A Constellation of Roses

by Miranda Asebedo

  “That’s really lovely,” Miss Riggs says, stopping to stand behind me. “Such a mastery of shading. You have a lot of talent. How long have you been drawing?”

  “Since I was a kid,” I reply, putting down my charcoal stick. I feel myself blushing, which embarrasses me more than the attention she’s giving me.

  “Did you take a lot of art classes at your old school?” she asks.

  “No. I only sketch on my own.” I briefly recall scratching out a picture of a flower in the blank pages in the back of a bible in a motel-room end table when I was five. Mom said it was beautiful, but we shouldn’t draw in that book. So we scrounged enough change to get a tiny spiral notebook from the QuikMart down the street. I stole a glittery, pink pencil with a panda-shaped eraser on top on the way out the door, Mom and I still not quite aware of how quick my hands really were. Or what they would mean to us in the future.

  “Really? I’d love to see some of your other work.” Miss Riggs’s words bring me back to the present.

  “I don’t usually show anyone.” I feel a twinge of unease. I don’t like people prying into my past.

  “What a shame. You’re a very talented artist.”

  “It’s not real art. It’s just something I like to do on my own.”

  “It’s still art, even if no one can see it.” Miss Riggs gives me a small smile, as if she could possibly understand what drawing means to me. “I hope you’ll reconsider someday. Maybe when you feel a little more at home here.”

  I shrug, thinking of the pages in my sketchbook in my backpack. I wasn’t lying when I said they weren’t art. They aren’t. They are memories. The most precious ones I have.

  When three o’clock rolls around, I hurry from Family and Consumer Science class to the front of the school. I wait impatiently next to the trophy case, scanning the crowds of students for Jasper. It feels weird to wait in front of his dead brother’s memorial. Eventually the students disperse, and I’m left standing alone in front of the trophy case like some kind of loser. To look busy, I examine the trophies. I check the time on my phone. It’s a quarter after three. The photo of Jasper’s brother catches my eye again. I lean down to look at it more closely. They could be twins, except that Jesse doesn’t have a scar like Jasper.

  “Handsome guy, huh?” Jasper asks from behind me.

  I jump, banging my head into the trophy case, which triggers a string of curse words that would have made Auntie proud.

  Jasper gives me the smile that doesn’t reach his scar. “I didn’t make you for being skittish,” he says.

  “I’m not,” I reply, rubbing my head.

  “Checking out my brother?” he asks, that smile still in place.

  “I was reading what it said on his picture,” I reply.

  “All-around perfect student. Amazing athlete. Great brother.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “Hunting accident,” Jasper says. “That’s how he died. He was alone in the woods. He forgot to put the safety on his gun.”

  I’m transfixed by Jasper’s mouth, the way he speaks slowly and clearly, like he’s recounting a story that’s begun to grow old to him. I suppose talking about a dead brother might be awkward for anyone.

  My silence makes Jasper uncomfortable, and he shifts under my gaze. I’m sure he’s tired of the questions about his brother, so I only reply, “Nice outfit.”

  “Thanks,” he says, relief visible on his face. Jasper’s changed into shorts, cleats, a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of shoulder pads for football. He carries a Tigers helmet in one hand.

  “It must get you a lot of ladies around here,” I add. “Do you play pitcher or what?”

  “Running back.” He grins, his scar tugging on his eye.

  “I don’t follow sports things.”

  “I figured. So you still want me to take you to Cedar Mountain?”

  I cross my arms. “I will go to your make-believe mountain if it means I can get a phone signal. Hell, I’ll go anywhere. Point the way.”

  We both laugh, Jasper’s face losing that tight, controlled look from before. It’s nice to laugh again, like I used to with Shane and Charly. Even though we don’t know much about each other, Jasper makes me feel like myself again, who I was before I was always running.

  I follow him around the back of the school and realize he’s not lying about Cedar Mountain because suddenly I spot it—there’s a huge hill behind the football field. As we walk past the field, the rest of the football team is arriving in their practice gear, some stretching out and others standing in small groups drinking from water bottles and shooting the shit.

