by Kasie West
Cooper’s eyes shot to the ground, then met mine again. He knew. “Why did you write it on here to begin with then?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Since I’d already accomplished it, I wrote it down. I wanted to feel like I had at least a little depth, I guess.”
He nodded slowly. We were going to move past this quickly. Continue to ignore what had happened a year ago. I could tell. I could linger. Say something. But I’d already done that once. If his feelings were different than they had been a year ago, it was his turn to put them out there.
“What about you? Can you check ‘have your heart broken’ off your list?” I honestly didn’t know the answer to that question. I’d been a witness to pretty much all of his relationships, but I had no idea if he’d ever truly been in love with a girl before. He’d never told me he had, so I assumed he hadn’t.
“No. I can’t,” he said. I was surprised by the relief that coursed through my body.
He jumped onto my bed next to me, back first, and opened up his book.
My phone buzzed with a new email. I pulled it up. Nobody emailed me except my dad, so I wasn’t surprised to see his name in my inbox.
“Your dad?” Cooper asked, peering over the top of his book at me.
“Yeah.” I read the email to myself.
To my daughter, who is better than any of my other daughters at emailing me. From her dad, who couldn’t get to a computer for a few days.
Why haven’t I made you watch the sunrise before? Have you ever tried waking yourself up at five a.m.? That’s your answer. I’m glad I don’t have to ask twenty questions about Elliot, because I can’t think of twenty questions to ask. Well, except tell me his last name so I can run a background check. What about that other boy in your life? What’s his name? Your mom says he still comes around a lot. I hope he’s treating you nice. We’re going to be busy here for the next couple of weeks moving locations. Sorry in advance if I can’t email/call as often as normal. It sounds like you’re keeping yourself busy with your list. Make sure you update me, I like to hear about your adventures.
I smiled and pointed to my desk, which was closer to Cooper. “Can you hand me my laptop?”
He reached over and grabbed it, then set it on my legs. “What’s the news from your dad?”
“Not much. He doesn’t really tell me a lot of what’s happening over there in email for security reasons. So it’s mostly just him asking about me.”
“Does your dad like me? I can never tell when he’s home.”
“My dad likes you.”
“Good, because he’s a little scary.”
I laughed. “He’s harmless.”
I opened my laptop and typed a response, hoping he’d get it before they had to move their camp.
From your only daughter, who, if she found out others existed, would fight them to the death to maintain that title. Ha. Ha. Two laughs. One for the background-check idea and one for you pretending not to know Cooper’s name. Thanks for those. You know I like to laugh. As for an update, I’m crawling my way through Crime and Punishment and nearing the end. I tried dried crickets. I don’t recommend them, but they do taste decent with ice cream. Mr. Wallace is having me take a preschool group through the museum on Saturday, so that should be fun. And I decided to go on a date with Elliot No Last Name. I’m only telling you because I know Mom will. It’s not a big deal. Also, be safe!!! XOXO
Before I closed my laptop, I clicked on a saved tab at the top of the screen.
“You know,” Cooper said when the new page came up, “you could actually just send in an application instead of staring at that page every time you get on the computer . . . or your phone.”
“I will. I’m waiting to see how the showcase plays out though. I need a sale.”
Cooper jammed his finger onto my screen. “Recommended requirements. Last I checked the word recommended meant optional.”
“Lots of people apply for the winter program. I want to give myself every advantage.”
“Stalling,” Cooper coughed out.
“I am not.”
“We should finish the list so you can show Mr. Wallace your paintings and have no more excuses.”
I ignored his jab this time and said, “You’re right. Let’s do one of the ‘try something new’ items, since we have a couple of those left to do.” And saying that out loud reminded me of something. “Did you ever take Iris to that underground garden? That would count for you.”
“No, she didn’t want to do that. We ended up at the movie on the beach.”
“Hey, the beach movie is our thing.”
“I know. I’m sorry. She didn’t want to go to the gardens.”
I swallowed down my hurt. “What kind of monster are you going out with?”
He smacked me on the shoulder once with his book, then opened it. I opened my book as well, then let my left hand fall against his right arm and rest there. When he took twice as long to turn the page of his book one-handed, rather than move his arm, I smiled, but like always, didn’t let myself read into it too much.
Cooper left close to ten, and I went to Mom’s room, where she was hanging clothes.
“Hey,” I said. “I have a complaint to file.”
“Listening,” she said.
“How come when Cooper and Dad are around, you have no problem walking to the park, but when it’s just us, you can’t?”
She paused with a shirt halfway on its hanger and scrunched up her nose. “I go out a lot with just you.”
“But more when they are here.”
“I don’t know. They both have a relaxed way about them. It rubs off on me, I guess.”
“But I don’t?”
“You do, hon.”
I crossed my arms. “Apparently I’m not the only one attached to Cooper.”
