Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse (10 page)

Forever.

“Where to?” Trevor asks

After a few minutes of silence.

He’s been driving aimlessly,

Turning right, then

Left, then

Right.

I wish I had long hair like I used to, so

I could hide behind it

Like I used to.

“Wings?” he says

Just as I say,

“I miss her.”

“I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU,”

Were Mom’s parting words to Rose

When she moved out of our house and

In with Darren Youngblood.

I didn’t know until that day that

My mom was a coward.

She waited until Dad left on a business trip

To move out.

She packed all day the first day,

Her face as still as stone,

Her voice mute.

The second day,

The moving van came,

Taking her boxes,

Her wardrobe,

Her jewelry, and

Her photos.

She called in Gramma-Linda

On the third day.

She bent down and hugged Rose.

“I will always love you.”

Gramma-Linda had stood sentinel

Near the front door.

She’d smoothed my hair,

Held me close, and

Told me everything would be all right.

Mom barely looked at me,

Barely spoke.

And then she left.

COWARD

Is what I wrote in my journal

That night.

I knew my mother was one, and

I wondered if I was too.

Why didn’t I say something sooner?

Why didn’t I do anything?

Maybe I could’ve saved my parents’ marriage.

Maybe I could have—

The entry stops there, but

I’m still wondering if I’m brave enough

To do hard things.

Gramma-Linda stayed with me and Rose

For a week after Mom left,

Before Dad returned from his business trip.

She talked all the time,

Telling Rose that Mom still loved her,

That she would always love her,

That just because she didn’t live here anymore

Didn’t mean she’d stopped caring.

Dad called every night and

Told us about Chicago and

How good the hot dogs were.

Rose cried on the phone every night and

Asked me if Dad was really coming home or

If he’d leave us the way Mom did.

I soothed my sister with songs and

Hot chocolate.

I did not lie to her the way

Gramma-Linda did,

The way Mom had.

Because she didn’t love us,

At least not as much as she loved Darren Youngblood.

“THERE.”

I point across my body,

Almost jabbing Trevor’s arm.

“That house. It’s perfect.”

Trevor pulls over and

Squints at the structure.

“It’s one wind storm from falling down.”

“Like I said,

Perfect.”

I get out of the car,

Shoulder my bag, and

Step around the NO TRESPASSING sign.

“Wings, you can’t be serious.”

Trevor hurries after me.

“We could get in trouble.”

“Are you worried?”

I toss him a smirk over my shoulder.

“Yes,” he says.

“If I get in trouble,

I can’t play football.”

I pause, considering.

Playing football to Trevor

Is like breathing.

If he can’t do it,

He’ll die.

The porch of the dilapidated house

Sags;

The paint on the front door is

Peeling;

The brick is weathered and

Crumbling.

“This has character,” I say,

Almost a whine in my voice.

“It’s perfect.”

Trevor comes to stand beside me.

“So you’re saying I have

Perfect character.”

I roll my eyes,

Knowing I’ve got him,

At least for a few minutes.

“I’m saying we better shoot this

Before the cops come by.”

“JUST ONE MORE,”

I tell Trevor.

“You’ve said that at least ten times.”

I’ve taken at least two hundred shots

Of him, but

I don’t have the right one yet.

I got him sitting on the porch, and

Leaning against that blue door, and

Posing in front of the textured brick.

I’ve used the flash, and

Opened the aperture, and

Adjusted his clothes.

We’ve been here an hour, and

He was done after the first thirty minutes.

“I can’t use any of these,” I tell him, and

He glances skyward as if

God will grant him patience.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Come on,” I say.

“Just a couple more.”

I step toward the front door,

Wondering if it’s locked.

“Whoa, we’re not going in there.”

He moves to block me.

“Yes, we are,” I say,

Swatting his outstretched arm out of my way.

I scan him from head to toe.

“It’s the ideal juxtaposition.

You, all put together and…whatever, and

This house all falling apart.”

“So you’re saying opposites attract.”

I brush past him and test the door.

It swings open, and

I enter.

“I’m saying persistence pays off.

Now get in here.”

“Persistence,” he mutters behind me.

I smother the smile that rises to my face

When I hear his footsteps.

The living room is picked pretty bare, but

There’s an old dining table in the kitchen.

“There.” I direct him to the table and

Have him sit down.

“No…stand back up.

Maybe just sit on it…

Not all the way on it,

Just one cheek…

Yeah, like that.”

He crosses his arms, and

A strange glint has entered his eye.

I lift the camera,

Adjust the focal length, and

Snap the picture.

“Will you go out with me?” he asks as

I step to the side to get a different angle.

I almost drop my camera.

“What? No.”

My hands shake the slightest bit, but

I manage to get off a few more shots.

The pictures are the best I’ve taken, but

It’s not because of the lighting, or

The technique, or

The lens.

It’s because Trevor is finally in the moment.

His mind is alive,

Seething,

Working through how he can get me to go out with him.

I can see it through my one-hundred twenty millimeter lens, and

I don’t like it.

Not one little bit.

“CRAP.”

Trevor isn’t the only one who hears the sirens.

We hold each other’s eyes for a long moment, then

We spring into action together, like

We’ve rehearsed every getaway scenario

Together.

