by L. Philips
1. Sexy Batshit insanely in love with him
2. Talented
3. Style
4. Nice eyes
5. Thick hair Loyal
6. Sense of humor
7. Attractive Understanding
8. Ambitious
9. Fun
10. Good taste Batshit insanely in love with me
Meg grins at me. “Who’s the wise one now? I’m telling you, we should form a coven.”
“I tell you what, if Landon magically—or magic-k-ally—pops out from behind the mausoleum and says he’s forgiven me, I’ll consider it.”
In spite of myself, I cast a glance in the mausoleum’s direction, which earns me a hearty laugh from Meg. Then I feel her hand on my shoulder. “It won’t be today. But you’ll see him soon enough, I promise.”
I can do nothing but hope she’s right, and so I flick her lighter until I get a flame and hold it up to the edge of my list. I drop the paper to the marble stairs as the flame catches, and as we watch it burn to nothing but ash, I thank the Goddess for everything, the good and the bad.
There’s no gust of wind this time, no sign that the magical world has heard my words, but someone has, and that’s really all that matters. Meg’s hand slips into mine and we turn our backs to the mausoleum and walk away.
Nineteen
“Mom, you cannot give me a casserole to take with us.”
“It’s a two-hour trip to Yellow Springs. You’re bound to get hungry.”
I rub my temples. “Then we’ll stop somewhere on the way, I promise.”
“At least take the cookies.”
“Mom . . .”
Meg takes the plate from my mother’s offering hands and gives her a bright smile. I shoot her a look and she lifts her nose in the air. “What? I’m not turning down cookies. Besides, I won’t twist your arm to eat them. More for me.”
“At least someone appreciates my baking,” my mother sniffs.
“Everyone appreciates your baking, love, especially me,” my dad says, patting a small gut that is a testament to his words. He wraps his arms around my mother from behind and squeezes. It would be cute, if I had time to contemplate my parents’ show of affection. Dad rests his chin on Mom’s shoulder. “Look at our son, Gina. Crashing his true love’s art show to win his heart back. If only I wrote romance novels.”
“Dad,” I warn. I count backward from ten. Slowly. “Meg, can we get a move on? It starts in a few hours.”
Jamie’s art show is tonight at seven. It’s almost five o’clock and we obviously haven’t left yet. We haven’t even made it off the front porch.
“Somebody’s anxious,” Meg says, and she and my parents all exchange a knowing and completely irritating smirk.
“Yes, I am. And if you’re not in the car in one minute, I’m leaving without you.”
Meg opens her mouth to say something sassy back but then freezes, staring off in the distance behind me. I turn around.
It’s Landon.
It’s been four days since I’ve seen him, though some of that is my fault. The day after I told him I was still in love with Jamie, I told my mom I didn’t feel good and stayed home from school. The day after that I tried it again, and she merely kissed me on the forehead and told me it was okay to take a couple of days off if I wasn’t feeling up to going to school.
Getting your heart broken hurts, but losing your best friend? It’s hell.
When I did go back—today, actually—I didn’t see him at all. That didn’t surprise me. He knew my schedule as well as I did, and he’d know exactly how to avoid me.
As he comes up the front walk I can see that he’s carrying one white rose.
“Um, Allen? Meg? I think I’m going to need some help putting this casserole away, since you’re not going to take it,” Mom says.
“Yes. It does look heavy,” I hear my dad say, and Meg adds, “I’d love to help you with that, Gina,” and they quickly disappear into the house, and that is exactly why I love them all.
“Hey,” Landon says as he steps up onto the porch.
“Hi,” I say, and although I have no idea what he’s going to say to me, I’m so happy to see him that I can’t be nervous about that.
He hands me the rose. I take it, sniffing it once before smiling.
“So I’ve been thinking,” he says. “About your list and Jamie and you and me and everything. And you know, whether it’s chemistry or fate or some Wiccan goddess, we can’t really choose who we fall in love with. It just happens, whether they fit your list or not. You fell for him, and not me, and that’s not your fault. So I shouldn’t really hold that against you.”
I smile, glad that Landon figured out the same thing I did, and I look down at the little rose in my hands. It’s so pretty—intricate, really. The petals fold around each other in layer after delicate layer. It reminds me of me and Jamie, the way it was cut right when it was blossoming. And it reminds me of Landon and me too, because it seems so fragile.
“You really tried for me, I know you did. You wanted to give me your heart. It was just already gone. And I know you tried so hard because you do love me. Just as a friend, sure, but you loved me enough to want to try, and I’m really glad for that.”
“I do love you,” I say, drawing my gaze away from the rose to look right in his eyes. “I love you so much. God, Landon. The past few days I felt like I was going insane without you.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. I felt the same way.”
“What? You mean you want to be friends still?”
Landon holds out a hand, quieting me. “I kind of have this whole speech thing prepared, so if you could just let me spit it out . . .”
I nod and bite my tongue.
