Wrong in All the Right Ways

by Tiffany Brownlee

  “Listen,” he says when I enter his studio an hour later, “we have to establish some ground rules if this is going to work.”

  “Definitely. That was a close call earlier.”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking: we act like normal brother and sister when it’s daylight, and the only time we can hug and kiss or whatever is if it’s after hours when we’re in a closed-off room. Like your room, or in here. But not my bedroom. It’s too close to them.”

  “I’m with you,” I say. And I am. I just wish we didn’t have to do so much sneaking around. When I imagined my first relationship with someone—not that we’re a couple yet—I imagined that I would be able to show it off to the world. I didn’t expect it to be so suffocated. But this is better than nothing, right? “Um, also all daytime flirty conversations should be through text message only. My mom and dad never go through our phones, so that will be our best mode of communication if we are dying to tell each other something.”

  “You mean, like this.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and sends me a quick text.

  “I didn’t bring my phone. And we’re in your studio, our safe zone.”

  “I know. But I want you to smile when you read it before you go to sleep.”

  He’s being so sweet right now, I can’t take it. “Who would have guessed that my foster brother would be the first guy that I like, and the guy to give me my first kiss?”

  “Ohhhhh,” he says with a chuckle. “So that’s why you were so mad at me for the incident at the mall. You thought you wasted your first kiss on me.”

  “Well, yeah. There are three guys that a girl will always remember in her life: the guy who gives her her first kiss, the one who takes her virginity, and the first one she ever falls in love with. I didn’t want to have to grow up and tell my children that my first kiss was with a guy who used me to make another girl back off.”

  “Is that what you think I was doing?” His eyes catch the light, and I see that they are honey again.

  “Yep.”

  He doesn’t correct me, so I know that my assumption about his intentions at the mall is right. “Well, you’re still screwed. Now you have to tell your children that your first real kiss was with your foster brother.”

  “Well, I guess I’m going to have to make something up, then. Any suggestions?”

  “Your first kiss was in a pool? How does that sound?”

  “I can deal with that. Keep going.”

  “The guy was a total amateur, and you hated every second of it.”

  “Pool. Bad kisser. I hated it. Got it.”

  “And I promise to take your secret to my grave.” He laughs, and I can tell he wants to kiss me by the way he keeps looking at my lips. It’s weirdly nice to know that he finds me attractive and tantalizing enough to risk so much. “So do you want another art lesson?” he says as he replaces the small canvas he’s working on with a bigger blank one.

  “Of course.” I grab a smock while he pulls the other barstool up to the easel. “We’re sharing?”

  “Yep. This is going to be an abstract piece where each artist tries to mirror what the other has done. The only catch is that you will use the opposite color of what I use. Remember the color wheel we went over on the first day?” He must see my face twist into a frown. “Don’t freak out. I’m not going to do anything difficult.” He takes the brushes and sets them on the table near us. “Besides, we’re not going to be using brushes; we’ll be using our fingers instead.”

  Our fingers? “But I just took a shower.”

  “We’re not body painting, we’re finger painting. Like kindergarten. You won’t get that dirty, and it’ll be fun. I promise.”

  “You’re lucky I’m not a girly girl who gets her nails done every other week.” I see him dip his fingers in the paint and draw a red sun, and then I do the same in green.

  “No, I’m lucky to have a girlfriend who doesn’t mind getting a little messy for me.” Dylan sneaks in a kiss as I mirror his finger painting. “You’re so beautiful. Do you know that?” he says out of the blue, once we’ve gone through a few rounds of drawing and mirroring. Overwhelmed, I don’t respond, but I know he can see his effect on me through the grin on my face.

  When we finish, the red, blue, and green paint has found its way underneath my nails, and he catches me looking at them. “Don’t worry, it’s just paint. And now you look like an artist,” he says, grabbing my hands. He leans in for a kiss, but gets denied when a yawn escapes me.

  “Sorry, it’s getting late,” I say as I cover my mouth, heading to the sink to scrub the paint off my fingertips. “How are you able to stay up so late every night?”