He helps me pack my lens and

Flash equipment before

Jumping in the driver’s seat.

“Go,” I say as I fling myself in the passenger seat.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He flips the gearshift into drive, and

Floors it.

I turn toward the window and

Smile, because

It feels like Trevor and I just got away with something dangerous.

Together.

“WE COULD JUST GO SEE A MOVIE,”

He says after putting ten minutes of driving distance between

Us and the abandoned house.

“No funny business, I promise.

Friends go to movies together, you know.”

“Right,” I scoff. “On Saturday night.

That’s not a date or anything.”

I stare determinedly out my window,

My smile gone,

My arms folded.

“Not a date,” he confirms.

“You’d go with Jacey, right?”

I tighten my jaw as

I tighten my arms.

“My mom will be mad.”

“Like you care if she’s upset.”

“I do,” I say,

Suddenly very,

Very angry.

“You have no idea what I care about.”

I suddenly hate myself for saying those words, because

I’ve heard my mom say them to my dad.

I hated her when she said them too,

When she told him he didn’t know her,

Didn’t make an effort to like what she liked, and

Therefore, she couldn’t be married to him anymore.

I hate the things I see in myself that come from her, including

Wanting to be with a Youngblood.

“I know you come alive behind that camera.”

Trevor doesn’t slow down enough for the right turn he takes, and

I almost fly into the window.

“I know you care—”

“Shut up!” I yell.

“You do
not
know what I care about, or

Don’t care about.”

My chest heaves, and

I feel hot everywhere.

“You have not been part of my life for

A long time, and

You do not—

Know me.”

“I know more than you think.”

His voice is tight,

Controlled,

Unlike mine which

Has pitched too high and

Come out too loud.

He’s driving so fast, and

I’m so furious, and

For a few terrible minutes,

I think that’s it,

That he won’t say anything else,

That he’ll simply speed to his dad’s and

Drop me off.

Then he slows,

Turns away from the Youngbloods, and

Picks his way toward my house.

He stops in the driveway, but

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

It’s my mom’s weekend, and

She’ll be pissed if I stay here.

“You’re wrong,” Trevor says to his window.

“I
do
know you;

I know everything about you,

Down to the pencil-thin lines on your toes, and

The reason you cut your hair so short.

I know you do that to make your mom mad, and

I know you get tattoos to teach yourself a lesson.

I know you love Rose more than anything, and

I know you blame your mom for more than you should.

I know you have a strange affinity for lemon sorbet, and

I know you adore absolutely everything about photography.

You’re a good cook;

A good student;

A good friend.”

His voice finally wisps into silence, which

Is only broken as

I start to cry.

“DID JACEY TELL YOU ABOUT THE TATTOOS?”

I ask after I’ve managed to stem the tears.

I’m not sure if I was crying because

He does know me, or

If I’m angry he knows about my lemon sorbet fetish, and

My tattoos, and

That I blame Mom for not just some things, but

For everything.

He doesn’t understand;

Jacey doesn’t either.

I will not be like my mother, and

Every time I see her,

I’m reminded of how much

I am exactly like her.

“Well? Did she?” I ask again,

Hoping for something else to focus on besides

The fact that my mom—a beast—left my dad—a good guy.

Beasts do not deserve good guys, and

I will not destroy Trevor

The way my mom ruined my dad.

Trevor shakes his head,

A movement I can barely see, because

Darkness has descended.

“I know you, Wings,” he says.

“Whether you like it or not,

Whether you’ll admit it or not.”

He turns toward me now, and

There is nothing between us.

No secrets.

No lies.

No masks.

No camera.

I wish I could see inside his mind and

Find out what he’s thinking.

Right now, he looks vulnerable,

Yet strong.

“I want to be with you,” he says,

Laying it all out.

Click.

I see the desperation in his face.

Click.

I see him wipe it away,

Shut himself off.

“Another thing I know:

You want to be with me too.”

I open my mouth to protest, but

The words die.

He’s already seen into my soul

And my soul

Doesn’t lie.

“You should set up that camera

To take some selfies,” he says,

The self-assured Trevor returning as

He smiles.

“You’re always bragging about how you can

See the soul through your lens.

Maybe then you’d be able to see yourself and

What you really want.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I say, but

The words have no anger behind them because

He might be right.

He’s been right about so much already.

“So I’ll wait,” he says,

Reaching for the keys and

Starting the car.

He pulls into the street and

Makes his way to his dad’s.

“I can be patient… and

What did you say?

Persistent.”

“I HATE HIM,”

I whisper to myself as I lean away

From the computer.

The picture I’m working on came out of the camera

Nearly perfect.

Trevor, half leaning, half sitting

On that beat-up kitchen table,

Grinning at me like he knows he’ll get what he wants

One way or

The other.

His arms are crossed, saying

Say what you want,

We’ll still be together.

At the same time,

The skin around his eyes is puckered because

He’s thinking really hard about

How
he can get what he wants.

The contrast between what his body is saying and

What his eyes are conveying

Is sheer perfection for my portfolio.

The table is stained,

Dirty, and

Drab in every way.

Trevor is polished,