Lover of the Light

by Sydney Taylor

  Everything shuts off. The car stops moving. There's no warning; it just gives the fuck up.

  I twist the key in the ignition.

  Nothing. Not even a sound.

  I hate my life.

  "No," I say, because I don't believe this shit. "No. Are you fucking kidding me?"

  This is my worst fucking nightmare.

  I'm stuck on a road leading into a town that no one comes onto unless they have no intention of ever leaving, in a car that hasn't acquired a heating system since the nineties. I'm without a cellphone or even a fucking proper coat to wear because I'm the dumbass who is wearinga hoodie to school because I was too lazy to check the weather before I left.

  "Fuck!" I scream into the steering wheel, because screaming helps everything.

  I am a lost cause.

  I twist the key in the ignition again, because that worked so well the first time. I do it again, and again. Finally, I just get out of the car and try to see what's wrong with the engine. I pop the hood and must hold it open because my car is ancient and there's nothing to hold it up with.

  I look down at the engine, and I blanch.

  It's exactly what I imagine rocket science to be like.

  I'm touching one hose that looks a little wet and I'm trying to find out what it does and where it belongs, and that's when I hear a car door slam closed behind me. I don't bother turning around, because I'm still mulling over how complex car engines are and I think that there's no way I'm ever going to figure this out.

  "You need help?"

  It's the best kind of voice, and it makes my heart threaten to jolt from my ribcage.

  I start to shoot up, but my head slams against the roof of the hood, and I feel my brain shatter. My head throbs, and I groan aloud. It hurts like a bitch.

  I rub the spot that I hit to soothe the ache and close my eyes to try and downplay the humiliation and pain I feel.

  I hate myself.

  "Oh shit." I hear Brightside hiss, and I feel warm fingers splay over my own. "Ouch. That looked brutal, dude. Are you alright? Please don't die on me."

  "No." I open my eyes and look up at the almond-eyed girl that I can't stop thinking about. I drop my hands to my sides and let go of the hood, because just looking at this girl weakens me.

  The hood doesn't even close. Figures.

  I shake my head when I realize what I've said. "I mean, I'm fine. I'm not dying."

  I can't believe that she's here, like right in front of me. Maybe I hit my head too hard.

  Audrey is dressed in a hoodie like my own, but this girl's not wearing pants. She's wearing a skirt that seems loose, but too short, and a pair of black ballet flats. Her strawberry-red tinted, brown hair is unkempt and wavy, tossed over her shoulder and cascading wildly over her hoodie.

  She looks like she just woke up, and she's already Brightside-beautiful.

  After a moment of observing me, she nods carefully, her eyes skeptical. "Um, so, what's up with your car? Do you need a second opinion? I'm no expert, but it looks like you've got oil all over your engine compartment."

  Of course, she knows. Rocket science would be simple to this girl.

  "Um." I tear my eyes away from hers and look back to the car. "I don't know, honestly. I—Wait, shouldn't you be in school?"

  She frowns, and I wish I hadn't said anything. I hate when this girl frowns. "Eh, I slept in. I know, right? Off to a great start." She hunches over the engine, examining the hose I was touching earlier. "Uh, oh. See this right here?" I lean over to see where she's pointing. "This is a connecting rod, and it's supposed to be inside your motor, not sticking through the block."

  "Um…" I say stupidly. "Okay."

  I wonder if her legs are cold in that skirt. I think about warming them up.

  Oh my god, shut up.

  I am one with my endocrines.

  She purses her summertime lips and nods. "Definitely going to have to be towed. This is major damage. You should let my dad look at this. He used to be a mechanic, knows all about these cars."

  I don't miss the way she says these cars. These, meaning, old as fuck. "I don't know." I grimace, because the thought of meeting this girl's father under these circumstances seems cringe-worthy. How would she introduce me? As some stranger she saw on the highway, or as the boy she stayed out past curfew with last Friday? "Um…"

  "It's cool, you can ride to school with me." She already has her cell phone out. "My dad has a tow chain, he can bring the car back to our place and look at it."

  I shift where I stand, because I'm uncomfortable and I'm the most awkward person on the planet. "Audrey, I don't want to make you late for school."

