When I finally do get up, I stand in front of the Grove, staring at the empty spaces. The only noise in my room is Ben’s deep breathing. I go to my desk and grab my sketchpad, excited to capture this moment with Ben lying on my bed, so I can add him to my wall forever. My charcoal pencil sits poised on top of the paper . . . and then I set the sketchpad down. I inwardly wish Katelyn to be alive.
“I fell asleep,” Ben whispers as he pushes himself up on the bed.
My cheeks get hot at the sound of his voice. “Me, too.”
“You have pen on your face.”
“I do?” I check my reflection in the mirror. There are blue faded words on my cheek. I lick my hand and start to rub them away.
“That seems to be a pattern with you.” Ben looks at me through the reflection in the mirror, his eyes clouded with sleep. He stretches his arms over his head, revealing a sliver of skin right above his jeans. I divert my gaze to the ground.
Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He packs up his things and says, “Sorry I totally crashed. It’s just that I have a hard time sleeping at night. I start thinking about everything and . . . ” He trails off.
“Me, too,” I admit.
A look of relief comes over Ben. “You, too?”
I nod, and he smiles. “Well, I guess I should get out of your hair,” he says, tapping the matted bun on my head.
“Are you making a hair joke? Because it’s not funny.”
Ben smiles. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Where?”
“Wherever.”
I pause and then ask, “Can we walk . . . wherever?”
“We can do whatever you want.”
“Do you like free stuff?”
A moment later, Ben and I are headed out the door and into the cool fall air.
Ninny’s face lights up when we walk into Shakedown Street. “Done studying?” She winks at Ben.
“Control your hormones, Ninny. We just want a shake,” I say.
“You both work here?” Ben whispers to me.
“How do you know I work here?”
“I saw your apron in your backpack.”
Ninny leans on the counter, her eyes moving up and down Ben’s clothes. “One shake with two straws? I don’t know. His clothes look pretty wrinkled.”
“They’re always wrinkled.”
“Hey.” Ben nudges me.
I elbow him back. “You’re the one who called me honest.”
“You guys are too cute,” Ninny says, leaning even further over the counter, a goofy grin on her face. She looks like a twelve-year-old kid. “Studying suits you Aspen, baby. I haven’t seen you look this good in weeks. I told you orgasms make you live longer.”
“Ninny!” I yell, but a laugh bursts out of Ben’s lips.
“We just fell asleep,” he says. “I promise. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“You look like that kind of guy.” Ninny smiles.
“Can you get us two Strawberry Fields? Please?” Free food might be awesome, but it’s not worth this torture. “We’re gonna sit outside, away from you. And you should clean the tables before Mickey sees.”
Ninny salutes me and pinches my cheek. Ben and I take a seat at one of the few wire chairs and tables in front of Shakedown Street on the Pearl Street Mall. It’s the kind of mall I like: the outdoor kind that’s really just a pedestrian street with shops and people walking with coffees, all bundled in scarves. And every store door opens directly outside.
“Is it weird that you work together?” Ben asks, sitting down.
“Sometimes.” I zip up my fleece jacket to block the cooler fall air. “But usually I’m just glad she has a job.”
“I like Ninny. She’s not like my parents at all.”
“She’s not like anyone’s parents. I’m sure yours are normal.”
“What’s normal?”
I pull out my phone to look up the definition. “Normal: usual, average or typical.”
“Nope. My parents definitely aren’t normal.”
“What’s not normal about them?”
“For starters, that sentence is plural and I only have one.” Ben leans back in his seat, hugging his arms over his chest to protect himself against the chill. “My mom died after my sister was born.”
“How?”
“Cancer.” Ben doesn’t look at me when he says it.
“How old is your sister?”
“Sam’s ten,” he says.
I sit back in my seat letting the information sink in. Ben’s mom has been dead for ten years. Ninny’s trip to Taos doesn’t seem so bad. And at least I never knew my dad, so I can’t really miss him. I just miss the idea of him. But Ben must remember what his mom looked like, how she sounded and smelled.