  Nearly every one of them stops and nods at Jasper as we pass, some shouting hello, others asking who his new girlfriend is, and a few warning him to get back before Coach Mason arrives. He waves them all off, and we climb the hill together. It’s covered in tall grass and short cedars, but there’s a dirt path worn in the front supporting Jasper’s story that it’s used as a conditioning tool for the football team.

  “Everybody likes you,” I say as we climb. The path is narrow enough that as we walk, Jasper’s shoulder pads bump against me now and then.

  “Not everybody,” he protests.

  “Yes, everybody.”

  He shrugs. “It’s a small town. It’s not like there’s anybody here who doesn’t know me.”

  “Yeah, but just because they know you doesn’t mean they have to like you.”

  He shrugs again.

  “I’m not making fun of you,” I add, thinking of how he’d called me prickly earlier. “I’m only making an observation.”

  “People might like you, too, if you didn’t shut them down so quickly.”

  It’s my turn to shrug. “I’m not used to all this small-town interest. In the city, people pass by each other every day, and they don’t ever say hi, exchange names, life stories. Doesn’t it make you feel claustrophobic?”

  “Sometimes,” Jasper admits.

  We reach the top of the hill. Someone left two folding lawn chairs and an empty six-pack of beer, the empties replaced neatly in the cardboard carton. “Nice,” I say. There’s a ring of stones with a burned area that looks like it’s been used as a campfire.

  “It’s a hangout spot when it’s not being used as a tool for torture.”

  “Ah,” I say. “So, is it okay for me to sit here and make a call, or is your football team going to start running up and down this hill at any moment?”

  “It’s Monday, so we’re running lines on the practice field. You’re safe for today.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Good luck with your call,” he says, nudging the tip of his cleat in the red-brown dust of the worn path.

  “Thanks. And thanks for telling me about this place.”

  “Hey, so you know, I’ll be at that same table tomorrow for lunch.”

  “Got it.”

  “You should come back. I’ll hold Adalyn at bay if she gets too nosy.”

  “Isn’t nosiness a part of your small-town charm here in Nowheresville, USA?”

  “It is,” he agrees. “But I’ll defend you from it. Pie-delivery veterans stick together.” With that, he turns and jogs back down the hill.

  “My knight in shining armor!” I yell down the slope.

  I can hear his laughter, even from here.

  Nine

  I HOLD MY BREATH AS I dial Charly’s number, as if the two bars of signal might disappear if I do so much as exhale. The phone rings once.

  “Trix!” she answers. “I can’t believe it’s you. Are you okay? I’ve tried calling a couple of times, but I got sent to voice mail.” Charly’s voice is like sunshine, like too much vodka, like a whole Never-Lonely Lemon pie.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m with my aunt.” I can’t believe it, but I’m smiling when I say it.

  “Where?”

  “A couple hours north of the city.”

  “Jesus, you’re not even in the city anymore?”

&nbs
p; “No. I’m in Rocksaw. It’s pretty tiny.”

  “Rocksaw? I’ve never even heard of it. I’ve been so worried about you. I’m sorry about the cops. Mel tipped them off. Don’t worry, I gave him an earful for you.”

  “Mel?” I ask, stunned.

  “Yeah. Apparently once he knew you were signed on for another week, he called the cops. I guess they’d been around, asking about you. I grilled him about it and he said he thought you’d be better off with social services since your mom never came back.”

  That deep well of anger opens up, the one that I’ve spent a year trying to fill in. “He didn’t have any right to do that,” I choke out. “I was fine on my own.”

  “Oh, Trix,” Charly sighs. “I know. And I’m sure Mel pocketed your rent money, too. But you’ll find a way out. You always do.”

  I don’t tell her that I made a plea deal, that I’m required to stay here for at least two more years. I don’t say that today an old woman read my fortune and now, beyond all logical reason given my history, I’m doing my damned best to make sure I bloom and don’t wither. I am trying to stay in one place.