“I’m really sorry about the other day. You know how I am when I’m angry. I don’t really think. I still have a lot to learn about anger management. But I just wanted to forget about you, you know? Never see you again so I wouldn’t have to hurt all the time. And when I got home and realized I’d told you I didn’t want to be your friend anymore, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. Worse than when we broke up, really. Then I started thinking about the list and how it’s not your fault that you love him instead of me and all that. But you know what I thought about the most?”
I shake my head.
“I thought about how much it would hurt to not see you every day and talk to you every day. And that hurt a lot more than a broken heart.” He smiles. “Turns out that even if I love you so much I can’t be around you right now, I love you too much to lose you forever.”
He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him, letting him squeeze it. “So you’re still going to be my friend?”
“Yeah, if you want me.”
“I do.”
He nods. “But not right now.”
My smile falls and I look at him, confused.
He squeezes my hand again and lets it drop. “I need time, Sam. You hurt me. I need to get over that. I need to get over you.”
I understand that, so I nod. “But then you’ll be my friend again?”
“Of course. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
I smile. “Meg said she figured we’d be stuck with you forever.”
“She’s right,” Landon says, smiling too. “And I promise it won’t take me six months this time. I’ll be back wreaking havoc in your life again by spring break, I can feel it.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, and we smile at each other. Then Landon pulls me into his arms, giving me a rib-crushing hug.
“Me either. Get to the show. I’m making you late.”
“We were already late before you showed up, don’t worry,” I joke, then I add, “You can come if you want.”
“Thanks, but I really, really don’t want to. Eventually I won’t feel like hexing Jamie with so
me awful curse, but today is not that day.” Landon pauses, considering. “Hey, you think Meg knows any hexes?”
He’s kidding, and that is a great sign that he’s already moved on to laughing about things. I hug him again, one more to last me through the weeks ahead.
“Take as long as you need. But not too long. I miss my best friend.”
“Bye, Sam.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek before he walks away. I watch him go, already feeling a little less empty than I did minutes before.
Meg steps out of the house, smiling at me. “Everything okay?”
I tuck the rose behind my ear and take my car keys out of my pocket, jingling them in her face. “I’ll tell you on the way. Now let’s hit the road. I’ve got to go get my Perfect Ten back.”
“Samson! I’m so glad you’re here. Jamie will be too. Come. Come! It is such an exciting night!” Ninah makes a grand gesture, ushering us into the gallery. “If you’d like a glass of champagne, find one of the boys in a tux. I promise I won’t alert the authorities.”
She winks at us, and then leans close to my ear to whisper, “Talk to him, love. Tell him he simply must finish that phoenix.”
As she drifts off barefoot into the crowd to hobnob with art people, Meg raises a brow.
I ignore it. “Champagne?”
As if I have to ask. An adult just offered us alcohol. And champagne at that. It’s all so sophisticated.
I leave Meg to find one of the boys in tuxes. The place is packed, much more than I ever imagined an art show to be, and everyone’s dressed to the nines. I’m thankful my mom insisted I wear my corduroy blazer and my best sneakers.
Jamie’s art is hanging from invisible wires, creating a labyrinth of floating walls around the room. It doesn’t take much studying to realize what Ninah has done: the birds are flying, hanging in midair as is befitting to them. The art snobs are gathered in little groups every few paces, discussing the work in hushed, reverent tones. I catch a few whispers, enough to know that Jamie has impressed them and that very few of them will be able to resist the chance to scoop up one of his paintings before he’s well-known.
I see someone in a tux carrying a tray of golden flutes and I make toward him. I pass the dodo painting as I walk and just happen to glance down at the small card that has the asking price written on it and just about have a heart attack.
Jamie’s never going to have to work at Seven Sauces again, that’s for sure.
Then I see him.
He’s in the next room, talking with an older couple and gesturing to different aspects of a peacock’s iridescent tail. He looks happy. He looks gorgeous. He’s wearing a navy suit that’s cut perfectly to fit his trim body, and a light blue tie that makes the blue in his eyes look electric.
I walk into the room, champagne forgotten, and he sees me. There’s a hint of a smile, the slightest nod before he goes back to chatting with potential buyers. I walk through the room slowly, looking at each of the paintings. Most of them I’ve seen before, which is a good thing because I’m not really paying attention to them now. I can feel Jamie watching me, though his light voice never stops explaining his methods.
I move on to the next picture and freeze.
It’s the Jubjub, and hanging like this in midair, it looks more alive than ever. It’s breathtaking.
I lose myself in it for a while, and then Jamie is standing next to me. It’s like I feel him before I see him, like every cell in my body is aware that he’s close and wants to get closer.
“Lewis Carroll said that the Jubjub lives alone but in a perpetual state of passion,” he says.
I swallow thickly. “It must be very lonely.”
“It is.” He clears his throat. “You came alone?”
“Meg’s here,” I answer. “Landon . . . I’m, um. We’re not together.”
