She steals more of my popcorn. Then wipes her eyes again.
“Do you want to talk or anything?” I ask.
Mari opens her own wax bag, pulls a couple of pieces out, and eats them hungrily, then sighs. “It’s been a tough day.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
Mari pops a few more pieces of caramel popcorn into her mouth.
With another deep sigh, she speaks. “My parents… I asked my dad if I could move here.”
My heart races at the idea of her living in Chicago. “What’d he say?”
“That Mom has custody, and he’s not willing to fight for me.”
I scrunch up my face. Why wouldn’t he fight?
“Why do you want to move here? Aren’t you a senior? Don’t you want to stay at your high school with your friends?”
“Mom… She’s getting worse, not better.” Mari’s voice shakes. “It’s like she’s filled with so much hate for my dad—for what he did—that it’s eating her up. She’s unrecognizable, you know?”
I don’t know, but I nod along to show I support her.
“What do you mean it’s getting worse?”
“She yells so much, T.J. It’s awful…and—” She closes her eyes. “The other day, she got so mad I was coming here, she pulled my hair.”
I’ve never heard of a mom doing something like that. I’ve heard of parents hitting their kids and abusing them, but pulling her hair? What is that?
“Did it hurt?” I ask.
She toes at a pebble on the ground. “A little maybe.”
It may not have hurt her physically, but she’s clearly torn up about it. “Did you tell your dad about this?”
“I don’t want to get Mom in trouble. She’s already had to deal with so much…”
“That means you know what she did is wrong.”
Mari crinkles the bag in her hand. “Nothing’s going to change. Dad doesn’t have money to fight a custody battle for me. He said he doesn’t think it’s worth it.”
“But does he know she hurt you?”
“It was only the one time.”
From what I understand, if someone hurts you once, they’ll hurt you twice. They’ll hurt you again and again. If she pulls Mari’s hair, is it possible she’d do something worse?
“But what about your feelings?” I ask. “She yells at you. That can’t be easy to live with.”
Mari shakes her head.
We sit in silence chewing our popcorn. I can hear her phone blowing up. Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Your phone,” I say. “Somebody’s texting.”
“It’s probably Sierra. Or Dad. I don’t know. I just can’t right now.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the DM from Sierra, the one where she gave me helpful tips. I quickly type to her: Mari’s ok. She’s with me.
Sierra types back: Thanks! Will tell her dad she’s ok.
After that, Mari’s phone stops beeping.
“Thank you for the water and popcorn,” Mari says, getting to her feet. “I’d better go—”
“Stay.” I say it before I even think. “Stay with me. Please.”
Mari
“Stay.”
“T.J., I don’t know if I should—”
“I don’t want to be alone right now,” he says quickly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a boy say something like that before. Most of the guys I know keep their emotions folded up and tucked deeply away, hidden under their cowboy hats.
I’m a complete jerk—I’ve been so preoccupied with my own messy life, I didn’t notice that T.J.’s not himself either. At least, not how he acted earlier. His face is all scrunched up in pain. His hair sticks out in all different directions. Has he been pulling on it?
I sit back down on the bench and face him. “Are you okay?”
T.J. eats more popcorn, then shrugs. He leans over onto his knees and looks at the ground. “I got into a fight with my brother. It was… It was bad.” T.J. rubs his cheek. “I have no idea what I’m going to do. I should just go home to Madison. I don’t think I can go back to Tyler’s tonight.”
“He’s your brother. He won’t kick you out.”
T.J. shuts his eyes. “He doesn’t want me here. Said it was a mistake to invite me.”
Oh, that’s a terrible thing to say. It must have been a bad fight, because I never got the impression Tyler was mean like that. To me, it seemed like they love each other and have the kind of family I wish I had. Frankly, it seems like T.J.’s whole life is blessed, with his art skills, sense of humor, good looks, and acceptance to the University of Chicago. Maybe T.J.’s life is not what it looks like on the outside?
It reminds me of seeing a gorgeous sweater in a store, only to try it on and discover the yarn scratches your skin. Was I too quick to classify T.J. and his life?
I reach over and touch his arm. He folds his hand on top of mine. It feels warm.
“Do you think Tyler overreacted?” I ask.
T.J. shakes his head. “I’m not sure. We both said mean things, but maybe it had been building for a while.”
“What’s the problem?”
“That’s just it. I’m not sure… I’m not sure of anything.”
I squeeze his arm. “You can talk to me, if you want.”
T.J. leans back against the bench. Instead of responding, he chews his lower lip.
I’m so worried for him. At that thought, I sigh. Less than a day ago, I didn’t even know T.J. existed. Now I care for him. I hate seeing him sad.
I’m still dazed by what happened physically between us earlier—how intense it was. But before that, we had great conversations that kept on flowing. We were on our way to being friends.
I eat the last of my popcorn and ball up my wax bag. “You said you were walking to an art museum?”
“Yeah, the Art Institute. I need to take a selfie for the radio station contest.”
“Can I go with you?”
