I rise and look out the window, wondering where I should camp out for the next seven hours. Shuffling out of homeroom, back into the barren hallway, I wonder what Lagan is doing today. Returning to my locker without a plan, I unload my textbooks. Maybe I’ll find a free computer in the Library and Google rice farms in India. Try researching my grandparents’ names online to see if I can find any additional information. So many details missing from the letter I shouldn’t have read. Then I’ll leisurely wait around the cafeteria with hopes that Lagan might show up for lunch. Slim chance, but worth the effort. Let’s face it, I tell myself, I have nowhere to go.
I open my locker and an envelope falls out, landing on my feet. I recognize Lagan’s handwriting on the outside. Wow! What special occasion would warrant this upgrade from a Sticky Note? Only one way to find out. I slip the note into my daily planner, shelve all my texts, and sail toward the library in search of a secluded cubicle. I rip open the envelope like it’s Christmas. My first Christmas card. In the spring.
Talia,
Some people make wishes when they see a falling star or when they blow a birthday candle out. Not I. I never make wishes. Until now. I wished for one thing. I wished under our waterfall willow that you would trust me. I will not make a promise I cannot keep to you.
Today is an almost perfectly safe day for us to spend the day together. Are you game? I’m waiting for you outside in the parking lot in my dad’s old, white Honda Civic. Dad lets me borrow the car once in a while, when my bike or the “L” can’t get me where I need to go. To cover your tracks in case there’s a “situation” and you need to be back in school ASAP, I bribed the secretary in the main office with homemade brownies my cousin Rani helped me make. Ms. Right in the attendance office promises to call me on my cell, and I’ll have you back to school in under five minutes—plenty of time for anyone looking for you to not suspect a thing. Soooo... now that we have your only reason for saying no to me covered, will I see you in a few? The car’s running, and I miss you already. Hurry.
Smitten like a mitten,
L
I shake my head no while my legs beg to differ and propel me toward the back doors that lead to the student parking lot. I’ll just say hi and let him know I can’t. That way I can at least see his face. The lot is less than a quarter full, making the white Civic easy to spot. Lagan wears shades and a navy blue sport jacket, looking like an undercover CIA agent. I open up the passenger door to sit in order to explain my rehearsed excuse. The one I practiced on the walk over here.
“Hi, I’m sor—”
“Hold on.” Lagan cuts me off, and places shades on my face and a checkered yellow and green sunhat on my head. “Go on. What were you saying?”
I’m looking at that dimple, and I can’t say it. I bail on myself and rethink my plan.
“I...” How about a compromise? I suggest to myself. “I’ll come with you. But I want to be back in time for lunch. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Done.” And before I can change my mind, we’re driving out of the parking lot down side streets, listening to “Let Me Love You” by Ne-Yo on the stereo. Lagan’s voice singing the lyrics tickles more than my ears as the warmth of the morning sun washes over my face through the windshield. He flips the sun visor down and then back up. I smile. Because he gets me.
“Umm? You forgot to mention where we’re going?” I interrupt his concert.
“The mall.” Lagan grins while checking his rearview mirror.
“I...” I feel a need to explain why my wardrobe is so outdated. “I’ve...never shopped at the mall.”
“We’re not shopping, exactly.”
“Okay.” I need more information to calm my jitters that threaten earthquakes every inch we travel away from school grounds. “Why are you all dressed up, by the way?”
He laughs. “This ol’ thang? Why? Do you like it?”
“Sure. If you’re planning to cook in it.” What’s cookin’, good... A raised eyebrow tells me this time he’s the one who doesn’t get it. “Fuggedaboutit,” I resort to a wannabe Italian accent to save the moment with a back-up joke. Anything to box the rising anxiety in me. We seem so far from school property now.
“We’re here.” Lagan shifts the gear into park and circles from his door to my door before I unbuckle.
“Thanks.” Warmth rushes to my cheeks as he opens the door for me.
“Can I hold your hand?” Lagan stretches his palm to me. “Wouldn’t want to lose you in this huge structure where the sights and scents might lure you away from me.”
