I felt my face redden. I only ever rode like that when no one was looking. “He can slide further than that,” I explained shyly. “It’s been a while since we practiced.”
“Well, it looked pretty clean to me, but I’m no expert.”
I remembered seeing him ride on Saturday and secretly thought he had to be trying not to come across as cocky. Or perhaps he really didn’t know how talented he was. “Well, thank you. No book store today?”
He adjusted his worn-out ball cap with the Portland State Viking symbol across the front and tilted his head. “It’s closed until I figure out what to do with it. I’m cleaning it up in my spare time. Granddad wasn’t the best with a dust mop.”
“I see. How old is the place?”
“It turned fifty-six this year. He opened it when he was my age. Though to be honest, I think he was a lot smarter than me.”
Did I just laugh? The sound didn’t seem to come from me, but I heard it all the same. “I bet you have his genes. Never know, you could turn that store into something irreplaceable.”
He seemed to ponder the idea, blue eyes twinkling thoughtfully. “That’s just it though. Book stores are a dime a dozen, and technology is making the demand for real books die away. The store was suffering long before he passed.”
I frowned. I felt sorry for him in a way. Though he was smiling, he seemed lost. “Is there no one that can help you?”
“Nah. It’s a one man show, I’m afraid.”
“That’s a lot to try to deal with,” I offered, but the words felt recited. Were they the same ones I had been hearing in my own head for several days? “Do you want some help?” What was I offering, exactly? I was just trying to be nice, but suddenly I wished I could backtrack.
“I could use a creative eye.” His grin was warm and kind. Something about it calmed my nerves.
I took a slow breath and glanced at the surrounding mountains before returning my gaze to his. “I could come tonight after homework,” I said softly; meekly. I wondered if he sensed my hesitance.
“In order for it to be a deal, both parties usually offer something,” he winked. “How about I supply pizza?”
If he sensed it at all, he wasn’t showing it. I still didn’t know if I had made the right choice in offering to help him, but nothing about him made me uncomfortable. In fact, though I was confused and hesitant about our plans, I was completely at ease around him. “Deal.” I smiled.
“Good. Sure your parents won’t mind you helping a twenty-year-old city boy?”
I shrugged. “I’m a senior this year. Besides, it’s for a good cause.” It felt awkward even discussing the mechanics of a girl my age and a guy his age hanging out, because first of all, this wasn’t anything remotely close to a date; I wouldn’t be going if it were. Secondly, Alex didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who was hiding something.
Then again, neither did Tyler.
My fingers tightened around the reins. What had I promised again? Was this really a good idea? But the look on Alex’s face, a look a friend gives when they’re looking forward to future plans, made it impossible for me to back out. His eyes were just so kind.
Tyler’s eyes had never been kind.
And I realized then, as much as I loathed it, that I would likely forever compare every guy I met, platonic or not, to Tyler Jenkins.
“Well, good,” he nodded firmly. “I’ll be there all night, so stop by whenever you feel like it.” He gave me the directions and then rode off to do his own thing, and for the next hour or so, we both shared the arena in comfortable silence.
Eleven
I STOPPED MY CAR by the curb of the old bookstore and looked up at the fading sign that displayed Adair Books in white lettering. The place looked quaint and warm from the outside, welcoming me even before I stepped onto the sidewalk. But as I approached the antique wooden door, my heart began to skip erratically. What am I doing here? I wondered. I wanted to be locked away in my bedroom, doing my homework without being forced to interact with anybody. But this was normal, right? It was normal to make new friends.
I had expected my parents to be hesitant about me helping Alex, but apparently Dad had already met him at the stable the week prior. Mom was just glad I actually wanted to get out of the house. “The medication seems to be working!” She had said this in a way that suggested that now my problems would be solved forever. “Think you’ll be up to school next week?” she had added.
Dr. Fletcher had mentioned to her that I wanted to be taken out of school, and while she hadn’t addressed it completely, I knew by her commentary that such a thing would never happen. I was the normal daughter: the one with zero concentration issues. I knew she wouldn’t be giving up on that belief any time soon.
That’s partly what drove me all the way to the door of Alex’s inherited bookstore rather than backing out completely. It was time I started pulling myself together or I knew I would be eaten alive by my issues.
As I was reaching for the handle, the lock turned and the door opened. I lowered my hand and locked eyes with Alex, who was grinning at me. His brown hair was short and groomed neatly. He had a smear of sage-colored paint on his cheek and his white t-shirt was tattered and stained by various other paint streaks. Same with his jeans. His black Converse shoes were the only thing left unscathed. I could smell the fumes inside, though the scent wasn’t unpleasant; it had always inspired my creativity.
“You came!” He pushed the door open and gestured me inside. “I was just testing some swatches on the back wall. It used to be this awful shade of yellow . . . like baby poop. I don’t know what Granddad was thinking.”
I followed him, letting my eyes wander around the interior of the store. All of the shelves were old and sturdy, and some of them stretched all the way to the ceiling with rolling ladders attached to a rail. The place felt special; not bland and industrial like most modern bookstores. But it was dim and dusty, and I made a mental note to suggest some decorative lighting.