  “I can’t sleep. Actually, I usually don’t sleep more than a few hours. I can’t even remember the last time I was able to get a full night’s rest.”

  I want to ask him why he can’t sleep, but I know it has something to do with whatever he wanted to tell me the night he first kissed me in here. The night I defended him against Dad. I should have just let him tell me; I don’t know when he’ll open up to me like that again.

  “Well, I’m going to go to bed. It’s almost eleven and I’m super tired.” With pruney, almost-clean hands, I reach to kiss him good night and exit the studio.

  “Don’t forget to check your phone,” he says, and I don’t. It’s the first thing I do when I get back to my room.

  Dylan: I like you. Want to be my girlfriend? Text back yes or no.

  It reminds me of the notes I used to see kids pass around in middle school. I never got one, but I always used to think that they were so cute. I text him back without thinking because it’s such an easy answer.

  Me: Of course.

  Me: I mean yes

  Dylan: You sure? I don’t want you to regret anything if things don’t go as planned.

  Me: No regrets.

  Dylan: No regrets!

  For a moment, all is right with the world, but then a thought occurs to me. What if all of this backfires on us? What if this doesn’t go the way we plan, and the social worker takes him away?

  Me: Truth … I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you. Not as a brother or a boyfriend.

  Dylan: Not possible. You’re never gonna lose me. No matter what happens, I’m always gonna be here

  Me: Promise?

  Dylan: I promise.

  chapter 11

  IF SOMEONE EVER decided to make a movie of my life, this would be where the honeymoon sequence begins—aka the first weeks of a relationship, all set to a romantic and touching piano ballad. There would be scenes of Dylan and me holding hands as we frolic through the flower gardens of San Diego, and scenes of us laughing uncontrollably at some inane inside joke. Oh, and let’s not forget the scenes of me wearing his sweatshirt as he gives me a piggyback ride.

  But that’s not real life. There’s been a lot of laughing and hand-holding (in secret, of course), but definitely no frolicking or piggyback rides. Still, public mushiness or not, Dylan is the best thing to ever happen to me.

  I finish my AP calculus homework as soon as Dylan reappears behind the counter and sets a ham and cheese sandwich down in front of me. I couldn’t bear to go another day without spending a little bit of time with him, and his work seems to be the only place we can meet up nowadays. Between his shifts and all-night painting sessions, and my crazy dance and early sleep schedules, we barely get to see each other, and when we do, everything has to be done in secret. I can’t kiss him when I want to, and he can’t hold me when he wants to. As much as I hate it, I know we can’t afford to get caught. Not with his adoption still hanging in limbo.

  “Enjoying your sandwich?” Dylan says, handing me a napkin. “I made it with love.”

  “Corny,” I say, grabbing the napkin to wipe the crumbs from the sides of my mouth.

  “You like it, though.”

  “Maybe.”

  “‘Maybe’? Fine, we’re done.” A laugh escapes him as I ball up my napkin and pelt it at him. “It sucks that I can’t see you t
hat much,” he says in a more serious tone. I feel his fingertips brush up against mine when I set my hand back down on the table. Sister, Emma. You’re supposed to be his sister right now.

  “I know.” My lips shape into a grimace as I pull my fingers away and tuck my hands under the seat of the barstool I’m sitting on. This sucks. My eyes fall on the journal to the right of the plate holding my ham and cheese sandwich.

  “What do you write in this thing? Poems?” he says, extending his fingers to touch the navy blue felt cover of my English journal, which I scramble to get hold of before he can.

  “Well, what do you write about? I mean, we both have the same assignment.”

  “I asked you first. So, do you write about me?” His Cheshire cat grin and glowing eyes—thanks to the glare on the window—almost win me over, but I refuse to give in.

  “Stop that.”

  “What?”

  “That thing you do with your eyes. Like, you’re trying to get me to fall in love with you or something.”

  “Is it working?”

  Maybe.

