by C. Desir
Rox let out a sigh she totally meant and wanted me to hear. Neither she nor Lila believed there would ever be a day when I couldn’t see, but that’s only because they didn’t know what it was like to look through my eyes.
I opened my mouth to tell her I thought my eyes were worse again, but it would mean more ophthalmologist appointments, and maybe another small surgery. All the fighting against my terrible eyes was getting old.
“What’s up?” she said more quietly.
I gestured toward all the rows of pottery on the shelves in front of the window. My lips pressed together.
“Hailey?”
“I can’t . . .” I didn’t want to do it. To say it out loud. “I can’t really see what color they are anymore.”
Rox walked around the counter and rested her hand on my shoulder. “Is it that way with everything, or . . . ?”
Her voice was the low cautious one the moms used when I had some new vision thing going on. It was the voice that was intended to calm me but really did the opposite.
“No.” I shook my head, but my voice was sort of a whisper. “Just with the light behind them, I guess.”
“Well.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze before dropping her arm. “It’s really bright out today.”
“Yeah.”
Her lips pursed for a moment, but after studying my face, she smiled—a sign that she was about to jump ship and change the subject.
Thank God.
“Lila will for sure be home for dinner. I’ll let you know when she gets here.” That was her nice way of telling me I would be joining them for dinner. Like every night. Family dinner. Mandatory. Grilling session of fifteen-year-old daughter. Not mandatory. Just a perk.
The gripping feeling in my chest over my vision started to dissipate, now replaced by what I’d tell the moms about my school day that didn’t include anything about my eyes.
Maybe I could learn a lesson from the skinny guy in the sound booth and disappear.
Chapter Three: Kyle
I left money for dinner,” Mom said as I dropped books into my bag. Calculus. History. Beowulf. My mom was a nurse. Mostly the night shift, although some days she covered for other nurses and was gone even longer. She was supposed to only work forty hours, but she had a second job as an in-home care nurse, so I was alone a lot. Which didn’t always suck.
“ ’Kay. Thanks.”
“Did you get my meds?”
“Yes.”
I set her bag on the counter.
Mom hummed, sighed, and rifled through the bag to check. “And the other stuff I left for you to do?”
“Folded the laundry. The dishwasher isn’t full enough to run.”
“You should’ve run it anyway. The food will cake on otherwise.” Her voice shook in that way that made me feel like shit. She looked at me, and her face changed, softened. Damn. The roller coaster of her emotions was not something I wanted to deal with today. “Thanks for picking up my things, Kyle. Sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my job to take care of you.”
I grunted because what was I supposed to say? I’d like to interview other, more qualified candidates for the job.
She pressed out the creases of her uniform, her hands fluttering over her too-thin frame. Nothing fit her anymore. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her eat for real, not just standing in the kitchen scooping three spoonfuls of whatever into her mouth to get her through the next shift. She was definitely running toward another slip. Only thing worse than a pushy mom was one laid up, depressed and near catatonic, on the couch.
“Why don’t you invite a friend over for dinner?” Flutter, smooth, flutter. “I hate that you’re alone so much.”
I hate that you are too. I didn’t say it. Never would or could. But I felt it every minute we were together.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You haven’t seen Pavel in a long time.”
Pavel was pretty much my only friend, but I didn’t see him with any sort of regularity. Homeschooled, Russian, a hell of a soccer player. And because he was a guy, he didn’t ask me too many questions. Didn’t talk about things in the past. Plus, he liked the right kind of music or at least pretended to.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll call him.” I wouldn’t. Pavel called me, mostly. Would send a random text with a half-naked girl or an obscure question about a song or an artist. And I usually texted back. But seeing him regularly was a different thing.
Mom pulled her salt-and-pepper hair into a ponytail at the back of her neck. She looked tired. Always. And sad. And sometimes angry. I wanted to make things better for her, but how the hell was I supposed to do that?