  Charly interprets my silence as agreement, and continues. “I have to tell you something. Shane called. He wants you to be here when he gets out.”

  “What?” I ask, my throat tightening up to the point where I can no longer breathe.

  “He’s up for early parole for all his good behavior. He finally finished his GED—did I tell you that?”

  I can’t make my mouth move, form words. Shane is coming home.

  “He wants to see you, Trix.”

  “No. He doesn’t.”

  “Trix?” Shane’s voice is only a murmur in the big, cement-block-lined room. “How’d you get in here?”

  “I stole Charly’s ID so I could get in for family visitation day.” We look alike enough that it worked.

  He shakes his head, and I don’t know if he’s angry or worried.

  “Shane,” I choke out. “I am so sorry about what happened. And so sorry it took me this long to get to you. Things have been—”

  “Stop,” he whispers. The other men near him shift in their seats, leaning over to talk quietly to wives, mothers. “It’s done. We’re over.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, starting to reach for his hand, needing some human connection in a world that has left me suddenly alone.

  “Miss,” a guard warns. “No touching. Hands to yourself, please.”

  I pull my hands back toward my side, the metal of the table cold beneath my skin, terrified that I’ve almost done something to get me separated from Shane so quickly. Mom left a month ago. Social services tried to take me into custody again when someone at school tipped them off. I’d barely escaped out room 7’s bathroom window with my sketchpad, leaving a dent in the drywall right below the sill.

  “Shane,” I whisper. “Please.”

  “Charly was supposed to tell you. It’s over between us. We can’t do this, Trix.” He leans back and rubs one hand over his shaved head.

  “Charly’s not at the Starlite,” I tell him, clasping my hands together. Maybe I want to pray to a god who’s never seen me before. Maybe I’m just trying to hold myself together. “She and Vince went somewhere.”

  “Damn it!” Shane swears, fisting his hands. “I told her not to trust that guy. He’s trash. He’ll screw her over and leave her. Tell her to come home.”

  “Shane, I’m not there anymore either. At the Starlite, I mean. I’m hiding. The police are looking for me. Mom disappeared. She just left.” I don’t yet know how to describe that phantom pain that her leaving has given me. I am still reeling, still looking for something solid to grasp. Let it be Shane. Please, Shane. Let it be you.

  Shane leans forward and slides his hands across the table, puts them over mine. He knows we can’t touch. I want to pull away, to keep the guard from seeing what he’s done, but Shane won’t let go. “Keep running. And stay away from the Starlite or they’ll find you.” His thumb strokes the tops of my knuckles, as soft as a goodbye kiss.

  The guard comes to break us apart, the forbidden grip of Shane’s fingers the last connection to someone who loved me, who cared what happened to me. Visiting time is over if you break the rules.

  “Get out of here,” Shane tells me, his face contorted as if the words are made of broken glass. The guard hauls him to his feet. Shane is pushing me away, as strong as a two-handed shove, though we’re not even touching anymore. Shane is abandoning me like everyone else has done.

  “Please, Shane.” I sound like I’m begging, but I never beg, so it has to be someone else saying his name like that as I stand up, tipping over my chair in my haste.

  “Don’t come back.” He looks at me over his shoulder, distorting the tattoo of three feathers on his neck as the guard herds him out of the room. The other inmates and their families stare at me as I stand there alone.

  So I ran. I was always good at running. I’d been picked up twice, and put back in the care of the state thanks to the vigilance of Ms. Troy, who figured out my haunts long before anyone else did. And each time I ran again. I had every intention of running forever. And I had every intention of never seeing Shane again, too.

  “Shane asked about you, Trix. He wanted to know if you were okay.”

  “My last visit was nearly a year ago, Charly. He had a lot of time to think about whether or not I was okay.” Months after we’d parted, I recognized that Shane probably thought that dumping me so callously, so I would not come back to him, was doing what was best for me. Keeping me from waiting around for him, from staying in my old haunts, familiar, but dangerous for someone alone. He had sacrificed our love for my safety. It was a gift to me, but I’d been too hurt to see it. And I’d thrown it away anyway, returning to the Starlite.

