Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse

by Elana Johnson

  My anger melts away as I flop onto the couch,

  Unwrap my burrito.

  I sigh.

  Everything was less complicated when

  I was still with Harris.

  Jacey and I could’ve gone to Preference

  Without any drama,

  She with her boyfriend, and

  Me with mine.

  “Sorry,” I mumble to my burrito wrapper.

  “I screwed everything up when I broke up with Harris.”

  I think about how I’ve lost so much more than a boyfriend.

  I can’t go back to high school,

  I don’t see anyone but Gramma-Linda and Jacey—and

  Stupid Trevor, because

  He pops over whenever he wants,

  Somehow getting himself invited to dinner.

  “No you didn’t,” Jacey says.

  “You needed to break up with Harris.

  I just wish—”

  Her eyes go wide, and

  She stuffs her mouth with a fistful of tots.

  “You wish what?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, then

  Takes a long drag of my Diet Coke.

  She barely has time to breathe before

  She fills her mouth with more food.

  I’ve known Jacey for years, and

  I recognize the signs of

  A) her stress-eating, and

  B) her tactics to keep a secret.

  “Jacey,” I warn. “You’re going to run out of tots in about four seconds.

  Then you’ll have to tell me.”

  She slows her chewing, but

  The inevitable still comes.

  When her food is gone,

  She sighs and leans back into the couch.

  She closes her eyes,

  Another method she uses to prolong the silence.

  “Spill,” I tell her, and

  She jerks her eyes open.

  “Okay, but just hear me out, okay?”

  She leans forward,

  Earnestly.

  “So we know Trevor still likes you.

  The real question is:

  How do you feel about him?”

  She holds up her hand

  When I open my mouth to speak.

  “I know, I know.

  You don’t think you guys can be together.

  But be honest with yourself, Livvy.

  If you don’t like him, fine.

  If you do, well…”

  She trails off, but

  There are too many ways to end that sentence.

  “You’re not related.

  That’s all I’m saying.”

  “HOW ARE THINGS GOING WITH GRAMMA-LINDA?”

  My mother sits at the bar in

  The Youngblood’s kitchen,

  A cup of steaming coffee in front of her.

  “Fine,” I tell her as I open the fridge.

  I don’t know why I came downstairs when

  Dad bought ice cream bars for my tiny freezer upstairs.

  Still, I poke around in this foreign fridge

  For something good to eat.

  I find nothing.

  I should’ve known better.

  Mom’s never been one to stock pudding, or

  Anything that tastes remotely good.

  Mom sips from her cup,

  Taking little bits of my soul,

  As she continues to analyze me.

  I’m not facing her, but

  I can feel the weight of her stare

  As I rummage through kale,

  Cabbage, and

  Eggplant.

  I close the fridge and

  Turn to face her.

  “Can we order pizza?”

  Her eyes pinch for only a moment, but

  The photographer in me

  Sees it.

  “Sure,” she says.

  “AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO TAKE A MATH CREDIT,”

  I finish.

  I’ve—surprisingly—

  Told Mom most of what Gramma-Linda is making me

  Do for homeschool.

  Between her,

  Me, and

  Rose,

  We’ve eaten almost two whole pizzas.

  Mom even bought soda and

  Cookie dough,

  Which I’ve just put in the oven.

  With Rose sitting between us,

  I don’t feel such tension from my mother.

  She catches my eye and

  Smiles.

  I return it before I can stop myself.

  I can see it makes her immensely happy, and

  I suddenly feel like crying.

  I stand abruptly and

  Leave the kitchen.

  I’m halfway up the stairs when

  Rose darts in front of me before

  I can wipe my eyes.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Her face is so open,

  Her tone so concerned.

  I grab her in a hug, and

  Hold on tight.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper into her golden hair.

  But I do.

  I just don’t know how to say it in words, but

  I know I’m crying because

  I’ve been such a beast to my mom.

  I’ve been so removed,

  So angry,

  So cruel,

  That a simple smile from me

  Makes her entire evening.

  I release Rose and

  Sprint up the rest of the stairs and into our room.

  I close and lock the door before

  Leaning against it,

  The tears flowing in waves

  Down my face.

  YOU STILL UP?

  My phone buzzes against my chest,

  Waking me from the half-sleep

  I’ve fallen into.

  I check the text to see who it’s from.

  Trevor.

  I consider ignoring him, until

  I remember the look on my mom’s face, and

  The way my attention influenced her.