“I know,” Jamie says. “He told me.”
Landon told him. That makes me feel warm all over.
I turn so that I can see him. He’s studying his work. I wonder if he sees how beautiful it is, or if he’s wondering if it’s good enough.
“Ninah said I have to tell you to finish the phoenix.”
“It was the only one I didn’t finish for her. She’s a tough boss.” Then he looks at me, his eyes all soft and warm. “She shouldn’t worry. It’ll rise again. Phoenixes always do.”
I let myself sink into his gaze for a wonderful moment before I have to stop and remind myself that I’m the reason why he has to redo that painting at all.
I focus on the Jubjub instead, and it’s then that I realize that this painting doesn’t have a price tag.
“How much do you want for it?” I ask. I know the Jubjub is easily worth double what he’s asking for the other paintings, and I know I don’t have a chance in hell of buying it, but I have to know how much someone is going to spend to get the privilege of having this on their wall.
“This one’s not for sale.”
“It’s not?” I ask numbly, still staring at the painting.
“No. It belongs to this guy I fell in love with.”
My heart beats a crazy, erratic rhythm in my chest. “I hope he wasn’t a jerk who broke your heart, then.”
“Well, he was kind of a jerk, but maybe I should have given him another chance. And, honestly, I’ve been miserable without him.”
“He’s been miserable without you.” I reach down, tucking one of Jamie’s hands into mine. “And he loves you too.”
We smile at each other, then turn back to the painting, but we don’t let go of each other’s hands. I can feel happiness coming off of him in waves and I know he’s not criticizing his work. At least not this time.
“You should know,” I start, “my dad agreed with you about my writing samples. He liked all of them, which was just crazy, but he said your favorite was his favorite too. That’s the one I ended up sending out.”
He smiles. “Glad I have the same literary taste as the great Allen Raines. And that he read them for you.”
I nod. We both know how much it meant to me. “And it worked. I got into NYU.”
“Your dream. That’s perfect, Sam.”
Perfect.
The word makes me think back to that night in October, standing in a cemetery with my two best friends, asking for what I thought was perfection. I know all about perfection now. I know how it can be found everywhere, in anything. There’s perfection in learning from mistakes, perfection in learning to let go, perfection in second chances and trying again. There’s also perfection in things that change, and in things that never will—like loyal, loving friends.
But most of all, I know now that perfection isn’t the kind of thing you can plan. It isn’t the kind of thing you can ask for either, because no one knows what perfection really is until they experience it. Perfection is in the unexpected. In the surprises. In the things you have to lose before you can understand.
But I don’t tell Jamie all of that. At least not yet. “New York is so far away, though,” I say to him instead.
“It is.” I look over at him and he’s smiling a little, just the slightest curve of lips, as if he’s in on some joke that I’m not getting. “But I hear it has a few good art schools, and that some artists even enjoy living there.”
I frown. “But that’s two years away. What’ll we do until then?”
“We paint. We write,” he says, and his pretty blue eyes are sparkling with hope. “We remember how to fly.”
And then Jamie kisses me.
It’s unexpected. It’s surprising.
It’s perfect.
THE END
Acknowledgments
This book was a long, eventful journey, and I’d be remiss not to thank the people who have helped it along the way.
To my parents, for their continual love and support.
To my very first readers,
Ann Skinner, Erin Detwiler, and Melissa Lawson, thank you for reading this before it even got good.
To Amy Rosenbaum, whose love for this little story brought so many good things to my life, thank you. To the Southern Ohio Writer/Reader Collaborative, thank you for being the critique group of my dreams. Somehow you make me look forward to getting my ass kicked once a month.
To Sarah Prashaw, Kristy Mishler, Jenn Hoey, and Kate Nondahl, because our daily group emails provided both a place to vent and a good laugh, as needed. Oh, and Kate Nondahl, thank you for talking it out. This book and everything else.
To Jacqueline Pierce—your friendship has gotten me through all the highs and lows, darling. Thanks for being my cheerleader. To John Finck, who has read this book as many times as I have, thank you for your faith in me, for always pushing me to make it better, and for being the best critique partner and friend a girl could ask for. To J.H. Trumble—I wouldn’t be here without you, in so many ways.
Brent Taylor, friend, agent, champion. I’m going to say it one more time: you were born for this. Thank you so much for believing in this book for so long, and I’m so glad I could write something worthy of your belief.
To Ken Wright, thank you for giving this book a home, and for falling in love with it not just once but twice. To Alex Ulyett, thank you for seeing the potential in this book and helping me realize it. You always knew exactly what this story needed, and knew exactly how to get me to wrap my stubborn head around it. You are truly magical. (Magickal?) To the whole team at Viking Children’s, thank you for the enthusiasm, thank you for your dedication, thank you for all your careful planning, hard work, and patience, and thank you for the most amazing cover ever created.
You are all unicorns, and Sam and I are lucky to have you.
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