“Alright, so we have green, lighter green, lighter-ish green, blue, and tan.”
I looked at the swatches and felt my lips tug into a smirk. “Men only see five colors, while women see a thousand,” Addison once said. “Kind of like how we see all of our flaws and they only see beauty; the pinnacle of perfection. We’ll find men like that one day, but we’ll let them just keep seeing those five colors so that we can paint our houses the way we want.”
The thought came from nowhere and I almost forgot to respond. When I did, my own voice felt foreign. I realized at once that I was forcing myself to make conversation. “Well, the green is actually similar to emerald, and I think that’s too green. The lighter green is closer to sage, and the lighter-ish green is between mint and pistachio. Of those three, I prefer the sage. I think that blue is pretty, but it kind of reminds me of a hospital. And the tan is more terra-cotta, which I think would be good for an accent wall but not for the entire space.” I looked at him and found him smirking with his eyes and suddenly I felt embarrassed. I feigned interest in my work boots and tattered jeans. “Sorry, that was probably more than you cared to hear.”
“No, actually. I didn’t read the labels but I thought the colors were nice. I just don’t have the eye for this kind of thing. Sounds like you do.”
I chewed on my freshly-mended lip: a habit I had developed ever since the cut closed up.
He was peering intently at the swatches with his head tilted, rubbing his scruffy chin with his fingertips. “So sage all around, and terra-cotta on this wall?” he asked.
“I think that would look really nice. You could even do some texturizing.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, then laughed. “I have no idea how to do that.”
“Me neither,” I shrugged. “It can’t be that hard though.”
Alex was quiet while he continued to examine the wall. I rubbed my arm awkwardly, glancing around the room, though my mind was blank. I felt as if I should fill the silence, but he seemed perfectly comfortable. M
y feet put distance between us on their own accord.
“Lighter green and tan it is,” he winked and passed behind me. I watched him head for the front counter and noticed a pizza box sitting beside the cash register. “I hope you like pepperoni and pineapple!”
I wrinkled my nose and followed him. “Never tried it.” When was the last time I had eaten a full meal? The thought of eating was nauseating, but I knew I would have to do it at some point. My clothes were already beginning to hang loosely on me.
“Well, you’re in for a life-altering experience.” He opened the box and brushed behind me, putting his hand on my upper back in passing. “I’ll be right back.”
My entire body tightened, all of my muscles binding into knots. He didn’t hurt you and he won’t, I told myself. Get a grip.
I breathed out and watched him disappear around the corner. A moment later he returned with a stack of napkins and some paper plates. Setting them next to the pizza box, he glanced at me with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “So, May. Tell me about yourself.”
I looked down at my hands and watched the way my fingers tapped lightly on the countertop. I knew me better than anyone, yet I had nothing to say. My mind was blank. Biting the corner of my lip, I recited the same spiel I told anyone else who asked this question: “Well, I’m May . . . May O’Hara.” Obviously. Blood crept up my neck and into my face, making my skin hot. “I’m a senior this year.” Again, obviously. I looked at him and saw his eyes smiling. Did he think I was strange? I couldn’t formulate any other words, so I diverted my attention to the pizza and put a slice on my plate.
“I know those things.” He laughed lightly and dug in as well. “I know you love horses; that you’ve ridden your whole life. I know you have a little sister named Grace. And I know you have a knack for choosing paint colors. That’s all I know, but surely there’s more to May O’Hara.”
Why did he want to know about me? Somehow I had thought I would come here, help him, and then leave. But Alex seemed to want to know me, and for some reason, that unsettled me.
I lifted my eyes to him and we watched each other for a moment. The sun slanting through the dusty windows made his eyes shine bluer than ever, specks of dust sparkling around him. I had never seen kinder eyes in my life: wide and soft and curious. Who was he? Why did he want to be my friend? “My dad is a neurosurgeon and my mom is a criminal defense attorney. I have hopes of being a cardiologist, or maybe even a cardiothoracic surgeon. I secretly love to sing, but trust me . . . you don’t want to hear it.”
A slow grin split his face in two as he leaned back against the counter. “I think I do want to hear you sing.”
I should have known better than to tell an aspiring musician such a useless detail about myself. I rubbed my lips together and tried to back myself out of this corner. “You don’t. I promise.”
He laughed. “Well, you sound very intelligent. Your whole family does, really. I have no doubt that you can reach your goals.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, even though I knew he was probably just saying what sounded right.
He held up his fingers one by one to count down the reasons. “First of all, your father is a brain surgeon. That’s amazing. Secondly, you strike me as an intelligent girl, and if you have him as an influence, and your mom too, then you must have the support you need. Thirdly, I bet you could do all that without their help anyway.”
“What do you mean?” I took a bite of pizza just so it wouldn’t go to waste, but mostly to keep myself busy. Tyler’s face flashed through my mind. “You seem like the type that would take the world by storm and do it mostly on your own,” he had said.
“You seem strong. And I don’t know you all that well, but I could definitely see you in surgical scrubs,” he smirked.
I put my plate down because my hands were shaking. Alex watched me and concern furrowed his brow. “Are you alright, May?”