“What about your dad?” I ask.
“Still trying to get over it.” Ben’s voice is deep as he looks off at the people walking down the street. “So am I officially an electron or what?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You did fall asleep.”
Ben finally looks back at me. “So did you.”
“Define kinetic energy.”
“Energy that a body possesses by virtue of being in motion.”
“Radiant energy?”
“Energy that is transmitted in the form of electromagnetic radiation.”
“Potential energy?”
“Energy possessed by a body by virtue of its position relative to others.” Ben leans in across the table, a sly grin on his face. “I told you I love definitions.”
I stumble over the next word in my head. Luckily, Ninny comes out with two drinks and sets them down in front of us, breaking up the moment.
“Have a beautiful day,” she says, and winks at Ben.
“Thanks, Ninny.” He takes a sip.
“Speaking of beautiful, my daughter’s not bad to look at.”
I choke, and some of my red shake comes out my nose. “What is wrong with you?”
“Aspen’s not like anyone else I know, that’s for sure,” Ben says.
“What does that mean?” I set my cup down and lean toward Ben.
“I just mean that you’re not like anyone else. You leave dirt on your face. You wear Jesus sandals.” Ben’s voice wobbles as he speaks.
“It wasn’t dirt. It was charcoal,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I just mean you’re unique.” Ben stumbles over his words. “Shit. You lie down in the middle of the road.” He looks at Ninny and back at me.
“That’s my cue,” Ninny says, and exits quickly.
“I’m not saying this right,” Ben says.
“That seems to be a theme with you,” I mumble.
“It’s because you make me nervous.”
I ignore the disappointed feeling in my stomach and focus on the people walking up and down the street. You can find every different kind of person on Pearl Street. Rich, poor, college students, four-piece string bands, homeless bucket drummers by the name of Toaster.
“Aspen, look at me.”
I blink, noticing someone in the crowd. Two people actually.
“Don’t be mad,” Ben says.
My breath picks up as they walk towards us. One—with long brown hair down her back and the hips of a goddess. The other—his hips shift awkwardly, weighed down by the gun and handcuffs clipped to his thick belt.
“I’m not—” but I can’t get the rest of the words out. The closer Officer Hubert and Katelyn get to our table, the blurrier my eyes get, until I think I might pass out. I clasp my hands in my lap when I notice they’re shaking.
“Aspen, it’s good to see you,” Officer Hubert says with a smile. But she just stands there. Silent.
I tap my finger on my leg, focusing on the beat. “Hi,” I choke out, breathless.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.” I force the corners of my mouth upward.
“That’s good. You look good. No more cast.”
“All healed up.” My voice practically squeaks as I hold out my
leg, my finger tapping faster. But I don’t let my eyes shift to her.
“I’ve thought about you a lot,” Officer Hubert says with genuine concern. He tips his Rockies baseball cap to Ben. The same one he wore that night. “Take care,” he says over his shoulder as he makes his way down the street. Katelyn follows and soon she’s lost in the crowd.
“Not a fan of cops?” Ben asks.
“Ninny taught me to be wary of authority.”
“Aspen, what’s wrong?”
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
The corners of Ben’s eyes are pulled down, and he looks pale. He glances at my busy hands. “I can just tell.”
I press my hands against my legs.
“That was the police officer—” Ben starts to say, but I cut him off.
“I’m freezing. It’s too cold to eat this outside.” I stand up and throw my shake out.
Ben doesn’t say a word, just follows suit. He doesn’t bring up Beta Particle or his parents or how I make him nervous again.
CHAPTER 10
Kim and I go shopping on Sunday. I walk around Common Threads, my eyes hanging at half-mast, as I clutch a large chocolate macchiato.