“He is a nice boy. I have no issues with him, aside from the fact that he likes to drag my daughter’s heart around.”
“I’m the one attaching my heart to his leash.”
She gave me a thin-lipped smile but didn’t argue.
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“That’s good.”
I watched her add more shirts to hangers and stack them on her bed. I was constantly trying to downplay the fact that Mom didn’t go anywhere to Grandpa and Cooper and Dad. Convince them that she could have a fulfilling life without venturing beyond the four walls of our house. That it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t, but I was beginning to realize that sometimes it wasn’t about her. If I were being honest with myself, I knew that sometimes it was about me. I could remember only a handful of my events she’d attended in the past, and only because my dad was there.
“What?” she asked when she noticed me still standing there.
I sighed and lowered myself onto her bed. “Mom.”
She turned, giving me her full attention.
I played with a hanger on the stack of clothes, nervous about what I was about to say. “If I complete this list and somehow gain a depth of emotion that makes me paint like Picasso, will you come to the gallery to see my paintings on display?”
She hesitated, and disappointment hovered around me.
I should’ve just dropped it, said never mind. But that painting I’d done with her just outside the spotlight, watching me audition, gave me a vision of what it could be like seeing her at the art show, so I pushed on. “Dad can’t come, being gone and all. But Cooper will be there, and Grandpa. It will be like having your own bubble of protection. You’ll be surrounded by familiar, relaxed people.”
She pressed her lips together, and I could see the tension on her face, but she said, “Yes, honey. I would love to see your display.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
I smiled big and jumped up to give her a hug. “Now I just have to get Mr. Wallace to let me in the show.”
“He will, my brilliant daughter,” she said rubbing my back. “He will.”
EIGHTEEN
There’s this place downtown where you can sit with your feet in water and little fish come and eat the dead skin off your toes.
And you’re telling me this, why? Cooper responded.
The list. Trying something new. I needed a new painting stat, and I couldn’t think of anything. It was time to force myself to think way outside the box.
My sister has a goldfish. You can stick your foot in its bowl if this sounds like fun to you.
Nope. Fish spa.
Sounds lame.
I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas.
My brain is still thinking.
Well I’m going to try this anyway. With or without you. I still have three more new things to try, right?
Without me.
Are you scared of fish? Wouldn’t I know this if he were? But I didn’t know. Maybe I’d found his fear and I’d force him to do this with me.
No. I’m not.
Come with me, you punk.
Race today. Must mentally prepare myself to be even more awesome than I already am.
Fine.
I’ll see you at my race.
“I’m going to the fish spa,” I declared as I entered the living room. Grandpa and Mom were sitting on the couch. Grandpa had the television on. Mom had her laptop open. “Who’s coming with me?”
“Fish spa?” Mom asked.
“Little fish eat the dead skin off your feet.”
“Fish? Can’t you just use a loofah?” she asked.
“It’s an experience.”
“Won’t you catch some sort of infection?” Mom held up her foot and wiggled her bare toes.
“I don’t think so.”
Grandpa stood. “I’ll go.”
“Mom?” She was typing into the computer in a way that made me worried she was looking up the safety of fish spas.
“No, thank you. I’m writing an email to your father.”
“Tell him I said hi and tell him about the fish.”
She nodded without looking up. “I will.”
Grandpa and I sat on the tile edge of the long, trough-like pool of shallow water. The place didn’t smell like fish. It smelled like incense, and chlorine from the hot tub we had passed on our way to this room. In the water, Grandpa’s feet were surrounded by fish. “You must have more dead skin because you’re old,” I said. My feet were unadorned.
“I am the perfect age,” he said.
“The perfect age for fish.”
He ruffled my hair.
The water was a little colder than room temperature, and the coolness felt like it was traveling up my legs.
“What’s it feel like?” I asked.
“It tickles.”
“Come here, little fish,” I said, inching my left foot closer to Grandpa’s right. A single fish, appearing warped from the movement of the water, worked its way over to me. My shoulders tensed as it got closer. And just as it was about to nibble, I let out a yelp and yanked my feet out of the water.
Grandpa laughed. “What’s this? Scared?”
“No, it just surprised me.”
“It surprised you? You watched it the entire time.”
“Okay, fine, I saw it coming, but it scared me when it finally got close.”
He nodded toward my still-raised legs. “Try again. You can do it.”
They were just fish. Little ones, at that. I took a deep breath and slowly put my feet back in. The single fish that had braved the trip to my feet before had left, so now I had to wait once again. It was the waiting that was the most nerve-racking. The waiting and watching the impending approach. This time I kept my feet in. This time I felt the slight tickle of the fish as it made contact over and over again.
“That doesn’t hurt at all,” I said.
“I told you it wouldn’t.”
“I thought you were bending the truth.”
This is when I thought Grandpa would be offended, or at least fake offense, that I had suggested he would lie to me. But he just shook his head a little and smiled.