  "Relax, we'll still make it to first period." She starts talking into the phone then, dismissing any more of my protests. After a moment of rapidly speaking to her father, she shuts the phone and slides it into the pocket of her hoodie. "John's on his way. He said he's on the highway, so don't hold your breath."

  I hold my breath anyway.

  Chapter 8

  March 19th, 2012

  4:10 p.m.

  Audrey Sawyer is the smartest girl that I've ever met, but her father is maybe the most brilliant man I've ever had the privilege of interacting with. This guy knows every part to every model of car. He knows how to rebuild an engine out of practically nothing and he can install one in your shitty car in less than a week. He's also a walking Wikipedia page.

  And he isn't even a mechanic, he's the chief of fucking police.

  John Sawyer is easily an intimidating six foot tall. His dark brown hair is long and pulled back into a braid behind his head, and his masculine voice burrows scary-deep octaves. He has several different arm tattoos, and one of the fattest titanium wedding bands I've ever seen in my life. He has a beard that's five inches too long, and eyes that match his daughter's.

  If it weren't for this genius, I might not have ever met Brightside. I should be kissing the ground he walks on, but I choose to kiss his ass instead.

  "Are you sure that you want to do this?" I ask as I hand him the keys to my sun-spotted death-machine. "It's a lot of work."

  My car, for lack of a better word, is fucked.

  John is going to replace an engine that would normally cost over two grand to fix, and he's going to do it for me for less than five hundred. "Don't worry about it." John waves a dismissive hand after he's inhaled one of his cigarettes. "It's no trouble at all."

  "Dad usually picks up shit cars at the salvage yard to work on," Audrey informs me around a straw she's been gnawing on for the last half-hour. "If he wasn't working on yours, he'd be rebuilding one of his own."

  We're standing in the Sawyer residence's garage, under a too-bright overhead light that would normally sketch me out. John is sitting on the hood of my car while he scrolls through his phone in search of junkyards. My favorite person in the world is beside me, drinking a Coca-Cola Slurpee loudly, while she comments on her father's diagnostics and avoids making eye contact with me.

  It's fine. I mean, we're in front of her dad. It'd be weird if she looked at me. Right? It's not like she hates me or anything, or else she wouldn't have helped me out in the first place.

  "Oh shit, would you look at the time?" Audrey points to her phone, and I furrow my brows while she leans into her father. "It's four-twenty!"

  John laughs at his daughter, and they share some sort of unreadable disbelieving look. Brightside smirks, and John shakes his head at his daughter. "You're not cute, Audrey. Take your friend home, and don't talk like that around me."

  I can't tell if John is just saying that because I'm here, or if he really thinks his daughter isn't cute.

  "What if Blake wants to stay for dinner?" she asks, sticking her face intrusively close to his. "Mom's bringing home chicken. What if that's his favorite, dad? Dad. Dad, what if he wants a wing? What if I want him to―"

  John raises a hand to cut her off. "I don't care what you do. Just leave me alone."

  Brightside looks Ancestorists. She sli
des her hand down my arm to grab my hand and she pulls me toward the door, out of the garage. "You don't have to stay if you don't want." She looks back at me as we cross her yard. "But I'd like it if you did."

  I don't respond, even though I want to tell her I'll never leave if she asks me to. I just keep my mouth closed as I follow her into the house. She leads me into a kitchen that's smells like wet paint and is colored a bright sunshine-yellow with sunflower-print wallpaper beneath the trim lining the middle-walls. I think I'd have a seizure if it didn't seem so fucking nice.

  She tells me to sit, and I obediently drop down on an empty stool.

  She clicks her tongue in her mouth, and I hear the mute tap-tap-tapping of her flats meeting the linoleum floor. "I couldn't get you to get a Slurpee with me, but I bet you like soda, right?"

  I don't answer. I bite my lip and stare head-on, avoiding her gaze.

  "Oh, come on!" she exclaims. "You really don't drink soda?"

  I finally look up at her and crack a smile. She's standing by the fridge, one foot out, with her hand posed in her hip. "I like some sodas. Sprite is good."