  Unfortunately, I text him.

  What’s the harm in a text? I think.

  Nothing, I answer myself,

  If he wasn’t the guy you used to date, and

  Exactly who you want to be alone with again.

  You wanna shoot tomorrow? he asks.

  No, I do not want to shoot tomorrow, I think, but

  I don’t type that into my phone.

  My plans for tomorrow are blank,

  The whole day wide open for Mom to

  Take me shopping, or

  Sigh loudly at the shortness of my hair, or

  Ask me to clean some random corner of this house I barely live in.

  What time? I text,

  Wondering if I’m allowed to go back to Dad’s

  On my mom’s weekend.

  Afternoon, he answers.

  I have weight training in the morning.

  Can you get my camera gear on the way over?

  “YOUR DAD SEEMED SURPRISED TO SEE ME.”

  Trevor unshoulders my camera pack and

  Hands it to me as I step out of my bedroom and

  Into the hall.

  “I texted him,” I say, trying not to take a deep drag of Trevor’s cologne.

  He smells like his typical musky aftershave, something

  I’ve always been attracted to.

  Now, my only defense against him would be to

  Glue my nostrils shut.

  I spend a few seconds admiring him.

  His dark brown hair,

  His blue eyes,

  His football physique.

  I turn away before

  The situation becomes awkward.

  “He should’ve known you were coming.”

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t.”

  He follows me as I start down the stairs.

  “And might I say that I really like the new paint color in your bedroom.”

  My step stutters;
<
br />   I grasp the railing for support, because

  The breath has left my body.

  “You went in my bedroom?”

  I can’t even remember what condition I left it in, but

  I know I didn’t clean it before

  Coming to the Youngblood’s.

  “I had to.”

  Trevor moves past me down the stairs,

  Glancing at me as he does.

  “Your dad had no idea where your camera bag was.”

  “What else did you see in my bedroom?”

  An image of the stack of journals on my nightstand

  Makes my stomach turn.

  I’ve been leafing through the diaries every night before

  I fall asleep.

  “Nothing,” Trevor assures me.

  “Your dad came in the room with me,

  Hunted around until we found it.”

  My cheeks feel hot, and

  I have no hair to hide that fact.

  I close my eyes in a long blink,

  Clench my fingers around the banister,

  Until I feel like I can breathe again.

  “I’ve been in your bedroom before,” he says.

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “Stop it,” I say.

  “You know what the big deal is.

  And—”

  I point at him though it jostles the

  Already-balanced-precariously camera bag on my back.

  “—The one time you’ve been in my bedroom was

  Simply to get my phone off my desk.

  Nothing happened.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, and

  I can suddenly hear him telling me he wants to sleep with me.

  The heat in my cheeks is no longer from panic.

  I brush past him with my face turned so he can’t see the blush and

  Head for the garage.

  “You have a car, right?” I call over my shoulder.

  “Yeah,” he says, “But I thought we were shooting here.”

  I glance up at the vaulted ceilings,

  The antique furniture,

  The marble, silk, hardwood.

  “Too stale,” I declare.

  I turn to face him.

  “You’re not stale. We need…”

  I glance around like I’ll be able to find what he needs here,

  In this lousy mansion,

  A sorry excuse for a home.

  “We need something…more exciting.”

  “Are you saying I’m exciting?”

  He gives me that sexy half-smile and

  Steps closer.

  “I’m saying get your keys and

  Let’s get out of here.”

  “DO YOU EVER MISS HER?”

  Trevor won’t look at me, but

  Focuses out the window,

  On the road, or

  Something.

  I can’t really see his eyes anyway, because

  He’s wearing sunglasses.

  “Miss who?” I ask.

  “Your mom.”

  Instantly, I feel an invisible wall

  Go up between me and

  Him.

  The same barrier that’s been between me and

  My mother

  For the past year and a half.

  His car feels ten times colder, and

  The low music from the radio is now too loud.

  I don’t answer.

  I don’t know if I miss my mom or not.

  “I miss my dad,

  Sometimes,” Trevor says.

  I let myself look at him.

  Click, click, click.

  The need is raw on his face,

  The tension evident in his shoulders.

  “I mean, he hasn’t been around for years, but

  I still miss him.

  Watching you with your dad at dinner the other night is

  When I realized it.”

  I wish I knew what to say, or

  That I could reach for my camera and

  Capture this moment in pixels,

  Forever.