“I suppose. Purely for the sake of safety. Of course.” I collapse my hand into his, making sure my burnt arm is on the outside of us. It still feels frozen, but in case the sensations return, I don’t want Lagan to catch me freaking out.
Lagan’s warm, long fingers envelope my tiny hand, and I silently wish he could hide me entirely. We walk into the mall through the kitchen department of Ikea and the sight of teacups sends a shiver down my neck. I check my watch to monitor our prompt return. Lagan catches me fidgeting with my wrist and squeezes my hand, perhaps trying to assure me everything’s going to be fine. What was that about a promise he cannot keep?
“Are we having fun yet?” He steers our path to the food court area, then we make a beeline for Red Mango.
In minutes, cold vanilla yumminess tickles my taste buds and soothes my lips. We stroll past more busy display windows until we enter Forever 21. I’m looking at my watch constantly. Over an hour remains before the first lunch bell sounds.
“Would you try on a dress for me, just for fun, even if only for...” Lagan glances down at his cell phone. “Sixty-four minutes and thirty-two seconds? Thirty-one seconds? Well, now thirty seconds?” Lagan’s eyes plea childishly. “Don’t keep me waiting. I’m losing time by the second here!”
I love the kid in him. I don’t understand why he’d want me to try on a dress, but if I’m Cinderella, that makes him Gus, the fairy Godmother, and the Prince all rolled up in one. Goodness, and I thought Cinderella had her work cut out for her.
“It depends on the dress.” I’m aware of the ever-present conditions that outline my reality like a picture frame I cannot escape from. “Long sleeve is about the only thing that’ll work for me.”
“Summer fashion trends make your stipulations a little tricky, but I think I....” Lagan doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he moves to the racks where prom dresses sparkle with sequins and satin. My insides retract. Dad would never allow me to attend prom. Let alone the mall. Lagan’s eyes spot me, probably making sure I haven’t run away.
“Here.”
Lagan hands me three different satin dresses—purple, and pink and royal blue. The light pink reminds me of the color of roses my mom loved. I like the simplicity of the lilac one, although it looks a tad large. The floor-length, chiffon, blue gown is strapless with tiny rhinestone outline on its sweetheart neckline. I’m flattered, but shake my head no.
“I’m not finished.” Lagan pushes the dresses into my arms and nudges me toward the dressing room. “I’m going to find you a summer sweater and black tights or stockings or whatever you girls call that stuff. I just have to pay for the panty hose first. Some stuff they don’t just let you try on. Good thing I have a sister and a cousin who edumacated me in girls’ clothes. Rani taught me how tights are a must if a girl doesn’t feel like shaving her legs.”
I burst out laughing. The whole scenario is suddenly comical to me. But I am impressed that Lagan contrived a way to cover every inch of me and still give me an opportunity to wear a dress that doesn’t say eighteenth century all over it. I comply and enter change room number five to squeeze into the first dress. Pink is not my color. I quickly move to the second one, which transforms me into a purple hippo with skinny legs. No to the no!
Goldilocks better be on my side today, because there’s only one dress left. Just then I’m startled by a knock and two items being thrown over the top of the changing room. Skin toned hose and
a dainty white bolero.
“Thanks.”
“Come out soon.” Lagan sounds as excited as my mom when she used to dress me up for kindergarten. “I’m waiting near the cash register.”
I slip into the last dress. It fits! I survey myself, and apart from my scarred arms and bony legs, beautiful almost describes the sight I see. My plain black flats that I wear to school every day don’t match, but the blue gown’s a tad long, covering them. I pull tights on and allow my arms to snuggle into the soft cotton of the thin bolero sweater, extra carefully with my injured arm. The material runs over my scars and blisters like chinchilla fur. How can it not hurt? Closing my eyes momentarily, I whisper, “Thank you.”
I take one last look at myself, and for a split second, I imagine Mom in her blue sari, standing next to me. Smiling. I step out, ready to remind Lagan that I’m only trying this get-up on for a minute. Lagan leans over the counter as he discusses something with the cash register lady, so he doesn’t see me until I’m two feet away. Then he stops in mid-speech. His jaw drops. The woman behind the credit card machine smiles, nods, and slides a small shopping bag toward Lagan, although his eyes have not budged.