I couldn’t sleep again last night. Officer Hubert’s voice kept ringing in my head. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I looked up Ben’s address on the Internet and walked over to his house. It’s only a few miles from mine. I stood across the street from the one-story box house and waited to see if any lights turned on or if I could see him moving around in the darkness. It’s not like I would have knocked on his door or anything. It just would have been nice to know I wasn’t the only one awake in the darkness.
My legs started to hurt from standing, so I sat down next to a pile of leaves. I’d pick up a handful and crumple them to bits and let them drift off my palm into the wind. After awhile, I ran home and crept back into my house, tiptoeing past a snoring Ninny, asleep on the couch. A joint rested in an ashtray on the coffee table.
“Are you okay?” Kim looks at me sideways as I limp around the store. “You look extra gimp-ish today. Does your leg still hurt?”
The run home in my Birkenstocks caused little blisters to form on my feet. I had to put a bandage on every toe. This morning, I found an old pair of sneakers in the back of my closet. I haven’t put them on since gym class freshman year. “Time for new Birkenstocks.” I shrug.
“Are you sure that’s it?”
I hold up a baby blue puff-sleeved dress. “This one is totally you.”
“If it’ll keep Jason Park away from my boobs, I’ll take it.” Kim skims a rack of dresses. “Uma’s way too proud of this moment. I need to do something disappointing ASAP.”
“You could tell her you’re going to community college,” I offer.
“Jesus, you sadist, I don’t want to give her a heart attack.” Kim and I both laugh.
In the end, we find two dresses, a long, pale pink off-the-shoulder number for me, and a mustard yellow muumuu for Kim.
“If Jason thinks I’m sexy in this, he’s delusional.” Kim gives the cashier ten dollars for her $8.99, male-repellant homecoming frock.
That next day, at my appointment, Dr. Brenda sits in front of me, her trusty notebook on her lap, a new snow globe on her desk. This one has the Seattle Space Needle inside.
“Did you go to Vegas again?” I ask.
“No, that one is actually from Seattle. I spent the weekend at a conference.” Dr. Brenda sips her coffee.
“A head-shrinker conference? Aren’t you worried everyone is psychoanalyzing you?”
“I know they are,” Dr. Brenda laughs and sets her coffee down. “It’s not that different from high school.”
“It’s all a fishbowl.”
“A fishbowl?”
“You know, like the ones at the doctor’s office that kids press their noses against and tap on. Have you ever thought about how the fish feel, being stared at all the time?” I pick at the loose fabric on the couch.
“Do you feel that way?” Dr. Brenda asks.
“Sometimes.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“Like a fish in a fishbowl.” I sound like an ass.
Dr. Brenda makes a note in her notebook, and I cringe. I shouldn’t have said anything. I gaze up at the dead deer head hanging over the door.
“Why can’t we just let go of the dead?” I ask.
“What?” Dr. Brenda sets her pen down.
“That deer. I’m sure if it could talk, it would say, ‘Take me down. I’m sick of sitting up on this pedestal for people to look at.’”
“But it means something to me.”
“So you keep this dead thing around because you can’t bear to let it go? Or maybe you want to admire its perfection. But I’m sure the deer wasn’t perfect. I’m sure it had dirt on its face and bad hair days, too. And I get that it’s complicated and all that. But what does complicated mean? Why can’t we just take the deer off the wall and let it rest in peace?”
I yell the last part. It shocks Dr. Brenda so much that she sits back in her seat and sets down the notebook. It even shocks me. “Sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m nervous about my physics test.”
“Aspen, this isn’t about my father’s taxidermy,” Dr. Brenda says. “This is about you grappling with the fact that a young person was killed in a car accident that involved you.”
“You know what this is about?” I sit forward in my seat. “This is about how one accident has become the accident. My life has been punctuated with a proper moment. But we’ve already established that life is filled with accidents. Hundreds and thousands of moments that I have no control over, because they’re unexpected. And yet, we keep going back to one. Like maybe I can change something or do something different. But I can’t. So what’s the point?”