All the words we never said pounded in my head. Her sadness somehow seemed quieter, even though she cried in bed at night when she thought I was sleeping. Muffled sobs that split me apart until I had to put the Kinks too loud on my headphones and start reading Sartre’s Being and Nothingness to make it go away.
“I saw the school is doing college testing prep classes.” She’d gone from fluttering over her uniform to swiping at the kitchen counters in too-wide, too-hard strokes. “Did you want me to sign you up for them?”
More classes. More people. More questions to answer. Pass.
“I’m okay without them.”
“Of course you are. But college is important, Kyle.” The hardness was back in her clipped words. An almost unexplainable anger, except I could explain it.
God, I need to get out. I was such a dick for even thinking it, but there it was. The thought didn’t matter. I wasn’t leaving my mom. We both knew it. She talked about my future like she expected great things from me. Like I’d go off into the world and make her proud. But she withered every time she saw a catalogue come in the mail for an out-of-state college. So college was important, as long as it was close to home. Push-pull, push-pull.
◊ ◊ ◊
“Hey. The guy with no name. Do you remember me?” Hailey asked as she stepped into the radio station control room.
Yes. “Uh.”
She pushed some of her hair behind her ear and pressed her glasses back on her nose. Cute blue glasses with diamonds on the edges. Kind of fancy for the Converse she was wearing, but fuck if I get girls and their clothes.
I hadn’t seen Hailey since the interview—a few days? A week? Our high school had two campuses, one for freshmen and sophomores, one for juniors and seniors. I was a junior and Hailey was a sophomore, so we never passed each other in the halls at school. And I was looking for her, even braved the main hallway after the final bell one day in hopes that she’d be practicing in one of the music rooms.
“Was that an answer?” she asked, head tilted to the side like she was trying to figure out what she was dealing with.
Crap. I hated that I couldn’t say anything without wanting to curl inside and hide. I was like the sad turtle from that kids’ book, the one not even the hippo wanted to hang around. Owen or Mzee. Whichever. I never understood that book.
“Can I help you?” Four words. Choked from the back of my throat, probably spoken too soft and too fast, but still. Four words.
She took a step closer. “Yeah. So what’s your name?”
“Kyle,” I mumbled because really, it was sort of the best I could do. The heat in the room was already getting uncomfortable.
I’d heard her voice in my head this week more than I wanted to admit—especially when I didn’t want to think about other stuff. When my eyes twitched from reading. When I’d gone over my dumb life too many times. Her gravelly voice was like a whisper in my ear.
She licked her lips and my eyes dropped to the ground again. “So, Kyle. I’m wondering if I can get a copy of that interview.”
I nodded and took a step back. Yeah. Interview. Pull it together, K. Make a copy of the interview. She followed me into the office with the main computer. Her eyes weren’t darting around like they had the first time I saw her. The glasses must’ve helped. My fingers moved over the keyboard.
“It’s kind
of dark back here. How come you guys don’t open any of the shades on the window?”
“The equipment gets too hot.”
That was a reasonable answer, wasn’t it? Five words. An entire sentence that was actually an answer to her question. Not much, but better than looking like a mute.
She tapped her fingers on her jeans and waited. Tap. Tap. Tap. A definite staccato. Did she always hear music in her head? I’d wondered that about musicians. Did she hear it like I heard words? I kept pressing buttons until I found the interview and copied it to a thumb drive.
“You’re obviously not dumb. So are you shy or do you have a stutter or something?”
I shrugged.
“You don’t need to be nervous around me. I’m half-blind with two moms. I’m probably the least judgmental person you’ll ever meet.”
Damn that low voice. Whiskey sexy, doing stuff to my junk that made me seriously glad I was sitting behind a computer.
I liked her. More. I liked her more. My eyes shut for a second and I shook my head. I couldn’t like her. Girls didn’t work for me. Or I didn’t work for them. Plus, she was probably gay. That was stupid, right? Gay moms don’t make you gay, but I wondered anyway. I wondered lots of things. Thoughts pressed into my brain all the time, pinged around and didn’t go away until I wrote them down.