  “Where to?” Trevor asks

  After a few minutes of silence.

  He’s been driving aimlessly,

  Turning right, then

  Left, then

  Right.

  I wish I had long hair like I used to, so

  I could hide behind it

  Like I used to.

  “Wings?” he says

  Just as I say,

  “I miss her.”

  “I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU,”

  Were Mom’s parting words to Rose

  When she moved out of our house and

  In with Darren Youngblood.

  I didn’t know until that day that

  My mom was a coward.

  She waited until Dad left on a business trip

  To move out.

  She packed all day the first day,

  Her face as still as stone,

  Her voice mute.

  The second day,

  The moving van came,

  Taking her boxes,

  Her wardrobe,

  Her jewelry, and

  Her photos.

  She called in Gramma-Linda

  On the third day.

  She bent down and hugged Rose.

  “I will always love you.”

  Gramma-Linda had stood sentinel

  Near the front door.

  She’d smoothed my hair,

  Held me close, and

  Told me everything would be all right.

  Mom barely looked at me,

  Barely spoke.

  And then she left.

  COWARD

  Is what I wrote in my journal

  That night.

  I knew my mother was one, and

  I wondered if I was too.

  Why didn’t I say something sooner?

  Why didn’t I do anything?

  Maybe I could’ve saved my parents’ marriage.

  Maybe I could have—

  The entry stops there, but

  I’m still wondering if I’m brave enough

  To do hard things.

  Gramma-Linda stayed with me and Rose

  For a week after Mom left,

  Before Dad returned from his business trip.

  She talked all the time,

  Telling Rose that Mom still loved her,

  That she would always love her,

  That just because she didn’t live here anymore

  Didn’t mean she’d stopped caring.

  Dad called every night and

  Told us about Chicago and

  How good the hot dogs were.

  Rose cried on the phone every night and

  Asked me if Dad was really coming home or

  If he’d leave us the way Mom did.

  I soothed my sister with songs and

  Hot chocolate.

  I did not lie to her the way

  Gramma-Linda did,

  The way Mom had.

  Because she didn’t love us,

  At least not as much as she loved Darren Youngblood.

  “THERE.”

  I point across my body,

  Almost jabbing Trevor’s arm.

  “That house. It’s perfect.”

  Trevor pulls over and

  Squints at the structure.

  “It’s one wind storm from falling down.”

  “Like I said,

  Perfect.”

  I get out of the car,

  Shoulder my bag, and

  Step around the NO TRESPASSING sign.

  “Wings, you can’t be serious.”

  Trevor hurries after me.

  “We could get in trouble.”

  “Are you worried?”

  I toss him a smirk over my shoulder.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “If I get in trouble,

  I can’t play football.”

  I pause, considering.

  Playing football to Trevor
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  Is like breathing.

  If he can’t do it,

  He’ll die.

  The porch of the dilapidated house

  Sags;

  The paint on the front door is

  Peeling;

  The brick is weathered and

  Crumbling.

  “This has character,” I say,

  Almost a whine in my voice.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Trevor comes to stand beside me.

  “So you’re saying I have

  Perfect character.”

  I roll my eyes,

  Knowing I’ve got him,

  At least for a few minutes.

  “I’m saying we better shoot this

  Before the cops come by.”

  “JUST ONE MORE,”

  I tell Trevor.

  “You’ve said that at least ten times.”

  I’ve taken at least two hundred shots

  Of him, but

  I don’t have the right one yet.

  I got him sitting on the porch, and

  Leaning against that blue door, and

  Posing in front of the textured brick.

  I’ve used the flash, and

  Opened the aperture, and

  Adjusted his clothes.

  We’ve been here an hour, and

  He was done after the first thirty minutes.

  “I can’t use any of these,” I tell him, and

  He glances skyward as if

  God will grant him patience.

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Come on,” I say.

  “Just a couple more.”

  I step toward the front door,

  Wondering if it’s locked.

  “Whoa, we’re not going in there.”

  He moves to block me.

  “Yes, we are,” I say,

  Swatting his outstretched arm out of my way.

  I scan him from head to toe.

  “It’s the ideal juxtaposition.

  You, all put together and…whatever, and

  This house all falling apart.”

  “So you’re saying opposites attract.”

  I brush past him and test the door.

  It swings open, and

  I enter.

  “I’m saying persistence pays off.