  “Aww, brother and sister bonding. How cute,” I hear a familiar voice say before I can answer. The bell above the door is still ringing when I swivel around in my seat to see Karmin and Keegan walk through the front door of the shop. “Is my mom here?”

  “She’s in the back.”

  “Great. I got the lady at Petite Feet to hold this amazing pair of strappy heels for me. They match my homecoming dress perfectly, and I need her to give me—well, Keegan—her credit card to buy them.” She looks over her shoulder before advancing behind the counter, like she’s on some type of covert mission and doesn’t want to be followed. As she enters the back, the bell rings again. Another customer has arrived to steal Dylan away from me.

  “Mrs. Chesterfield, nice to see you again,” Dylan’s voice booms from behind me. I’ve never met the woman, but judging from the way Dylan drops everything to get the door for her, I’m guessing she’s a regular customer. The withered woman, with different shades of graying hair, takes Dylan’s hand as he leads her to the corner booth.

  “That’s Mrs. Chesterfield,” Keegan leans in to whisper in my ear. “She and her husband were the first customers to ever eat at my family’s restaurant, almost forty years ago.” He points to a black-and-white photo behind the counter; a girl and a boy, probably not much older than I am now, smile at the camera as they prepare to take a bite of their sandwiches. “They were only high school sweethearts then, and they probably had no clue that they would live out the latter half of their lives as husband and wife. He proposed to her in that very booth, you know?”

  “How romantic.”

  “Yeah. My grandparents were the godparents of their first child, Elianna. From all of the pictures I’ve seen, she was really pretty. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile so intense, it could cure cancer if it wanted to. Unfortunately, her smile couldn’t cure her of her own, though. She passed away a few years ago.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad. Elianna sounds like she had a beautiful soul.”

  “She did. She kind of reminds me of you.” Our eyes lock for a moment, and it’s as if someone has flipped a power switch because the electric current that I feel running through me almost knocks me out of my seat. I thought that Dylan was the only one who had the potential to do that. I guess I was wrong.

  Look away, a voice bellows inside my head. Bad Emma. Bad, bad, bad, it shouts again, making me break the connection.

  “Mrs. Chesterfield hasn’t been the same since the funeral,” he continues. “Sometimes, she even forgets that her daughter died.”

  “How horrible.” I frown.

  Karmin reappears, holding her mother’s card high above her head as if it’s the key that unlocks the door to paradise. “Got the card, Keegan. Let’s go before she changes her mind.”

  “Looks like you been summoned,” I tease.

  “Indeed, I have.”

  “But it was nice seeing you again.”

  “Yes. It was nice.” Keegan smiles, ignoring his sister’s demand. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Dylan, I’m headed out,” I say as he gestures for Mrs. Chesterfield to stay put and rushes over to me.

  “Trying to make me jealous, are you?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Keegan and I were just talking.”

  “That better have been all.” He says this in a pleasant tone, so I’m not sure if I should play along with him or be frightened by his sudden territoriality. I don’t have the luxury of thinking too long about it, though. A light tap on my shoulder stops my thoughts dead in their tracks.

  “Elianna?” Mrs. Chesterfield says, continuing to pat my shoulder with her frail fingers. “Elianna, is that you?”

  “Umm…”

  “Please, honey. It’s been so long.” I see Dylan mouth the words play along, and despite my brain’s efforts to conjure up the bad memories from the last time I “played along,” I follow her to the corner booth and take a seat.

  “Somehow you look even younger and prettier than last time you came home.” She places her glasses on the end of her nose and peers down them to look at the menu. “Let’s decide what we want before the waiter comes back. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dylan approaching with two glasses of water. As he sets one down in front of me, he leans low and whispers, “She sometimes forgets that her daughter passed away. Just sit and talk to her. You’ll make her day.” He straightens himself up, and smiles at Mrs. Chesterfield as she looks over the menu. “So what will it be, ladies?”

  “A small turkey and Swiss for me.”

  “The water is fine. I’m not hungry,” I say, taking a sip from my glass. Dylan nods and walks away, stealing a glance at me over his shoulder before disappearing behind the counter to ring in the order.