His eyes light up a little and he gives me a small smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We walk in silence through Millennium Park, with a couple of feet between us. The space feels wrong. My hand itches to take his in mine. My brain is saying no, and my body tells my brain to shut up.
A smiling couple holding hands passes by. A mom and dad push a baby stroller down the sidewalk. A completely bonkers shirtless man is out for his run in the hot midday sun.
“I’m glad you stayed, but why did you?” T.J. asks quietly.
“I’m worried about you.”
“After you ran away earlier, I figured I’d never see you again.” He drags a hand in his hair. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here, but it’s confusing, I guess.”
I lick my lips, working to choose my words carefully. “I like you. I want to be your friend.”
“Like Austin?”
It’s a harsh dig, and yeah, I probably deserve it on some level, but I’m not gonna take it.
“That’s not fair,” I say. “I was never anything but a good friend to him.”
T.J. nods slowly. “Sorry, that was a dick thing to say. Shit, I keep saying dick things today.”
“Me too.”
“I’m not normally like this, I swear,” he says.
“Let’s blame it on the heat. The heat makes us act like dicks.”
We laugh together softly. Our eyes meet, and I look away.
A few minutes later, we arrive in front of the Art Institute, with its big green lions on guard out front. The museum looks like a fancy palace, like something you’d see in Paris, not in downtown Chicago. Its traditional white columns are the opposite of the shiny modern Chicago Bean.
We start to climb the stairs.
“What did you and Tyler fight about?” I ask.
T.J. takes a sharp breath. “A bunch of stuff.”
“What started it?”
He climbs a few steps before answering. “I’ve always wanted to be like Tyler. But it turns out there are some things I don’t like about him, and things he doesn’t like about me.” He cringes. “The fight… It was bad…”
I reach out and squeeze his arm, giving him an encouraging look, to show him I want to hear more.
“I was so mad, I said things I shouldn’t… I accused him of using women.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m such an asshole.”
“Yikes, T.J. Did you apologize?”
“I texted him. Said I was sorry I blew up. He told me to go cool off.”
I touch his forearm. “Let’s do that. Let’s work on taking selfies for the contest.”
T.J.’s gaze moves from my hand up to my face. “Thanks for listening. It’s nice, not being by myself.”
He helps me feel better too. Simply talking with him about my problems helps me not feel so alone. And surprisingly, the issues with my parents didn’t scare him off.
It’s almost like T.J. is sharing my burdens.
T.J.
A green lion looms in the background.
I put an arm around Mari, aiming my phone at us. I snap the picture and we check it out on my screen.
I burst out laughing. My hair is a disaster, full of cowlicks. Her skin is pink. Our clothes are crumpled like we’ve been sleeping in them for days.
“We look awful,” Mari says with a laugh.
“I’m tweeting it anyway.”
“No, don’t,” she squeals, reaching to steal the phone out of my hands. I hold it up above my head where she can’t get it. She jumps up, reaching for it, laughing. But I’m too tall. Then she brings out the big guns.
She tickles the shit out of me.
“Ahhh!” I yell as she laughs her ass off. I grab at her fingers, but she keeps on tickling my ribs. I tickle her sides, making her squeal.
People walking by give us weird looks. Probably not what they expected to see at the Art Institute: two filthy teenagers wrestling over a phone.
We’re both out of breath, panting from the tickling and exertion. She wins my phone and shoves it in the back pocket of her jean shorts.
“Let me tweet the photo,” I beg. “I really want to meet If We Were Giants. Please?”
She slides the phone out and points at me with it. “You owe me big-time.”
I tweet the picture along with the necessary hashtags and tag Mari’s handle in it. Since last night, I have all these new followers who immediately start liking the picture and commenting on how cute we are.
I click on the #LollaScavengerHunt hashtag to see what kind of competition I’m up against. As I scroll through the posts, I discover that not only do I have competition, but it’s good competition. Two people have dressed up in those inflatable dinosaur costumes for their selfies. Two ladies are decked out in Chicago Cubs tees and hats. And then there’s me, the guy who looks like he’s been hit by a tornado.
So much for being creative.
I glance at my watch. It’s 6:45 p.m. So much of the day is gone. My weekend is half over.
“Now what?” Mari says.
I pull up the radio station’s Twitter account to see if they’ve posted any other landmarks, but they haven’t added anything beyond the Chicago Bean and the Art Institute lions. What will the next landmark be?
We aren’t far from Lollapalooza. I can hear the music blasting from here. “Since no other clues are posted yet, you want to go back to the concert?”
She adjusts her glasses, pushing them up her nose. Mari looks at me from under her eyelashes. “We could do that.”
Together we walk to the Michigan Avenue entrance of Lollapalooza.
The roaring crowds and deep thump of a bass buzz my skin. My mood turns electric. Electric like anything is possible.
I’m with Mari again. Now only if my brother was here. I swipe my phone on and open the text app. I start a message to Tyler, then delete it. Then start over again.
Me: I’m at the concert. Can I come find you?