  “He’s changed. He’s grown up. He wants to see you again.”

  “Well, I’ve grown up, too. I’m with my family now,” I say, even though the words are strange. “I don’t know if seeing Shane is a good idea.” Even as I say the last words, I’m looking at the scars on my arm and wondering how I can ever stay away from Shane if he wants to find me. He was my first love, my best friend. For a year, he’d been my safe place, a harbor in the storm. He’d been his own Good Year, even when everything else in my life was shit.

  “Think about it,” Charly says. “We can still have everything we talked about. A little house somewhere. The three of us, like it used to be.”

  “That was just a dream.”

  “Yeah, but it was ours. Don’t let it go.”

  “What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “Are you okay?” My voice is hollow, tinny. Charly has always been kind of flaky, but she’s the only friend I’ve got. I want to know that she’s all right, that the police coming to the Starlite didn’t cause trouble for her or anyone else.

  “I’m fine. It was a shock when they hauled you off. A lot of people ran when they heard the cops were there. But I’m okay. So’s Mom. I’m going to watch the twins tonight.”

  I nod, my throat tight. “I miss you, Charly.”

  “I miss you, too, Trix.”

  “I better go.”

  “Yeah, I get it. But Trix.” She pauses a moment, and I can hear a door opening and closing, as if Janie is dropping off the twins. “We’re friends. No matter what. So think about what I said. About Shane. I know he dumped you when he got in. But he really loved you. And you loved him, right? That’s got to count for something.”

  “Goodbye, Charly,” I whisper into the phone. My eyes are hot and wet, and I hate this stupid hill and my stupid phone provider.

  “Goodbye, Trix.”

  When I hang up, I’m some strange, new Trix sitting alone in a lawn chair on top of Cedar Mountain. The thing about running is you don’t have to have a destination in mind. But for once in my life, I’m already somewhere, and I have to figure out what to do now that the running part is over.

  “There you are!” exclaims Mia when I come in the front door o
f the McCabe Bakery & Tea Shoppe, the brass bell ringing in welcome. She’s standing at the register, giving a woman her change. “We were starting to get worried about you.”

  It’s barely five o’clock. The first thing I notice about the weekday-afternoon crowd is that there’s a lot more teenage girls, and they are all gathered around Auntie, who’s holding court in one of the back booths, telling fortunes.

  “Are you okay?” Mia asks when the woman leaves with a pie. I can tell from the way Mia holds herself, every muscle tense, that she’s warring between scolding me for being later than she expected and thanking me for not running away. One of the teenage girls with Auntie gasps with excitement and starts to dig in her jeans pocket, and Mia bellows out over the dining room, “No charging for fortunes, Auntie! You know the rule!” She mutters under her breath, “I’ve told her that a million times. I don’t want to be giving out refunds for bad fortunes.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, ignoring her comments about Auntie. The phone call left me feeling raw, and I hate it.

  Mia looks hurt. “All right,” she says, her voice soft. “How about some pie?”

  “I don’t need any pie,” I snarl, pushing past her and into the kitchen. I need to get to work. Anything to clear my head after that phone call with Charly.

  I take a few moments alone in the kitchen to try to calm myself down, concentrating on breathing evenly, keeping myself in this moment and not the thousands of other moments that have come before it. I find my apron on the hook on the wall and put it on. The swinging door opens behind me.

  Auntie gives me a hard look as she tucks a five-dollar bill into her bra. I don’t ask if she got it from the teenage girls, and she doesn’t tell me, either.

  “What?” I grumble.

  “Bloom or wither,” Auntie reminds me. “But know that you’re rotting right now.”

  I grimace. I can see what Mia means about the bad fortunes. I’d like a refund on mine too.

  Ember pops out of the walk-in cooler, sees my face, and goes right back in.