I rubbed my arms as I moved around the counter to stand on the other side, putting distance between us. “I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile. Something shattered on the other side of the store and I felt my heart slam into my ribs. Alex looked at me, wide-eyed, and tossed his plate onto the counter. He sprinted through the rows of bookshelves toward the noise.
I trembled violently, turning in a circle while I heard my blood whooshing in my ears. Get out of here, my instincts screamed. I heard him say my name, but his voice was muffled. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me around, and I buckled at the knees, a strangled scream emerging.
“May, it’s alright. A cat knocked a vase onto the floor from the open window.” He held me upright at arm’s length and watched me, frightened.
If it was just a cat, why was he so afraid? But then I realized I was hyperventilating so hard that the sound was wheezing through my constricted vocal chords. “I have to go,” I choked. I backed away so that his hands released my shoulders. Moving past him, I grabbed my purse off the counter and fled for the door.
“May, it’s alright. Really, it was nothing.”
The way he was looking at me didn’t suggest that he thought I was overreacting. He could tell something else was wrong. And I knew it wasn’t rational. I knew I had no reason to bolt. But I was compelled to get as far away from him as I could, and that urgency was too strong to fight. “I’m sorry, Alex.”
I didn’t wait for a response before I pulled the door open, the bell ringing as it swung closed behind me.
Twelve
I WENT TO SCHOOL the next day, functioning only on coffee and anti-depressants. I was still behind on my schoolwork, but I had enough to turn in that I couldn’t justify feigning another migraine. Besides, my parents wouldn’t have bought it anyway. They had essentially told me that failing school wasn’t an option. Their statement had sparked a thought I didn’t even know I had, but it scared me to no end because I was approaching the point of not caring if I failed. Which meant I would never be accepted into medical school—which also meant that everything I had ever envisioned for my life would be null. It was a slippery slope. And that morning, I was starting to feel an emotion I hadn’t yet processed.
I was angry.
I was angry at Tyler for taking my life and shaking it until nothing looked the same anymore. I was angry at myself for letting him have that power. So when I saw him in the hall as I approached my locker, I didn’t hang my head or let him see how tired I was. All the while I felt his eyes on me, but it didn’t make me crumble.
That was the version of me he saw anyway. On the inside, I was quivering and weak. Still angry . . . but weak.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Addison sidled up to me and opened her locker. She looked at me with sad eyes and stepped closer to whisper. “You know I care, right? I didn’t call this past week because I knew you needed time. I just hope you knew I was there if you needed me, and I still am.”
Addison never pried when she knew I wasn’t ready to talk. I had never interpreted that as a lack of caring, but the opposite. I knew even when she wasn’t calling me that she was thinking of ways to help. “I know, Addi. Thank you.”
She looked behind me the same moment I heard Tyler say, “Can I talk to you?”
I turned around and forced my expression to show nothing but disinterest. But the moment our eyes met, I was sure he could see much more. “I don’t really have time,” I managed. “Class is about to start.”
Tyler looked at Addison in a dismissive way. I felt her touch my shoulder before walking toward our first classroom, but she leaned against the wall to keep me in sight rather than going inside. I looked at her for a long moment, feeling like the space between us was insurmountable. She was my lifeline, and death was staring me in the face.
“I wanted to see if you’re alright.”
The absurdity of Tyler’s words caused my gaze to shift to him in shock.
He lowered his voice after inhaling a deep breath. “Look. I know nothing I say can fix what happened. I just wanted to say that that wasn’t m
e. I don’t do stuff like that.”
If I could have shrunk away into nothing I would have, and it wouldn’t have been voluntary. I wanted to stand tall and firm; to show Tyler I was the only one who came out unscathed; that he was the one who should have been wounded. I wondered if he was trying to make me feel sorry for him.
“You haven’t been at school. I know that’s my fault.”
I stared at him, realizing I hadn’t said anything. Blinking a few times to clear my head, I made sure I spoke firmly: “Don’t think so highly of yourself. I’ve been sick.” My words sounded as bitter and defensive as I felt.
He clamped his jaw shut and his eyes narrowed. “I’m just sorry, alright? I don’t know what came over me. And what were you doing in my bedroom anyway?”
My fists clenched. Was he blaming me for being readily available? Did he see me as a stone in his path to make him stumble? My eyes watered. My stomach churned. I wanted away from him . . . far, far away. I took a step back and glanced at the clock: two minutes until the bell would ring.
“I don’t know how else to ask this.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Are you going to report me?”
My eyes snapped back to him in disbelief. “Is that why you’re apologizing?”
He looked around at students passing by us. “It’s just . . . something like that could ruin my entire future. College, career, everything. Nothing anyone could punish me with would make me feel worse about what I did, May.”
What about my future? What about my life? You’re not sorry! You just don’t want to get caught.
But all I could say was, “I won’t.” It wasn’t to save his future; it was to save mine. I refused to ever be seen as a victim.
Tyler’s face washed over with relief.
The shrill echo of the bell had never been more welcome. I grabbed my book and slammed my locker behind me, making eye contact with Addison as I headed with her into English class.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she whispered when we approached our desks. “The guy?”
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