She blinked at me, waiting for something. I didn’t really know what. Everything about being in the room with Hailey felt awkward. Like I had a giant sign over my head that said: NOT IN YOUR LEAGUE. Unless . . .
“Are you gay?” Oh, Christ. I said it out loud.
She laughed and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. It sort of made her boobs stick out, and I pretended I didn’t notice, but I am a guy. And they were boobs. Kinda nice ones. Not ridiculously huge, but perfect in proportion to the rest of her.
“Am I gay? That’s the first thing you’re gonna ask me?” She let out a careless laugh. Loose. Like it cost her nothing. “Really?”
I refocused on the computer. “I didn’t . . .”
She laughed again. “You’re kinda weird. And I don’t know if I’m gay. It’s a little too soon to tell where I fall on the continuum. Are you interested in me?”
She said that. Out loud.
I shook my head and blinked at the computer screen.
“Okay. Good. That’s cleared up. So are you asking because you wanna be friends?”
I glanced at her for a second, but then turned back to the computer. I quickly ejected the thumb drive and handed it to her.
“So maybe friends?” she asked as she tucked the drive into her bag.
My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.
She nodded. “Okay. Acquaintances for now, I guess.” She patted her bag. “Thanks again. I had this list of stuff to do for the moms so I can go to this concert tonight. Portugal. The Man. You know them?”
I did, but I was surprised she did. I nodded.
“You going?”
Not likely. All those people.
“Okay, then.” Hailey paused, maybe waiting to see if I’d say something. “I’ll see you, Kyle.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She spun on her heel and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch her butt the entire time she walked out. I’d have to ask Pavel about the magnetism of girls’ asses. He’d definitely have some hypotheses and supporting research on it.
◊ ◊ ◊
Because Hailey was still on my mind when I left school, I didn’t see them coming. Didn’t see the subtle back-and-forth nods, winks, and chin tilts that packs do before they go on the attack. I knew better than to let my guard down, which was sort of the worst part. Because I had. Hung up on some girl’s butt and glasses.
“Hey, douche, you’ve got something on your shirt.”
I looked down. Stupid. It was a five-year-old trick and I fell for it every time. Tripped, sprawled on the floor, the sound of laughter and high fives echoing around me. Swiping at my brow, my finger spotted with blood. Dammit. I’d hit hard.
I knew enough not to take a hand when one guy offered to help me up. Just gathered my books and inched away, crawling out of reach before I finally stood, in case a fist or a boot wanted a piece of me too.
One more year in this place, and then I’d never look back.
Chapter Four: Hailey
Wow.” Lila closed her eyes, and her soft blond hair fell back as she listened to me on the recording. She was in yoga wear. Of course. At dinner. But we were listening to my band in replacement of the usual fifteen-year-old-daughter grilling. Kyle had saved me from a round of questioning—something I might thank him for later. And something he might or might not respond to. I smirked as I thought about what his nonreaction/reaction would be.
“You’re amazing.” Rox touched my shoulder, bringing me back into the kitchen, where my voice and the band were just finishing the song.
On a recording, I didn’t sound half-bad. Way older than fifteen, for sure. In my own ears, it was hard to tell how good I really was. I’d hated my lower voice until I’d realized that when I sang, it sorta worked. We weren’t quite Halestorm or the Pretty Reckless, but there were only three of us.
I’d checked one more thing off my list. The list. The one my moms made me start at the beginning of freshman year—all the crap I was afraid of but still determined to do. Well, and some things I wanted to do before I went blind, but I’d never say that to the moms. “Overcoming fears” sounded way better, and they were into all that be in touch with your feelings stuff. I wanted to feel like I was kicking ass—that’s why the list worked for me.