  "Ugh." She touches her stomach. "You're giving me a belly ache with that talk. What about tea, country boy?" She sways over to the cabinet to retrieve a glass. "You like sweet tea?"

  "Um…" I nod, knowing she isn't going to give up. If there's one thing that I've learned about her in the last few hours, it's that Brightside is a people-pleaser. Until everyone else is comfortable and situated, she can't be comfortable and situated. "Yeah."

  She pours a glass of tea for me and smiles as though she's pleased with herself. "Good shit?"

  I laugh at her, finding this girl so strange and amusing.

  Most girls wouldn't do this. Most girls wouldn't treat the boy they just slept with like a welcomed house guest. They wouldn't offer him a glass of tea and pretend like everything is fine. Most girls would find this awkward, and they probably wouldn't smile half as much as she does.

  Audrey Sawyer is not most girls.

  "Um, yeah."

  I'm more like most girls.

  She nods carefully and walks backward until she's rocking back against the kitchen counter. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and shifts on her heels for a moment. "Um, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry that I didn't get the chance to say goodbye the other morning. My dad threatened to put out an APB on anybody who was at Casper Gray's party."

  I bark a laugh and stare down at my shoes. My old Nikes are muddy-grimy and ripping at the ends. I feel so out of place, looking down at my crappy muck-caked shoes on this nice clean kitchen floor.

  "I put my number in your iPod."

  I keep my eyes trained on my dirty kicks as I nod. "Yeah, I know."

  "You didn't use it." I look up finally and see the somber look on Brightside's face. She has her jaw slightly slacked, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks almost pale. She shakes her head when she catches me looking at her. "I mean, you didn't have to―"

  "I wanted to," I interrupt, standing. I don't know why I'm standing, but I am. "Really, I tried to, I just don't have a phone."

  Her mouth opens wider in realization. "Oh! Oh." She nods, like she's agreeing with me. "Oh-kay."

  There are some things I'm too stupid to do. Being smart is one of them.

  I don't know if Audrey Sawyer was a virgin before she met me, or if she's ever even been kissed before. I don't know if she regrets having sex with me, and I don't know if she's just pretending to be friends with me because that's the kind of incredible person she is. I don't know if we were safe that night, or if Audrey's just on birth control and she hasn't said anything about it.

  These things are important, and I know that I need to ask her.

  "Um." I lick my lips and blow out a frustrated breath. I need to do this; just say it. "Are you…"

  "I'm on the pill," she blurts out. I look up at her with furrowed brows, confused by her sudden outburst. Am I that fucking transparent?

  "The pill?" I ask, like the dumbass I am.

  She has her arms crossed over her chest, her face beet-red. She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. "Uh, yeah. And I'm not exactly freaking out or anything, because, you know, I, like, just had my period, and girls aren't really fertile until later."

  "Uh." I rub my eyes, trying to understand what the fuck is happening right now. My mind is reeling, and I'm developing a serious fucking headache. "So, you're … um?"

  "Really, I promise you don't have to worry about diseases or anything either." She stands up straighter, no longer needing the counter for support. "I'm clean. One hundred percent. Are you … clean?"

  She says it all so fast that it takes me more than half a minute to process it all. "Um, I'm clean. I swear, but don't tell me not to worry about it." I drop my gaze back down to the floor. "I was worried about you, like I wondered if that was, um …"

  "I wasn't a virgin." She laughs kind of, and I look back up. "I mean, I was. But I wasn't one last week."

  I don't really feel any better, but I kind of do. I feel pissed and grateful at the same time, which is one cocktail of emotions I hope I never have again. Mostly, I hope whoever took her virginity didn't go about treating her like I did.

  This girl is making me into a better boy, and she has no idea.

  "Yeah …" That's all I can really say.

  "So, I guess you really need a ride to school from now on, huh?" She starts picking at the end of that damn hoodie. "I'm sure Chase and Hailee like to keep their passengers to a minimum."

  I don't know what she's getting at, but I sort of like the direction she's headed in.

  "I could, you know, pick you up and stuff." She shrugs, looking up at me through her bangs.

