My Not-So-Still Life

by Liz Gallagher

  Maybe this is why she likes working at the docks so much. I bet it reminds her of this belief I never even knew she had.

  “Mom?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you for making my life so good.”

  She smiles. “We did it together, Nessie.”

  “Us and Grampie.”

  “Yes. But your own life, now, that’s mostly up to you.”

  She’s right. I’ll make plenty of decisions in my lifetime. I’ve got so much time left. “What if I said I want to teach those kids this summer?”

  “I think Mr. Smith is probably right. You’d be good at it.”

  I actually believe her.

  That’s enough.

  Spring break was quiet. I got to interview for the art camp job. Did some gardening with Grampie.

  School on Monday is a blur. People stare at me all day. This time, it’s because I’ve stopped looking like a work of art. Could be the graffiti drama too. Who cares?

  “There’s a shock to not being shocking,” I tell Mr. Smith when he asks me to stay after workshop.

  “Interesting observation,” he says. “Did you think all art had to be about shock?”

  I consider. “Maybe I did.”

  “What do you think now? What makes art into art?”

  I want to quip, say “I wish I knew,” something like that. But instead I just think. I breathe. “I think … I’m not sure. I think it might … defy definition. But what I know is, I don’t want to stop looking for that definition. I like the way it feels to create.”

  He nods. “Another interesting thought. You are becoming a real student of life, Vanessa.”

  A student of life. I like that. “Thanks. And I’m excited to become a teacher this summer, too.”

  “Excellent. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The training program starts next week. The elementary school called to say they’d love to have you.” He hands me a schedule. The tardy bell rings. Another class is filling the room.

  Mr. Smith writes me a late pass and I walk to gym, glad that I have the teacher training coming up. Glad that I’m going to take the time to learn how to do this summer job well.

  When I get my one and only Palette check in the mail, Mom cashes it for me. She keeps most of the cash and writes the check for the blacktop. The rest she hands over. “You did earn it.”

  Even though I’m not going to use it, I still owe James for the ID.

  I take the money, feeling stupid that I already spent it on something so pointless.

  After school the next day, I pedal over to the Vespa shop.

  Part of me wants him to be there, and part of me hopes I can just leave the envelope.

  It feels like a big moment, but I tell myself: It’ll pass. This is something I have to do. James was never anything but good to me.

  He’s there, taking a break, reading the Weekly, sitting on the workbench with an energy drink next to him.

  “Hey.”

  He looks up. “I like the hair.” He smiles, and for a few seconds, I want to sink. But I need to stay clear.

  “Thanks.” I pull the envelope out of my bag. “Here’s what I owe you for the … for Jennifer.”

  He takes it. “I wish I didn’t need the cash. I mean, we never even got to use your ID.… Seems like a waste.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. What did I really waste here?

  “You can still use it. Just—I’m sorry, but … not with me.”

  Wow. It never even occurred to me that he’d think I still wanted to hang out with him. To … whatever. “I know that, James.”

  But then I realize I have no idea what he’s thinking. “I mean, why not with you?”

  “You pulled out of the calendar, Vanessa. Maye told me how it made you uncomfortable. You and I … we had fun together for a minute. That’s all it was. We’re in different places. I shouldn’t have gone there with you.”

  I take a deep breath because this burns. This is rejection. I thought I was coming here to tell him goodbye, but this feels like he’s telling me to go away. There’s a distinction. Tears form before I can stop them. “Sorry I wasted your time.”

  “Don’t think of it like that,” he says. “Think of it like … a view to … your future.”

  I wipe at my cheeks and turn to go.

  As I climb back on my bike and pedal away, I don’t think that future is the one I want at all.

  In the park, I sit atop my cruiser on the basketball blacktop. My bolts are still there.

  Seems silly now, but I’m not sad that I did it. Not exactly. I only wish I hadn’t done it in public. I just thought people needed to see what I was feeling. But maybe I’m the only one who needed to see.

  Mom doesn’t know, but I called the Parks Department. Starting this weekend, I’m on a volunteer cleanup crew. They even said I could work at the skate park.

  *

  The Sunday after Spring Semi, my punishments are over. I’m allowed to go out, and the sun is glorious. I text Nick and Holly. Tell them I have a treat.

  It’s too warm for my boots, so I put on my saddle shoes. I leave my hair down and do lots of mascara and a little gloss. My jeans, a white tee.

  I gather everything I need from Ballard Market and pedal to Golden Gardens with grocery tote bags over each shoulder.

