by L. Philips
That breaks my heart all over again, and the responsibility of it is crushing. But I’m not sure I could fix this, even if he’d let me try. And who could blame him if he didn’t?
“Your birds are beautiful. And so is this.”
Jamie shakes his head. “I’m messing everything up.”
“You haven’t messed anything up at all,” I say, and I can’t fight it any longer. Ever since the moment I saw him on the stage I’ve wanted to be close to him. I’ve wanted to hold his paint-stained hand again, make him laugh again, and wrap my arms around him and feel him ball up my shirt in his fists, holding on to me as if I could make everything better.
But now, with so much pain and fragility in his eyes, I can’t hold myself back anymore. I have to touch him, because even if I can’t mend him, I have to do something, futile as it is.
So I pull him into my arms and bring him close and, to my surprise, he lets me. He feels exactly like I remember, thin but soft, and he smells like chemicals and paint. It’s wonderful.
He buries his face in my neck and whispers, without any malice, “I wish I could hate you.”
I want to say something, but I don’t know what. Maybe to tell him to go ahead and hate me because he should, maybe to say I’m sorry again. But instead of all of that, what actually comes out of my mouth is this: “Just keep painting. It’s ‘just right,’ Jamie. It really is. And your birds are perfect, okay? They’re perfect.”
He pulls away from me, studying me with his big blue eyes, and a smile slowly stretches across his lips. It’s a relief to see that smile, and I let out a breath I’d been holding far too long.
“I, um . . . I have something I want to give you,” he says shyly, and disappears behind the scenery, reemerging a minute later with an envelope in his hands. He holds it out to me.
I take it, giving him a questioning look before breaking the pretty seal on the flap and opening it.
Inside is an invitation, a little card that has a few of Jamie’s rough sketches of birds on it, with classy, antique-looking lettering stating the dates of his art show at the Green House in Yellow Springs. It’s this Friday night.
“Ninah sent these out all over the country. I’m so nervous I’ve been throwing up every morning.” He laughs a little at himself, and I go back to looking at the invitation. Even his rough sketches are good. It’s going to draw a big crowd, I’m sure, and that crowd will be full of all the right kind of art snobs, people who will buy his work and give him connections.
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him. My throat feels tight with it when I speak.
“It’s because of you that Ninah even knew about my work at all. I don’t know how to thank you,” he says to me. “Please come.”
My eyes snap up from the invitation, meeting his. His are hopeful but duller than I’m used to.
“Don’t thank me, Jamie. It’s your talent that did this. You would have had this, regardless of my big mouth.”
“So you’ll come?”
I don’t answer that. “Do you really wish you could hate me?” I ask instead, because it’s the only thing I can think about.
He doesn’t answer my question either. “I can’t hate you.” He tries to smile but fails. “Ninah really liked my dove.”
I nod. I know why. The dove with the broken wing might be completely different from Jamie’s other work, but it’s been one of his most honest.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I finally answer, and Jamie really does smile then, his pale blue eyes a little watery. “Mind if I bring Meg?”
Jamie doesn’t get a chance to answer because just then the door in the back of the auditorium opens.
I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the bright stage lights and look out over the seats. It’s Landon, and he’s making his way toward the stage. His face is blank but I see what he’s feeling in his eyes—not anger or confusion, but worry.
“Meg said I should try to find you here,” Landon says as he climbs up and joins us on the stage. It figures that Meg would have known where to look. Landon turns to Jamie and says, “Hey, Jamie,” in this weird, stiff tone. It’s not exactly friendly, but it’s not mean either.
Jamie merely nods back.
“Well, you found me,” I say as lightly as I can. “Jamie and I were just chatting.”
“Sam was trying to convince me that my scenery doesn’t look like crap,” Jamie provides. I look over at him and he gives me a tight smile. “Which is nice of him. Completely wrong, but nice.”
“I’m not wrong. It’s good,” I say seriously, and as I say it, I feel a hand slip into mine. I look down and follow the arm back up to Landon, who is looking at me proudly, as if saying to Jamie, Yep, he’s all mine.
I watch as Jamie’s gaze drops to where our hands are joined. His smile falters for a second before he forces his mouth back into it. Then he looks at me. His eyes aren’t bright and hopeful anymore. They’re filled with the same sort of contempt I saw in them when he broke up with me, and all the hope I’d been gathering for the last half hour disappears, leaving me even emptier than before.
“As I was saying, Meg can come to the show,” Jamie says, voice flat. Then he adds pointedly, “And your boyfriend too, if you want. I should get to class.”
Jamie takes off, grabbing his book bag and leaving all his art supplies behind in disarray. A door off to stage left slams, and then it’s just silence. I stare after him, numbly.
I drop Landon’s hand. No. More like I shove it away and move a few steps back from him. “I thought you said you’d changed.”
Landon stares at me, confused. “I have. Why? What’s wrong?”
“If you’ve changed, then why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Hold my hand like that. Right in front of him. I thought you said you weren’t going to act possessive anymore.”