“May I do the honors?” Lagan asks as he closes the gap. “You look…stunning! Just one small touch, if you’ll let me?”
He reaches into the bag on the counter and turns back to me. After gently pushing my hair behind my ears, Lagan slips a sparkly silver headband over my hair.
“Are you sure?” I ask, nervous about drawing more attention to myself.
“Positive!” Lagan won’t stop staring at me. “You’re my prom queen, and I don’t need a prom to announce it.”
“You’re hilarious.” I swallow, still aware of the ticking clock. “Okay. Now that you got what you wanted, can I change back into my clothes?”
“In four minutes and thirty-seven seconds,” Lagan says as he motions to the sales rep with two fingers in the air.
She bends down to fiddle with something on a lower shelf, and the music in the store suddenly stops. Then it starts again. This time slightly louder. And slower. It’s this year’s prom theme song: Savage Garden’s “Truly, Madly, Deeply.”
“Can I have this dance?” Lagan reaches for my hand, guiding me to an opening in the racks.
“Umm.” I am as certain as I am uncertain. This boy is definitely crazy. And I am terribly unsure as to how this will all turn out.
“Thanks.” Lagan answers for me. “I’ll lead if you let me.”
And he pulls me closer to him, putting my hand on his shoulder and cupping the other into his. I’ve never slow-danced before, and I feel frozen in time. But we’re moving, Lagan’s hand on my back gently helping me to thaw as the music plays sweetly all around us. Traffic stops around us, and a few shoppers cease shuffling through racks to watch our stumbling feet and giggle-filled twirls.
Then as the song begins to crescendo into the chorus, Lagan pulls me closer still, and I can feel his lips brushing softly across my forehead, from one side to the other, ever so slowly. I close my eyes and allow myself to soak under a waterfall of a thousand peppermint kisses. Is this what heaven is like?
My head lowers into Lagan’s shoulder and something sweeter than the musical notes propels our bodies to move perfectly in sync. I open my eyes to make sure my feet are still on solid ground. Not waltzing on water. On the last twirl, I catch a glimpse of myself in a floor-length mirror. The crown headpiece glitters and reflects back into my eyes. Mom always wanted pretty things in her hair. I am a princess today, Mommy. If only for a moment. My prince came for me. If only for a moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The music fades and Lagan clasps my hands into his. Leaning forward, he plants a very soft peck on my forehead. I’m not even sure you’d call it a kiss. You are my dream, my wish, my fantasy, Lagan. I’m over the top and I do what I do best when I can’t handle it. I back away, shaking my hands from his, afraid to want more. More of what I know I cannot have.
“Wait!” Lagan says, as I push through racks, incapable of retracing my steps to the fitting room.
Fear disorients me. I’m so afraid to get caught, afraid of what all this means, and afraid to believe Lagan’s words, especially the word queen. Most of all, I’m afraid to feel. I’ve never held on to anything I loved. I turn to find Lagan on my heels, and as I see myself in his eyes, I don’t fit. I crowd out his happiness and bring clouds, storms, unrest. I retrieve the band of illusion from my hair and clumsily shove it toward Lagan. I want to say, “Thanks for a dance across the ocean. My ocean of despair. You held me as I danced atop the ocean that I’m used to drowning in. Thank you for helping me stay afloat. If only for a moment.”
Instead, I blurt out, “I’m sorry,” and run into the fitting room I finally spot to my left.
As I change quickly, looking into the mirror, the scars on my arms turn into ghastly tattoos with mouths and eyes and arms—tattoos that perform a dance of victory in my blurring vision. I pull my green long sleeve back over my arms, wanting to hide the faces and muffle the taunts. Forgetting about the burns, I yank the sleeves down, and like power returning after a blackout, the pain of my recently scorched skin returns instantly and intensely. My knees buckle under the surge, but gauze and ice are out of reach in this tiny space I’m locked behind.