I’d done some really wimpy things so far—go to the grocery store by myself and sing in front of an audience. Okay. The second one wasn’t exactly easy, and neither was the first, really, but still. Singing on the radio. Being recorded live. Huge mark off. It felt good. And I had the thumb drive proof I’d actually done it.
“You sound like Stevie Nicks.” Rox smiled. “You know that?”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I smirked. “ ’Cause she sounds like chick music for old people, not rock. I’m going for Taylor Momsen or the low version of Hayley Williams.”
Rox slapped me on the shoulder, a pretend frown on her face. “Show some respect.”
I laughed. “Okay. This was the last thing you all asked me to do. I can go out tonight, right? Portugal. The Man? They’re from Portland or Alaska, or both. I forget. Incredible musicians. I aced my math test. Sat through my eye appointment without cussing even once. And you’ve listened to the recording. So. Please?”
They exchanged tired looks over the worn dining room table. Lila looked like the softie, but she was always harder to convince.
“Please?” I’d been begging and doing extra chores ever since I heard they were coming to town.
“So. This is at an Irish bar? Which is dividing itself for underage?”
“Yes.” I nodded, my heart thrumming with the anticipation that had been building for two weeks. Since Tess and Mira had shoved the flyer under my nose and told me what it was. “Totally divided.” I stretched my arms out as wide as I could, when in reality, we all knew it would probably be a rope.
“And you expect us to believe you won’t be drinking?” Lila raised a brow. “You look older than your age, so we worry.”
“Come on! That was at Tess’s house, and her birthday, and one time!” That they knew about. “Please? I spent almost a month’s worth of allowance on this ticket!”
My legs jiggled under the table.
“Home by eleven.” Lila’s smooth voice made it sound like a privilege. Right. I knew better.
No way the band would be done by then. “But—”
“Eleven.” Rox’s dark eyes were hard on me. “That’s final.”
Lila cut in. “And you will answer each and every call—”
“No.” I put my hand up between us. “I’ll text. But no calls. I’d have to leave to hear you, and since I already have to come home be
fore they finish, I don’t want to miss any more than is absolutely necessary.”
“And Tess and Mira will be there?” Rox said it more for me to confirm.
“Yes.” Hope for my win spread fast.
“Okay. But—”
I didn’t let Lila finish. “Thank you! I swear. I swear I’ll be good, and thank you so much for not coming with me, and—”
“Well, that’s not something I’d thought of.” Rox raised a brow. “Coming with you.”
My jaw dropped and my stomach sank before they both started laughing.
“You should have seen the look on your face.” Rox cackled and held her sides. And even Lila snorted.
“Ha-ha.” I let out a sigh. “Very funny.” My gut slowly worked its way back to normal.
“Don’t make us sorry, sweetie.” Lila smiled her I mean business but I love you smile.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I bounded down the stairs to call Tess and Mira.
“I’m in,” I said to Tess by way of hello.
“Thank God, because Mira’s grounded. Again. Her parents are the worst. I thought I’d be stuck chatting up cute guys by myself.”
I laughed. “I’m not going to chat up cute guys. I’m going for the band.”
“These activities aren’t mutually exclusive. I’d like to think a love of music and Portugal. The Man is a good way of vetting the caliber of possible suitors.”
Tess said things like “vetting the caliber of possible suitors” a lot. It was as if she fell asleep reading either historical romance novels or enrich-your-vocabulary books.
“Pass. Anyway, what time are you picking me up?”
“I’ll be there in a few to review wardrobe choices. I’m not giving up on finding someone cute for you. You keep telling me you have to be actively knocking stuff off that list of yours. I’m trying to be a supportive friend.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you soon.”
When I hung up, I thought of maybe-cute Kyle and his halting speech. It was too bad he could barely string a sentence together. He might’ve been a good prospect otherwise. At the same time, there was something interesting about the idea of hanging out with someone who might be more messed up in the head than I was.
