Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse (4 page)

She could buy my love

With designer jeans and sparkles.

That’s another funny thing about love.

It can’t be purchased,

Coerced,

Taken,

Imagined.

It has to be felt,

Earned,

Cultivated.

I wonder if Mom has fallen out of love

With me too.

“Honey?” Dad’s voice comes through the line,

Insanely curious,

Smudged with worry.

“It’s fine, Dad,” I muster,

“I’ll survive.”

I hang up,

Knowing I’ve disappointed him

By staying silent.

I just can’t find the words

To tell him

That it’s my fault

Mom left.

My doing that she met Darren Youngblood

In the first place.

My eyes who first saw them kissing

At the dock.

My silence that bought our family

Another year together.

My lies that ruined

My relationship with Trevor,

Dad’s marriage,

Rose’s chance at having a real mom,

Our family.

ARE YOU GOING TO STAY IN YOUR ROOM ALL WEEKEND?

Trevor texts

Around noon on Saturday.

I don’t respond to him, but

Call Harris to come get me.

“THIS IS NEW,”

Harris says as we drive away from

The Youngblood’s.

“I’ve gotten used to our

Every-other-weekend schedule.”

“Sorry,” I say,

“Did you have something else going on?”

It suddenly occurs to me

That Harris could be cheating on me,

Every other weekend,

With another girl.

“Not really,” he says.

“Playing Halo, you know,

Busy stuff.”

I smile

Without showing my teeth,

Not sure what to even say.

Harris doesn’t ask,

Just drives.

He takes me to a movie,

Something that makes me squeeze his hand tight,

Because I won’t have to speak.

Harris seems to know exactly

When I need to talk, and

When I don’t.

After previews and popcorn,

After the hero is on the run,

I lift the armrest between us, and

Cuddle into Harris.

He squeezes my shoulder, and

Kisses the top of my head.

I turn my mouth to meet his, and

Try to drown out my fears by

Kissing my boyfriend.

“YOU’RE LATE,”

Are the first words I hear

Upon arriving back at the Youngblood’s house.

The voice belongs to my mother and

Comes from the shadows in the living room.

The lamp snaps to life and

Illuminates my mom.

She stands,

Wearing a pair of purple satin pajamas.

From a distance,

She looks perfect,

Polished.

Up close,

I see the imperfections:

The pilling of fabric along the seams,

The hair that refuses to be tamed, and

The crinkles around her eyes.

Strangers come into the house, and

Exclaim over its magnificence,

Its cleanliness,

Its grandeur.

Their eyes sweep over

The garbage disposal that doesn’t drain right, and

The scuffs along the baseboards, and

The dust on the too-high-to-reach light fixtures.

I see all of that, and

More.

From the outside,

My mom looks like she has a perfect life,

A perfect house.

From this close,

I see the truth:

She traded in a family

For money,

And she’s no happier than she was before.

Something different didn’t help, and

I wonder when she’ll leave

The Youngbloods

In search of what she’s looking for,

But still can’t find.

“WELL?”

She places one hand on her narrow hip, and

Skates her eyes down the length of my body.

“You cannot simply leave this house

Without telling anyone where you’re going, and

When you’ll be back.”

“I told someone where I was going, and

When I’d be back.

It just wasn’t you.”

“Olivia!”

She throws her hands into the air.

“Texting your father does not count.

It’s
my
weekend.”

Something unfolds inside my body,

A monster,

An animal, and

Claws through my stomach and

Up my throat.

“When you left us a year ago,

You gave up the privilege of knowing

Anything about me.”

Anger blazes in Mom’s expression, and

I can tell she’s fighting her own monster.

“I just want to know you’re safe.”

“I was fine.

I
am
fine.”

“Where were you?

Who were you with?”

I squint at her,

Hoping to see her more clearly.

I can’t.

She is so far removed from me,

It’s as if a continent separates us.

“Olivia.”

Her voice carries only warning,

Not compassion,

Not worry,

Not concern.

“I was with Harris!” I yell,

Not caring that it’s two o’clock in the morning.

This house is huge, and

The people here probably sleep

With those machines that simulate the sound of the ocean.

“We drove around a little,

Went to a movie, and

Then had hot sex in the back of his car!”

My chest heaves,

The monster inside is desperate to come out and

Scratch my mother’s vocal chords from her throat.

“Is that what you wanted to know,
Mom
?”

She stumbles back a step,

One hand clutching her heart.

“You didn’t.

Tell me you’re lying.”

“Why do you care?” I ask.

I take my raging emotions, and

Tighten them back into the box

I’ve so carefully used for the past year.

“At least I’m not married to someone else but

Sleeping with him.”

I don’t wait for her response, because

I think I may have just stepped over an invisible line, and

I’m scared at how satisfied I feel.

“IS THAT REALLY TRUE?”

Trevor’s voice pierces the darkness

Outside the bedroom I share with Rose.

Upstairs, quiet reigns.

Rose left our door open, but

I didn’t wake her with my tantrum.

“You sleeping with Harris.

Is that really true?”

His silhouette dances with

The moonlight spilling through his room.

The monster flees, but

I keep my feelings from showing on my face.

“I mean, you’ve been dating him for

Eight months, but…”

Trevor lets his words die in the night, and

I have nothing to add.

I’m trying to figure out why Trevor

Knows how long I’ve been dating Harris.

I barely know that.