Knowing I cannot stay here all night, I gather myself off the floor, gritting my teeth as I hug my arm to myself, friction heightening each sensation. My hands shake as I fumble to replace each dress correctly on its hanger.
I can’t help but blurt out my anger in a train of questions: “Why? Why did you take away my pain? Only for a little while? I’m hurting. It hurts. Will this pain ever go away?”
An answer comes. But not the one I expected. The pain was paused for a moment. To give you time to feel other things.
“But I thought when the pain disappeared... Actually, I don’t know what to think anymore.” I tell the truth.
I am shaking my head no. I want more. I don’t know if I have a right to ask. And I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.
I open the door to return the dresses and sweater to the nearest sales clerk, asking her to discard the tights. I spot Lagan by the store’s exit. I’m ready to leave, too. School lunches will be served in less than ten minutes.
Lagan looks outside, one hand on the door, the other fiddling with his car keys. Disappointment tastes less bitter when you dine alone. I wince in pain when a shopper bumps my arm in passing. Feeling vulnerable inside and out, I wish I could walk back to school on my own, but time robs me of even this tiny mercy.
“We should hurry back.” I break the silence as we walk across the parking lots to find the Civic.
We’ve been circling around the mall outdoors, Lagan walking slightly ahead of me. Silently. Once again, I’m rich with doubt and affliction. Poor in hope and time. Story of my life.
“I’ll never forget today...” Lagan finally speaks as he opens my car door and closes it when my feet firmly set themselves on the mat. “For the rest of my life.” Lagan takes the driver’s seat. “Talia?”
“Yes.” I stare at my lap.
“You’re precious.” Lagan touches my arm.
“Ouch!” I let my pain slip out.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I hurt you. Your arm hurts. What happened?”
“Finish what you were gonna say.” I beg him with my eyes. “Don’t worry about my arm. I’ll be fine...”
Lagan tries to roll back my sleeve, but I pull my arm to me quickly and slide the cloth over my arm and hand. I can’t be exposed. I’d have no out.
“What I was gonna say...” Lagan begins again awkwardly, then pauses. We are talking about things that we can talk about, because my reaction bolts the door he cannot walk through, yet. And maybe ever.
“What I was gonna say was that you don’t need a crown to prove anything. You’re precious to me.”
The car ignition starts and we’
re back at school in less than five minutes. We pull into the driveway, and Lagan lets me walk back inside alone. He’ll see me tomorrow. I’ll finish the day out. Alone.
I sit in the cafeteria and push my food around the plate with my plastic fork. I hunger and thirst for things not on the menu today. Or ever, for that matter. To voice my desires always seems so futile. My arm throbs, daring me to ask. The tattoos taunt louder. I swallow, pick up my imaginary boxing gloves and hear my heart take three swings: “I. Do. Dare.”
The cursing images mute with shock. I’ve never talked back before.
I begin inside my head with my eyes lowered to my lap. I need Lagan. I know Lagan will come if I invite him. I feel like a little girl about to cross her first busy intersection. I need a hand to hold. I guess that’s what I’m really asking: Can I hold his hand? So I don’t have to cross alone?
I don’t hear an answer, but I’m glad I asked. And I’m not scared to ask. For once in my life, I’m not scared. I own this moment. And no one—not even Dad–can take this away from me.
I reach down into my bag to grab a Sticky notepad and pen. I begin writing out a quick question to Lagan before I chicken out. I’m so absorbed in how to word it that I don’t notice Lagan approaching my table.
Until he speaks, startling me. “Is that for me, by any chance?”
The e in the word please ends off the paper when my pen slips. Good enough. I peel the note off and smooth the note down in front of him before I walk out of the cafeteria. I’m probably the only person in Phys Ed, so I don’t bother swinging by my locker to retrieve my uniform.
Before I ascend the stairs leading to the gymnasium, Lagan’s voice echoes from behind, calling my name. I turn around to face him.
“Yes. On one condition.” He shakes his head, dimple in full effect. “And you thought you were the only one with conditions.”
I laugh. My mind fast-forwards to May 17. In the garden. I hope it doesn’t rain.
Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) Page 14