“That’s not why I held your hand, Sam.” This time, Landon takes a step backward, away from me. I expect him to be mad maybe, but instead he just looks confused. “I held your hand because I wanted to. Because I thought you wanted to, too.”
I can only stare at him in silence.
“Sam, you want to hold my hand, don’t you?”
I don’t answer again, and Landon’s confused expression turns into something closer to pain, and I hate it. I hate seeing that hurt, and I hate knowing I’m causing it.
“Sam . . .” Landon says again. This time his tone is desperate.
I take a trembling breath. I can feel him looking at me, expecting an answer, and I have to give him one. But I can’t lie, not even to make him happy, and I can’t make this any easier on either of us.
“I really, really want to want to hold your hand,” I say.
“But you don’t.”
“But I don’t,” I say slowly, knowing that I’m breaking his heart as I say it. “I’m sorry, Landon. I’m . . . I was in love with Jamie. I still am.”
To my surprise, Landon nods in understanding. “I thought you might be. I just didn’t want to see it.” He shrugs. “But I’m your best friend. And your ex. I know all the signs of Sam being in love, even if it’s not with me.”
“I didn’t realize until the other day. Not really.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Landon shrugs again. “You’ll get over him, Sam. Eventually. And then you’ll fall in love with me again.”
“I’m not going to get over him. At least not anytime soon.”
“I can wait. I already have.”
My heart breaks even more for Landon. “Don’t wait on me,” I say. “You’re my best friend and I love that. And I’m not sure I’d want to change that, even if I wasn’t in love with someone else.”
“You feel something for me. I know you do. I see it sometimes when you look at me. You can’t tell me you don’t.”
“Of course I do. I love you, Lan
don. Just not the way you want me to. I wish I could change that, but I can’t.”
Landon’s eyes darken as that sinks in, like clouds gathering before a storm. He stares at me. “So that’s it? You just want to be friends. There’s no chance.”
“I don’t think so,” I answer, and he closes his eyes.
“I don’t want to be friends.”
That grabs my heart and twists it. “You don’t want to be friends?”
“Not just friends,” he says. “You’re the one for me, Sam. You’re my Perfect Ten. I don’t understand how I’m not yours too.”
“I’m not a Perfect Ten,” I argue. “Not even close. I’m a know-it-all, and I’m selfish and self-involved, and extremely shortsighted. You know that’s true.”
“I don’t care about those things!” Landon says. “You’re perfect for me. You’re all I want. And I am all of those things on your list.”
“I know, but . . .” I stop myself, trying to keep myself together a little, “It was Jamie I fell for. But I’ll get over him. And you’ll get over me. And we’ll go to NYU together and—”
“It doesn’t work that way!” Landon pulls at his hair as he yells. “This isn’t one of your stories where everything ends up happily ever after! I don’t know if I can ever get over you, okay? And I don’t think I can be around someone who doesn’t love me when I’m so, so in love with him.”
I stare at him, unable to understand what he’s saying. I wipe hot tears off my face. “So you don’t think we can be friends anymore?”
When he doesn’t answer and his eyes just get darker, I shake my head. Emphatic, futile denial. “No. Please. I don’t want to lose you because of this.”
Landon exhales, nodding. “You are shortsighted.”
Then he begins to walk away and I panic, calling after him. “Landon, please . . .”
“I have to go,” he says, and turns around. But he’s not looking at me. He’s looking out into the harsh theater lights. “Good luck with Jamie. And NYU.”
He leaves without another word, the door slamming behind him just like it did with Jamie. It’s like a death knell for our friendship, and I sink down until I’m sitting on the stage floor, hugging myself as the sounds of the slamming door and my sniffles echo around the auditorium.
I don’t know how long I stay there, but it’s a while. Long enough that I can curse myself for all the stupid, selfish things I’ve done the past few months, long enough to curse that ridiculous list and spell that started this whole thing, long enough to curse the lonely desperation that drove me to it. And what was the point? Here I am, sobbing on the stage in front of Jamie’s pretty scenery, heartbroken, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing but more loneliness. Right back where I started.
Except that now I’ve lost a best friend.
I still have one, though, and she appears in the auditorium and wraps me up in a hug. She says nothing. I’m sure she’s already heard the story from Landon. All she does is sit next to me and hold me until I’ve cried myself dry. Then she hands me my coat and gives me a smile.
“Come on, Samson. Let’s take a walk,” Meg says, and leads me out of the school and toward the cemetery, letting me lean on her every step of the way.
There’s a sort of mutual understanding that we go to the hill, to the mausoleum that has become the place where all the important stuff happens. There’s no question that this is an important thing, and so as soon as we cross through the cemetery gates, we both turn in that direction.
We sit on the mausoleum steps. The marble—or granite or whatever it is—is freezing under our butts, but to be honest, I don’t really notice.
“How mad is he?” I ask when I find my voice.
“He’ll get over it.”