“Please,” Trevor begs, and

I hear the compassion,

Concern, and

Worry

In his voice.

Everything I wanted to hear in Mom’s.

“I have to know if you’re sleeping with him.”

“No, I’m not.”

The truth leaks from me, and

I’m not sure why.

Truth is a dangerous thing.

It can free a person, and

When spoken plainly

Can build trust.

When hidden, the truth

Can destroy relationships,

Families,

Lives.

“I didn’t think so,” he says,

Relief plain in his tone.

“What does that mean?” I demand.

The animal inside me thrashes again.

“You think the artsy, photographer girl

Can’t arouse the soccer star?”

“No, it means I don’t have to beat him up.”

“Why do you care?” I’m thrilled in a weird way at the thought of

Trevor punching Harris

For sleeping with me, but

Mostly confused that Trevor cares.

“We’re not friends.

You and I aren’t…together.”

He takes a step toward me, and

I see that it’s tentative,

Giving me a chance to escape if I want to.

I hold my ground,

Neither ready to run

Nor committed to staying.

“We used to be friends,” he says.

“And we used to be together, and

I miss you.”

He threads his fingers through mine, and

The feelings I have now aren’t

In the same realm as anger,

Or frustration,

Or fear.

His hand in mine

Feels warm and safe,

Completely unlike the frantic desperation

That courses through me when I’m with Harris.

He tugs me toward his room, and

I seize,

Thinking of Rose alone in our bedroom,

My mom’s watchful eyes, and

Harris’s willingness to wipe my mind clean

Through his kisses.

“I’M NOT SLEEPING WITH YOU EITHER,”

I say,

Every muscle in my body locked.

I am not following Trevor into his bedroom.

His chuckle is low,

Sexy.

It causes warmth to slide through my body, and

Reminds me of when we used to lie

Next to the lake,

Fingers tangled,

Eyes on the clouds,

Laughing, and

Talking, and

Kissing.

I remember the way he used to look at me,

With desire,

Not so unlike Harris.

I remember how his mouth felt against mine,

Soft yet insistent,

Completely unlike Harris,

Who kisses me with too much tension and

Too many clashes of teeth.

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” Trevor says,

His feet still shuffling in the direction of his room.

“I mean, I do, but not tonight.”

“Not ever,” I say,

“Because we’re not together.

I have a boyfriend, and

He’s not you.”

I keep my feet glued to the carpet.

“You and Harris won’t last forever.”

The gentle hiss of Trevor’s voice

Sends a tremor racing underneath my skin.

“You don’t know that,” I hiss back,

Mine much more menacing.

“Oh, but I do, Wings.”

He tugs on my hand again, and

I yank my fingers out of his.

“Come on,” he pleads,

“We’re not going to my room.

How about the terrace?”

All I can ask is,

“This place has a terrace?”

“I LOVE THE STARS.”

Trevor sits beside me,

Having released his grip as soon as we stepped onto the terrace.

He hasn’t spoken in ten minutes, and

I’d just started to drift.

“Mmm,” is all I can muster.

I don’t even bother to open my eyes

To see the magnificence of the stars.

Minutes pass, but

His simple statement has pulled me from the edge of sleep.

“What were you and Jacey talking about?” I ask.

“Jacey?”

“Yeah, yesterday morning,

Before first period.

I saw you guys arguing.”

My eyes open bleary but

Quickly focus on his moonlit face.

I have not allowed myself to look at him so openly

Since our parents got married,

Not even through the lens of my camera.

I think of what images I could capture here,

Now,

On his terrace with his face highlighted by the moon.

His jaw is pronounced and smooth;

His eyes wide and bright.

He doesn’t notice me looking,

At least for the first few seconds.

When he notices,

He lets me look, and

Search, and

Examine.

Through the shadows around his face,

I can see all the way to the bottom of him.

I don’t know what I expect to find, but

It’s not helplessness, or

Vulnerability.

My fingers itch to use a manual flash,

Adjust my shutter speed,

Set the aperature, and

Solidify who he is.

“Jacey told me I had no chance with you,”

Trevor says,

Finally tearing his eyes away from my scrutiny.

“I disagreed.”

JACEY’S RIGHT

Sits on the tip of my tongue,

Unspoken, untasted.

No matter how much I want to be with him, and

No matter how sincere his words sound,

Jacey’s right.

I want to believe he misses me,

That he would be with me if things were different.

But I can’t, because those thoughts hold too much hope, and

Hope is a painful thing.

He leans forward,

Hands on knees,

Eyes on stars.

He turns toward me

As if in slow motion.

Trevor’s hand comes closer, and

Closer, and

Closer.

I don’t move mine,

Though my brain is screaming at me.

His fingers land warm and soft on mine,

Much the way I imagine falling in love to feel.

I swallow.

Blink.

Look into the depths of his eyes, and

Breathe in the fresh linen scent of his shirt, and

Turn my face to the stars he loves.

“THEY’RE LEAVING,”

I whisper into my cell phone to Jacey on the other end of the line

As I watch my step-father’s Escalade

Back out of the driveway and

Turn toward the city.

From my second-story window

I see Trevor’s profile in the backseat with Rose,

Who loves him as though he were her real brother

Even though they don’t spend much time together.

They’ll be gone until at least mid-afternoon,

What with the drive,

The brunching, and

The shopping.

“I’ll be right there,” Jacey says,

“I’m just down the block.”