“Our past and our present can be very firmly linked. Our memories have a way of creeping up on us.”
“Not if we don’t let them.” I stand up and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “Mind if I leave early? I need to study.”
“For your physics test?”
“Yeah.”
Dr. Brenda nods as I walk to the door. Before I can close it, she stops me and says, “If life is totally out of our control, Aspen, why study for a test? Think about it.”
Mr. Salmon hands a Scantron sheet to each student who walks through the door, announcing we have 45 minutes to answer 200 multiple choice questions. “If you think I’m grading an essay my last year of teaching, you’re crazy.” Then he sits down behind his desk and reads The Denver Post.
Ben looks up at me as I walk to our joint desk. He doesn’t say a word, but pushes a folded piece of paper towards me. I open it and find a hand-drawn picture of an emblem: a bunch of red and blue circles clustered together, and two circles jumping out of the back. It reads: Official Electron for Beta Particle: Let the radioactive revolution begin.
“Did you draw this?”
Ben nods, a sly grin on his face. “Sorry for being a jerk.”
I stare down at the poorly drawn picture and smile back. Taking a mint from my purse, I hand it to Ben under the desk. He pops it in his mouth as Mr. Salmon begins to pass out the test.
After class, as I’m taping the picture to the inside of my locker door, Suzy comes up behind me.
“Beta Particle. What’s that?”
“It’s a joke,” I say, practically caressing the picture.
“Do you want to take my car or yours?”
“Take your car where?” I close my locker door.
“Dress shopping, silly.”
“I already have a dress,” I say as a vague memory pops into my head: me, agreeing to go shopping with Suzy, even though I’m not sure I actually agreed. I think I grunted and walked away. “And I can’t—” But Suzy cuts me off.
“I already told Twitter we’re going.” She looks so excited; she’s practically bouncing on her toes.
“I forgot to tell my boss I can’t work.” But th
e bouncing doesn’t stop. “I guess I could get a new shirt. Can we swing by Shakedown Street?”
Suzy claps and grabs my backpack, dragging me out the doors of the school.
We drive in her black SUV over to Shakedown Street. When we walk in the door, Suzy’s jaw falls open and she says, “This place is rad.”
I leave her to look around, and find Ninny in the back storage room. She gives me a wad of cash and tells me to buy something pretty. I count the money, and realize it’s a bunch of one-dollar bills. Ten one-dollar bills, to be exact. I stuff the money in my pocket, thanking Ninny for any type of donation.
Suzy and I search rack after rack of clothes at Nordstrom in Cherry Creek Mall. I peel through the clothes, unsure what I’m supposed to be looking for. I already have a dress for the dance.
“So do you know where you’re going next year?” Suzy asks, looking through a stack of black dresses.
“I’m going somewhere?” I say.
“College, silly.” She adds a short black strapless number to the pile of dresses slumped over her arm.
“I’m not going to college.”
Suzy stops in her tracks. “Everyone goes to college.”
“Not everyone. Starving teenagers in Africa don’t go to college. The majority of India doesn’t go to college. I’m pretty sure this whole college push is an American thing.”
“But you’re American,” Suzy whispers like it’s a secret. “I thought for sure you’d be off to art school in New York or something.”
“Nothing’s ever for sure,” I mumble to myself as I examine a rack of designer jeans. “Are you ready to try those on?” I ask.
In the dressing room, I take a seat on a bench next to a full-length mirror. Suzy locks herself in one of the stalls with all her potential dresses and shuffles around behind the closed door. All I can see is her feet as she takes off her pants and slips on dress after dress. She finally comes out in a super short black silk dress. It looks more like lingerie. She walks over to the mirror to investigate.
“So I’m going to the dance with Aiden,” Suzy says, twisting and turning to see every angle of her body. “And I like him, but I don’t like-like him. He’s just a friend. What do you think?”
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