  There's so much about last weekend, and tonight, and last night that I don't know about. I don't know what I'm doing with my life or who I am, and I don't know much about my own generation, even.

  I am simple. Boring. And I always feel like I'm lost.

  I don't know who I want to be when I grow up, or if I even really want to go to college after high school because my grades are terrible, and I suck at life. Algebra confuses me, but the opposite sex does maybe even more. I don't really know how to flirt with a girl, and I'm pretty much the worst conversationalist on this planet.

  I have one brother, and he knows everything about me. He knows about the three girls I've slept with, and he knows that I don't really have any regrets. Except for one, maybe.

  Now, I'm not so sure that I do have any regrets. All my problems seem simple, like the answer is right in front of me.

  I look up to Brightside and smile like it's the easiest thing in the world.

  "Okay."

  Chapter 9

  April 16th, 2012

  3:32 p.m.

  "You know, you don't have to be so sad." Audrey is driving down highway B with a bag of sour gummy worms between her legs. She has one piece of candy sticking from her lips that she's been chewing on for the last ten minutes, as if she has forgotten how to eat like a normal person.

  She's not normal, but that doesn't make any difference to me.

  I don't understand how Brightside can smile all the time, but her light is addicting. She's silly and ridiculous, and sometimes she's flat out fucking crazy.

  Sometimes she calls my brother in the middle of the night and makes him give me the phone. Sometimes she just talks, and I just listen. Sometimes she trusts me with a piece of her that others don't get, like her insecurities and her fears.

  I know a lot about this girl. I know that her favorite color is green, and she listens to Mumford & Sons when she wants to cry. Her mom thinks she's Stevie Nicks, and her dad must cover his arm tattoos because people think he's in a biker gang instead of a cop.

  She smells like lavender and vanilla because her mom only buys some organic body wash. She says everything else is bad for her sensitive skin—which is also why she uses unscented detergent.

  Sometimes she sits with me at lunch, but people are constantly bat
tling for her attention.

  Audrey Sawyer is like a drug to this town. She’s come and she’s wrecked all of us. She stole our hearts with her beaming smile, and her laugh. She's magnetic and mellifluous, the reviving ray of light we've all been waiting for. Everybody wants her, wants to be by her side, wants to steal her and never let go.

  I know it's selfish, but fuck everyone else.

  "Who said I was sad?"

  "No one has to tell me." She sets a gummy worm on her leg. It's half blue, half yellow. "I can feel it."

  This girl makes my day every day, so maybe I am a little sad. I get my car back tomorrow, and I kind of wish John had another excuse to keep it longer. I wish her cop-dad wasn't so likeable, so that I can feel angry at him for taking away my reason for seeing Brightside every morning.

  Audrey even drove me through my paper route. We'd blast music and snack on the crap she calls breakfast: Little Debbie's and Sunny D. Even if I probably-most-likely have diabetes now, it was kind of worth it.

  So yeah, I look sad and shit.

  I feel like I'm losing her. Not only do I think about kissing her and stuff, but she's kind of my new best friend.

  "You can't feel other people's sadness," I tell her.

  She sighs through her nose, peeking over at me out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, you can. Especially when it's someone you care about. We're practically one person, Blake."

  "You sound crazy," I lie.

  "If I sound crazy, so do you. We're one and the same." She's quiet all of three seconds. "Casper Gray talked to me today."

  I look up from my notebook and furrow my eyebrows at the girl who always leaves her food in strange places for me to find. Yesterday, it was a jolly rancher in my backpack. Today, it's the gummy worm on my leg. I throw the gummy worm in my mouth and start to chew. "Okay …?"

  "Are you drawing a picture?" she asks instead, pointing to my notebook. Her eyes switch rapidly between the road and my notebook. "Whoa, is that a freakin' angel?"

  I groan, slamming my notebook closed.

  "You draw angels? They're, like, badass, Blake," she says eagerly, smiling over at me. "Show me! You've got skills, bro. I mean, really … fucking artist. You should see my brother's artwork. In Chicago, he used to do graffiti. I bet you two could create some monumental masterpiece together. I don't know art, but I think you've got it down."