I stared at the fish for a long time before saying, “I asked Mom to come to my art show last night . . . I mean, if I end up getting in the show.”
“You did?” he asked.
“She didn’t tell you?” That worried me. They talked about everything.
“Maybe it slipped her mind.”
I wiggled my toes a little, but the fish stayed put. “Do you think she’ll come?”
“I’ll come.” He smiled over at me.
“You don’t think she’ll come?”
“I think she’ll try very hard.”
More fish surrounded my feet now. “She promised. And when she promises, she always follows through.”
“You’re right. She does.”
Grandpa and I had hit traffic on the way home from the spa and I barely made Cooper’s race for the second time. I found his family and was surprised to see an addition to the little group—Iris. At least, it looked like the girl I remembered seeing once, briefly. She was cuter than I remembered. Her brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and she was holding a sign with Cooper’s name on it. I lowered my sign to my side and finished my walk a little slower.
“Hey,” I said when I reached them.
Amelia hopped up and down, then gave me a hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“I know. I haven’t been to your house lately. Sorry.”
“Have you met Iris?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“No,” Iris said at the same time I said, “Yes.”
“We have?” she asked.
“I was at the movie night on the beach a few weeks ago.”
“Was that you?” She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I shook her extended hand. “I’m Abby.”
“Are you friends with Cooper?” she asked.
She didn’t know I was friends with Cooper? He’d never mentioned me? I tilted my head, studying her expression. She looked completely serious. They really hadn’t hung out that much. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Yes, I am.”
She nodded with a smile.
“Looks like they’re starting,” Mr. Wells said.
“Oh!” Iris turned her attention back to the course. “This is so exciting.”
“Have you never watched a race on the dunes before?”
“No. This is my first time.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“No, we moved here two years ago from Ohio.”
“Wait, do you go to Pacific High?” I’d never seen her around school before, but I didn’t know everyone. I was middle-of-the-road popularity-wise.
“No, I go to Dalton Academy,” she said. Dalton was the private school right on the beach. It had marine biology classes, and surfing could replace normal PE.
“Oh, cool. Do you like it?”
“It’s amazing.”
The man holding the red flag lowered it, and the drivers were off.
“Which one is Cooper?” Iris asked.
I pointed. “The bright-green helmet.”
She stood up on her tiptoes and let out a squeal. Cooper took a jump and landed front-tires first, his back tires airborne for a few seconds longer. Iris gasped from beside me.
“Don’t worry,” I said, sensing the anxiety that I knew so well. “He was born on the dunes.”
She laughed. “That’s what he said.”
“Right . . .” Of course he would tell her that too.
This wasn’t the first time a girl had shown up to watch Cooper. But seeing her there, so comfortable with his family, so excited about his race, this was the first time I felt like I was the outsider, the one who didn’t belong here.
Cooper finished in first, like he always did, and Iris went wild, causing Mr. and Mrs. Wells to smile.
I glanced at my phone. I needed to shower and get a little more professional for the museum tour, plus I still had the drawings the preschool teacher had brought in to hang, but I had over an hour, so I
could stay and at least say hi to Cooper. Maybe his presence would make things feel normal again. We all walked to the trailer where he would meet us.
“That was fun. He’s good,” Iris said, falling in step beside me as we walked.
“Yes, he is. Fearless.”
Cooper was already at the trailer, helmet off, when we got there. The first thing he did was give Iris a hug. “I like your sign.”
She let out a happy yelp.
“Did you meet Abby?” he asked.
“Yes, we met,” Iris said. I waited for her to say something like, why have you never told me about Abby before? But she didn’t. I waited for him to say something like, she’s my best friend in the world. But he didn’t.
“Are we going out to celebrate?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“I have to run, but have fun,” I said.
“Where are you going?” Cooper asked me. “You don’t want to celebrate?”
“I have that museum preschool group thing, remember?”
“Oh, right.” He gave me a side hug.
I pushed him away a little. “Ew. You’re sweaty.”
He laughed. “It’s hot. And this is ‘winner glow.’”
“Congrats on your win. I’ll see you later?”
“Yes. For sure.”
I said bye to everyone else and left with only one backward glance. It wasn’t a good move on my part, because all I saw was Cooper giving Iris another hug and his family all smiles.
“Are you a painter?” It was the second time the little girl had asked me that question. I had led the group and their parents through over half of the museum at a faster rate than I would’ve an older group. I was surprised their attention spans had lasted this long. This was the first tour I had personally led, but I’d watched what felt like a thousand. I didn’t think I’d be this excited to lead one, but I was enjoying opening their eyes to art, even if they weren’t quite getting it. A little boy in the back of the group head-butted his mom’s leg over and over. I sensed I was seconds from losing them. But this little girl, the one in the front, with big brown eyes and pigtails, was paying attention. And apparently she knew a nonanswer when she heard one, because she didn’t accept my “I like art” answer.
