smells like mint and pinecones.

  “Ready,” I say,

  Glancing over my shoulder to find

  Dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Have fun,” he says,

  Smiling.

  “Drive safe, Trevor.”

  Once in the safety of his car,

  I finally release the breath I’ve been holding.

  When he joins me,

  I start laughing and

  Can’t stop.

  Trevor backs out of my driveway,

  Letting me go through my mania.

  When he reaches over and

  Takes my hand in his,

  I settle into silence.

  “Okay?” he asks, and

  All I can say is, “Okay.”

  “YOUR HOUSE?”

  I ask when Trevor pulls into his driveway.

  “What are we doing at your house?

  Is your mom home?”

  I feel sandbagged in my seat,

  Weighed down and

  Unable to move.

  “She’ll be home soon,” he says,

  “We’re eating dinner here.”

  He gets out and crosses in front of the car to

  Open my door.

  I still haven’t moved.

  “Come on, Wings, I’m not going to

  Try anything, I swear.”

  I take his hand and

  Let him lead me into his house.

  I’ve been here so many times I can’t count them, but

  This feels different somehow.

  His mom was never home then, and

  I’ve kissed him in his kitchen, and

  His living room, and

  His basement.

  But I know something I’m scared to vocalize:

  I’m not ready to kiss him yet.

  “Nothing funny,” I say as

  He closes the front door behind me.

  He only smiles in return, but

  Ushers me into the living room, where

  He collapses onto the couch.

  His house is clean, which

  Means he got out the vacuum and


  Sprayed the air freshener.

  I know his mom works too much for her to have done it.

  I’m more impressed by this fact than

  That he’s so good-looking, and

  So calm, and

  So gentle with me.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask

  As I perch next to him on the couch.

  “I think you adore pizza,” he says,

  “And it just so happens that I do too.”

  He grins at me and

  Opens his arm for me to settle into his side.

  In my mind,

  I see the shot I took of him that

  First day at my house,

  On my couch.

  He had his arm up to

  Claim the girl who would be sitting next to him.

  I realize now that I’d hoped

  To be that girl, so

  I slide into the space,

  Flashing him a smile as his

  Hand settles on my shoulder.

  “So how is homeschool,

  Really?”

  I shrug.

  “It’s okay, I guess.

  My gramma is intense sometimes, but

  It’s better than Copper Hills.”

  “I miss you there,” he says quietly,

  Dipping his head closer to mine.

  I almost lean into him before

  I remember that I’m scared out of my mind.

  I can’t make out with him on his couch,

  Not on the first date,

  Not even if he stirs the fire in my core.

  I swallow to quiet the storm of bees in

  My chest.

  “There are some things I miss about Copper Hills,” I say.

  “But mostly I’m glad I don’t have to go there and

  Remember things I’d rather forget.”

  “Harris hasn’t come back,” Trevor says,

  Like that means everyone won’t stare, or

  Whisper behind my back, or

  Invent new rumors to spread.

  “I don’t want to talk about Harris,” I say.

  “How’s the portfolio coming?”

  He guides me closer to his side.

  I sigh. “Good, I think.

  You know I’m not objective about my own work.

  I think it all sucks.”

  He laughs deep in his throat,

  A sound that urges the fire to seethe under

  My skin.

  Before he can say anything else,

  The doorbell rings.

  I sigh with relief as he gets up,

  Opens the door, and

  Pays the pizza delivery guy.

  Saved by the bell.

  “HEY, MOM.”

  I follow Rose into the Youngbloods and

  Drop our bag by the front door.

  Mom frowns at it for a moment.

  “I wish you wouldn’t pack a bag.

  We have everything you need here.”

  “I need my…stuff,”

  Rose says,

  Glancing at me.

  She means her stuffed Snoopy, but

  She doesn’t want to tell Mom that.

  “And I need makeup,” I say.

  Mom humphs and

  Asks Rose about the spelling bee before

  Badgering me about the photography contest.

  “Don’t you need to turn it in soon?”

  “I have a few more weeks,” I say.

  I don’t say that it’s not ready, though

  I’ve been editing and re-editing

  The photos for the past two weeks.

  “How close are you?” she asks,

  Going right to the question I don’t want to answer.

  “I need two more pictures,” I tell her and

  That’s totally true.

  I have four of Trevor:

  The one of him on my couch,

  Claiming that space next to him.

  The one of him at the dock,

  Fishing.

  The one of him in the dilapidated house,

  Leaning against that kitchen table with

  That smirk on his face.