Tyler: With my buddies tonite. See you later.
I slowly slide my phone into my pocket. My brother abandoned me in Chicago. I’m still angry with him for his Instagram comment, and I guess I had some resentment I needed to get out, but I wish I had chosen my words better. Will he ever forgive me?
Without thinking, I reach out to take Mari’s hand. The moment our fingers intertwine, I drop her hand and pull back. “I’m sorry. I reached for you without thinking.”
“It’s okay.” She tucks her hands in the back pockets of her jean shorts.
It’s been an emotional couple of hours. I wish I could hold her hand, but maybe I should just be happy we’re together.
We make our way through the crowds to the show of Said the Sky, an EDM DJ I like. The smooth music flows like water lapping over rocks. The sun is setting into an orange-gold horizon as a slow electronic song begins. The sensual music slows the crowd down and everyone begins to sway. The light show is a kaleidoscope of dreamy silvers and blues.
Mari and I start to dance again, and it’s still as easy as last night. As the crowd presses in around us, I wrap my arms around her from behind, to keep her safe. But that’s all. I won’t go further than that.
We haven’t talked about what happened on the boat earlier. If I hadn’t run into her on the bridge, would I have ever seen her again?
After today, my confidence is shot.
If she wants me, she’ll have to make the move.
Mari
I’ve always considered myself an okay dancer.
Not good enough for the cheerleading squad and certainly not the dance team, but I can keep a rhythm and not make a fool of myself at school dances. But with T.J., my body moves instinctively on a base level. If I danced like this all the time, I could be a Titans cheerleader.
As we dance and dance and dance, it’s hard to tell where my body ends and his begins.
T.J.’s smartwatch lights up. He checks the screen. “Here’s a tweet from the radio station,” he says over the music. “The next landmark is Centennial Wheel.”
“That big Ferris wheel at Navy Pier?”
He nods. “You up for going over there?”
“Yeah. I’ve never been to it before.”
Together we head for the exit, dodging people chugging beers and jumping up and down. Once we’re free of the concert, I take a deep breath. The city beyond Grant Park is busy with people out for Saturday night, but quiet in comparison.
It takes us about ten minutes to walk over to Navy Pier. Along the way, T.J. and I chatter about nothing. He walks with his hands tucked in his pockets. Part of me wishes I could reach out and take his hand in mine again. Earlier today I would’ve done it, no question. But now? After our experience on Krysti’s boat? Touching his hand might electrify me. Make me do something I’m not totally ready for, and give him the wrong idea.
Arriving at Navy Pier, we come upon a rideshare drop-off area, where people are pouring out of cars and others are hopping in them to leave. We weave through a bustling crowd toward the middle of the pier. My arm brushes against T.J.’s, and he glances at me sideways.
We pass shops and restaurants on one side and boats on the other. A fresh breeze whips up the smell of lake water. Now that the sun has set, the temperature has dropped, but there’s still a sticky summer night heat.
T.J. gestures up at the giant Ferris wheel. “This looks like a good place for a picture.”
He’s right. Surrounded by sparkling lights and joyful laughter, being here feels like a dream.
“Will the picture turn out good online?” I ask. “The sky is dark and all.”
He gives me a withering look. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s taking selfies.”
I lean against T.J. fo
r the picture, and he clears his throat before snapping a photo of us. We hover over his phone to examine the selfie. Our hair is still a disaster and our skin is shiny, but we’re smiling and the lights behind us don’t drown us out. It’s cute.
“You are good at this,” I say. “You could make good money teaching people how to do this for their Instagrams.”
“We should take one onboard the wheel too.”
“You want to ride it?”
“Might as well, as long as we’re here.”
T.J. uses a debit card to buy us tickets, and then we fall into line to get onboard.
“I’ve never been here before,” I say.
“Neither have I. I’ve been to Chicago a bunch, but there’s so many things I haven’t done. I guess I can when I’m in college. I mean, if I have time.”
We inch forward in the line. “My aunt always says college was the best time of her life. Like, she had all this free time to do things she wanted. Which I think was mostly hooking up with her boyfriend.”
“Really? What about all the homework? And finding a part-time job and stuff?”
I shrug. “Maybe it depends on what you’re studying?”
“Since I’m majoring in business, I’ll probably have to study all the time like I did in high school. I sucked at math and statistics. I’m dreading doing that for four more years.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Why are you majoring in business then?”
“It’s what Tyler did. My parents expect it.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No,” he says quietly.
On my wrist, I play with the bracelet he gave me earlier. The one he made. “I loved your tattoo design. And your bracelet. Do you have anything else to show me?”
T.J. swipes on his phone and navigates to the picture gallery.
I watch as he swipes up over and over again through lots of pictures. I spot him with a bunch of friends. I’ll have to ask about them.
He shows me a watercolor painting he did of his dog and another of Madison City Hall. “I think this is the one that won me Most Artistic at graduation.”
He knows how to paint and is clearly talented. “It’s pretty.”
The Pick-Up Page 15