  “You’re not hungry? There was once a time when we couldn’t stop you from eating. Lucky for you, that metabolism of yours hasn’t slowed down yet. You’re still as skinny as a toothpick.” I watch as her weathered hands struggle to open her straw wrapper. “So how’s Joshua?”

  Since I have to play along, I figure I might as well make things interesting. “He’s okay … I guess. He’s been working a lot, but what else is new?”

  “I was never a fan of that boy. I don’t think he’s good enough for you.” She finally gets the wrapper open and takes a long sip of her water before continuing. “I come here almost every day for lunch, and at first, I kept trying to set you up with that young man over there. But unfortunately he has a girlfriend.”

  “H-he told you that?”

  “Oh, yes. He says that she has eyes like two aquamarine stones framed with flaxen eyelashes. A blue so crystal clear that he can see straight through to her—”

  “Heart of gold,” Dylan finishes as he approaches with Mrs. Chesterfield’s sandwich. “And don’t even get me started on her laugh.”

  “You’re going to love this, Ellie. Tell her!” Mrs. Chesterfield eggs him on excitedly.

  “It’s not how it sounds. It’s how it makes you feel. Like that hair-raising moment that you experience when you hear a song on the radio that seems to speak directly to you.” He pauses to look into his hands and meets my gaze once more before saying, “She’s radiant … inside and out.”

  “And brilliant, too—right?” Mrs. Chesterfield adds.

  Suddenly all of this is too much, and I have to hold my breath to keep myself from crying. He’s shared so much of his feeling for me with this woman that I can’t help but feel overwhelmed.

  “She’s a walking SAT study manual. She uses words like pulchritudinous to describe pretty flowers, and conundrum when talking about her problems. She dreams out loud about impossible things and encourages others to believe in them, too. It’s hard not to be dazzled by how her mind works.” Dylan’s bronze eyes catch hold of mine, and I almost lose it. No one has ever been drawn to me for my vocabulary. “I better get back to work. You e
njoy your sandwich, Mrs. Chesterfield.”

  I watch as Dylan makes his way back to the front counter and starts wiping it with a damp rag. It isn’t until I feel Mrs. Chesterfield’s cold hands grab my arm that I realize that I’m still sitting before her, acting as if I’m her daughter. “Sweet, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” I say, wiping away a tear before it can fall from my eye.

  “Does your Joshua talk about you like that, Elianna?”

  I don’t know how to answer that question, so I sit silently, waiting for her to continue. I mean, I don’t want to badmouth this Joshua guy. I don’t even know him.

  “Well, I’d make sure that he does before you decide to take his name. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

  * * *

  The bliss is still tingling in my fingertips when I arrive back at the pool house thirty minutes later. With Dylan’s words still resonating in my head, I fall back onto my bed to soak it up in private. He likes me, I repeat to myself over and over as I lie there with my eyes closed. He really likes me.

  “Delivery for Miss Emma Ellenburg.” My mom’s fluid voice echoes through the room, bringing me to my feet. Before I can get up to open the door, she’s bursting through it with a long yellow box.

  “I could have totally been naked, Mom. I mean, for goodness’ sake, have you never heard of knocking?”

  “Get over yourself, Emma. We have the same parts.” She sets the box down beside me and pauses, lifting an eyebrow. “Unless you have something to tell me, that is.”

  Slapping my palm to my forehead, I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You said I had a package? From where?”

  “Some fancy boutique called She’s So Chic Formalwear. And with homecoming looming in the air, I’m guessing that you’ve finally decided to go?”

  “Uhh … no. I haven’t bought a dress, because as far as I know, I’m not going.”

  My mom looks at the box again to make sure my name is indeed on it. “Well, someone must be dying for you to go. Especially if they went out of their way to buy you a dress.”

  “Karmin is relentless,” I say through clenched teeth, though I’m touched that she thought of gifting it to me. “I … uh … guess I’m going to homecoming, then.” I know what’s about to come next, and so I sit in silence, waiting for her to burst into tears of happiness, which she does, as if on cue.