  And the one of him in the dark,

  Really only a profile,

  A shadow with

  Secrets and

  Intrigue.

  I have one of Rose when

  She’s first glancing up from fixing her belt.

  I absolutely love that photo though

  I haven’t told anyone that truth yet,

  Not even Trevor.

  I have the one of Dad when

  He came to my bedroom and

  Showed his concern.

  In the picture,

  He doesn’t look mad or

  Annoyed, but

  Parental and

  Distinguished.

  I have the one of Gramma-Linda

  Admiring the conversation between

  The trees and the sky.

  My eighth picture turned out to be of

  Jacey.

  I’d decided to include a photo of

  Everyone that’s important to me.

  Trevor,

  Dad,

  Rose,

  Gramma-Linda,

  Jacey, and

  …

  Mom.

  “I WANT YOU TO BE IN THE PORTFOLIO.”

  I don’t dare look at her to

  Gauge her reaction.

  The silence says it all.

  “YOU DON’T HAVE TO CHANGE A THING.”

  She’s now patting her hair and

  Has slicked on a pound of lipstick.

  “Mom, seriously,” I say.

  “I don’t want you to look all made up;

  I just want you to look like you.”

  When she tries to change her clothes,

  I put my foot down.

  “No, you’re going to ruin it.”

  “Did you bring your camera?”

  I hold up my camera, which

  I retrieved from my car ten minutes ago.

  She probably didn’t notice because

  She was freaking over her chipped toenail polish.

  “Where do you want to take it?”

  She sounds nervous, which

  Sort of surprises me.

  Mom is always perfectly composed,

  Both in attitude and physical appearance.

  The only other time I’ve seen her act flustered

  Was when she finally came clean about her affair.

  Then, I heard her voice shake with emotion;

  I saw her makeup run down her face;

  Felt the reverberations of her anger as she slammed the front door and

  Never came home again.

  “MOM, SERIOUSLY. STOP.”

  I like to capture people in their natural element,

  Doing what they’d do if no one was watching, and

  Mom finger-combing her hair and

  Brushing on five pounds of blush is

  Totally not natural.

  “Where do you want to sit?”

  I glance around,

  Suddenly realizing that I don’t quite know what

  My mom likes to do in her free time.

  A pang of sadness sings through me,

  Reminding me that the wall between us,

  Though crumbling,

  Is still there.

  “How about the sun room?” I suggest.

  “You love reading by the big windows.”

  Right? I think, but

  Don’t vocalize.

  She smiles, and

  I wish I had my camera ready so

  I could seize the vulnerability in her eyes and

  Never let it go.

  I take several shots as Mom settles into

  An overstuffed recliner.

  Her favorite chair?

  “I’m not ready,” she complains.

  “Just testing the light,” I tell her though

  I want to catch her unaware, before

  She
paints over the real emotion and

  Hides who she really is.

  I’ve seen her do that lots of times, and

  I’ve learned to watch her in those pinches of time so

  I can find out how she really feels.

  I move around the room,

  Snapping shots to “test the light,” and

  Find the best position.

  The windows are black, and

  I like the contrast of them against

  The brightness of my mom.

  I settle for a position that allows me to get

  That darkness on my right and

  The halo around my mom.

  She’s got her feet tucked beneath her, and

  If she had a cup of coffee,

  The image would be perfect.

  “Hold that pose.”

  I dash back to the kitchen.

  I grab the cup but

  Leave the liquid behind.

  No one will know the difference anyway.

  “Pretend.” I hand her the cup.

  She looks at me blankly, and

  I raise the camera to

  Fire off as many shots as I can get before

  She wipes the confusion away.

  I re-position myself near the door and

  Instruct Mom to look out the window

  Like she’s hoping to see a comet fall from the sky.

  Click, click, click.

  I don’t know what I’ve got, but

  Looking at my mom,

  I think it’s something good.

  “ONLY NINE PHOTOS?”

  Trevor says over the line.

  It’s Monday night, and

  He left twenty minutes ago only

  To call me as soon as he got home.

  “Only nine,” I say, “And

  You’re not in every one, so

  You should be happy about that.”

  “I was supposed to be in every picture.”

  His amused voice makes me smile.

  “Are you saying you’re breaking our deal?”

  “Shattering it,” I say.

  “Who else is in the portfolio?”

  He sounds too interested, and

  I know he’s going to ask to see the photos before

  We hang up.

  “Rose,

  Gramma-Linda,

  Jacey,