  I take off my shoes and wait on a bench near the parking lot. The sand underneath my toes is a reminder that summer really is coming.

  Nick shows up with a blanket, like I asked. We set out strawberries, sodas, and candy.

  Holly shows up with Wilson, in his car. They hold hands as they walk over to us. She’s as sunny as ever.

  “Your hair,” Holly says, mouth open.

  “Funky, isn’t it?” Nick says.

  “I haven’t seen it that color since sixth grade. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “I’m already used to it,” I say.

  “I do like it.” She holds up her hand, and Wilson’s. “You guys know Wilson. Well, sort of.”

  He looks at us. He shakes Nick’s hand, and he looks me in the eyes. “We know each other a little.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m glad we’ll be getting to know each other better.”

  They sit down and we all open sodas. “Actually,” Wilson says, “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Vanessa.”

  “Thank me?” The necklace. The note.

  “I told him about it,” Holly says.

  “I get why Holly didn’t love what you did at first, but I’m really, really glad she and I finally talked. We have so much in common.” He grins. “And she’s so gorgeous, I was afraid to talk to her!”

  Holly turns pink. She’s looking only at him when she says, “I’m glad we met too.” But I know she’s telling me something also. She’s over it.

  “Tell us about the dance,” Nick says. “Full details.”

  Holly launches into a description of our school’s gym all dressed up in twinkle lights, and tells us how the DJ was really bad but that made it fun. “I only wish you guys had been there,” she says. Wilson puts his arm around her.

  “Me too,” Nick says. That zings me a little.

  “We’ll all do some fun stuff together this summer,” I say. “When I’m not working with the kids and Holly’s not practicing and Nick’s not working on his comic and Wilson’s not … What do you do, Wilson?”

  “Violin, mostly. This summer, I’ll be starting to prep for music scholarship auditions.” He’s really a great match for Holly. “We’re working on a duet,” he says.

  “Like, Wilson’s composing it.” Holly looks so proudly at him. I grin at her.

  “Well, there’s something coming up that I hope you’ll all want to go to,” Nick says.

  I think about it. “Fourth of July? Of course! We’ll all go to the Gasworks fireworks together!”

  Holly and Wilson nod.

  “That’d be great,” Nick says, “but I was thinking of the Pride Parade.”

  I think my heart ski
ps two beats. He looks at me and continues. “It’s a good idea. Will be fun to see what the parade’s all about.”

  “Abso-snootly.” And it will be fun. We’ll just check it out. No expectations.

  “We’re in,” Wilson says.

  Holly adds, “Yep. I hear there are some really good marching bands.”

  “You are such a geek for music,” I say. “That’s what I like about you.” I turn to Nick. “And you are the comic geek.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Nick says. “Art geek!”

  “That’s me.”

  I pass around the strawberries, and the afternoon is beautiful.

  Acknowledgments

  Vanessa was a hard girl to get to know (she does tend to keep up a bit of a tough exterior). Lots of people were very patient with me while I made this new friend, and I thank them.

  Thanks to my parents, Eileen and Terry Gallagher, and my brother and SiL, Sean and Susan Gallagher.

  To my writing friends, especially: Heather Davis, for the title help, the writing checkins, and the fun distractions from this thing we both do. Kevin Emerson, for turning out to be more than just a guy in the coffee shop. Jackie Parker, for your valuable perspective as a voracious YA reader. Lara Zeises, for the cross-country friendship.

  To the readergirlz community and the writers and readers of Through the Tollbooth.

  To the librarians in Seattle, King County, and the surrounding areas. The booksellers, too. All of you are my people.

  To the teens I’ve worked with and the readers I’m proud to share my stories with.

  To Rosemary Stimola, my agent, who makes it possible for characters who exist in my mind to live on the bookshelves, too.

  To Kate Gartner for a cover design that is so beautifully Vanessa.

  To Wendy Lamb, Dana Carey, Caroline Meckler, and the rest of the team at Random House Children’s Books for taking my words and thoughts and making them into a book. You are brilliant.

  About the Author

  Liz Gallagher grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia and went to Penn State. She has an MFA in writing for children and young adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts, where she got to study with literary rock stars. When she’s not writing, she’s usually talking about great reads at the online teen book community readergirlz.com, where she is a Diva. My Not-So-Still Life is her second novel; like her first, The Opposite of Invisible, it is set in Seattle, the beautiful city she happily calls her adopted home. Visit her online at lizgallagher.com.