“How mad is he?” I repeat.
Meg sighs. “Pretty mad.”
I look down at my hands and wring my fingers together. “He said he didn’t want to be friends anymore. I’ve lost him.”
Meg looks like she might cry, but she shakes her head once, emphatically. “I don’t think we’re ever going to lose Landon, Sam. I think we’re stuck with him forever.”
I chuckle at that, soggily, then I rest my head on her shoulder. “Are you mad at me too?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because I hurt him.”
“Nah. You didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I really wanted to fall in love with him again.”
“I know you did,” Meg says.
“I’m in love with Jamie.”
“I know you are,” Meg says, and I feel her kiss the top of my head.
We sit like that for a while longer, not saying a word, just listening to each other sniffle and breathe. Then an idea strikes me and I stand up so fast that I almost knock Meg over.
“Sam?”
“Do you have matches? Or your candles?”
She scrunches her face up in confusion. “No. Just my lighter. Why?”
I pull the Perfect Ten list out of my back pocket and unfold it, holding it up in front of her face. “I’m getting rid of it.”
She shakes her head. “That won’t do anything. I told you, I don’t know how to end the spell.”
“You said Wicca was about speaking from the heart, right?” She nods. “Then I’d like to say a few words.”
“But you don’t even believe in this,” Meg says. “I know you don’t.”
“I had enough hope that it seems something worked the first time, didn’t it? I met new people who wanted to give me a chance. Maybe that was your goddess, or maybe it was just that I finally tried. Either way, it worked. And I’ve got enough hope now that maybe I can end this whole stupid thing and stop hurting people I care about.”
Meg stares at me for a long moment. Then slowly, hesitantly, she reaches into her coat pocket and withdraws her sacred heart lighter. But before she hands it over to me, she says, “Okay, I can see why you’d want to end the spell. But why destroy the list? You went through a lot to get it right.”
“And it’s good that I did. But it doesn’t matter.”
Meg sucks in a breath like I’ve uttered a blasphemy. Perhaps I have. “What are you talking about?”
“The list doesn’t matter, Meg. Some guy could be perfect for me. He could have beautiful eyes and ambition and talent and he could love me more than anything on earth, but I might not be able to love him back,” I say.
“Like Landon.”
I nod. “Like Landon. Then again, I might fall for someone else instead. Someone who might not have all the things on my list, but will seem perfect to me anyway.”
“Jamie?” Meg asks, and when I say yes, she rolls her eyes and snatches the list from my hands, holding it in front of my nose. “Jamie has all the things on this list, Sam.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I argue. “He doesn’t have the most important one. ‘Batshit insanely in love with me.’”
“Are you for real? Sam, Jamie’s painting birds with broken wings and trashing his masterpieces and you think he doesn’t love you? That’s the very definition of batshit insanely in love.” Meg shakes her head at me. “Goddess, you’re hopeless.”
I ignore that. “He may have been in love with me, but it’s too late now.”
“Well,” Meg says, relenting. “That may be true.”
I nod. “And that’s another thing. I fell in love and then what did I do? I screwed it up. Spectacularly.”
Meg reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “No one can blame you for getting stupid over a hot, soon-to-be-famous musician. I know Jamie was mad, but he should have given you another chance. I was in total agreement with Landon about that.”
I look down at my list, eyeing the word understanding. “Yeah, maybe he could have had a bigger dose of number seven, but I could have had a bigger dose of number five myself.”
&
nbsp; Meg raises a brow.
“Loyalty,” I say, and she snorts. “I could have fallen for any of them, Meg. Gus, or Travis, Landon again, even. But it was Jamie I fell for, for some reason. He’s the one my heart chose. And I took him for granted.”
“So what now?” Meg asks.
“I burn this and tell the Goddess thanks and that I’ve learned my lesson and that next time She sends someone perfect for me I won’t mess it up.” Meg laughs at that, then I add, “And then maybe you can help me do a spell to get over Jamie?”
“If there was a spell that made you get over people, I’d have done it for Michael a long time ago,” Meg says, and she gets a little teary as she says it.
“We’re a sad pair, aren’t we?”
She chuckles sadly. “Yeah. But we’ve done what we can. We asked to be open again and to be strong enough to let them go. The Goddess might help, but we have to do our part too. And make sure we don’t harm the innocent in the process.”
I take her not-so-subtle meaning. “What can I do about Landon?”
“Give him time, Sam. Let him get strong too.”
“When did you get so damn wise?” I ask her, grinning.
“It’s a witch thing,” she says, and laughing, I pull her in for a hug.
We dance around a little, relieved to hear each other laugh, and when she pulls away she finally gives me her lighter. “Burn it. Speak from the heart.”
I take the lighter and look over my list one more time. “Hey, got a pencil?”
Meg produces one from her coat pocket like she was waiting on me to ask. I kneel on the mausoleum stairs and scratch out all the items on my list, except for number ten. Then I add one so that it looks like this:
Perfect 10
