Umm, sure, I say. But I dont have any ideas right this second, maybe because I myself have never had a boyfriend, an anniversary, or even a French kiss that didnt occur during spin the bottle or taste like beer. Before junior year, Meg hadnt either. Wed both been equal.
Megs purse buzzes on the floor. It lies just out of Megs reach, so I dig the cell out for her. At the bottom, I touch a chewed-up blue pen. My fingers cling to it like its magnetized. Its almost like I cant help but pick it up.
Meg flips open her phone and starts texting. While she does, I brush the crumbs off my napkin and start to draw. The pen fits in my hand so comfortably, like an extension of my fingers. I draw a lot in moments like this. It gives me something to concentrate on while life happens to everyone else.
Theres a tiny dip between Megs nose and upper lip, and its shaped like a perfect teardrop. I draw that pretty quickly, but it looks funny there, floating on the napkin. It needs more context. And since Meg is otherwise occupied texting away with Rick, no doubt I draw the flat lines of her lips. Then I add her nose and the sloping angles of her heart-shaped face. I dont try to map the couple of dark freckles she has, because the pen is leaky and the napkin only too happy to soak up the extra ink.
As Meg appears on the napkin, it makes me excited. I mean, Im relatively new at this drawing for real. Not cartoon-style where eyeballs are round circles with big black dots inside and feet face outward at an impossible angle. Its still surprising when Im able to draw something that actually looks like what I want it to. Each time feels like a tiny miracle.
When I glance up from the napkin, Meg is staring at me. Emily, are you drawing me?! Like, right now?
I take a quick sip of my mocha and put the cup down so it blocks her view. Sort of. Not really.
Meg rises up out of her seat, trying to peek. Yeah, right! You never show me any of your drawings. Come on! Let me see it.
My first instinct is to crumple it up, because its just a quick sketch and not anything Im even trying to make good. But I know I have to get better about showing my work to people, especially considering my art classes start tomorrow. So I hand it over, and pretend Im not nervous about what she thinks.
Meg takes the napkin carefully, cradling it in her hands. Wow, she says slowly, like each letter is its own sentence.
You like it? Im not trying to fish for compliments, but I want to make sure shes being honest. Meg definitely prefers niceness to truthfulness, and when you know that about somebody, its practically impossible not to feel insecure, no matter what they tell you.
And then it hits me. Maybe I could draw a portrait for Meg to give to Rick for their anniversary! Nothing too colorful or big. Just a simple sketch done in pencil on a small sheet of heavy paper the kind where you can see the spidery veins of the tree pulp. Then we could go pick out a nice frame to put the portrait in. It might seem like a girly gift for some guys, but not Rick. Hes got photos of Meg all over the place in his wallet, tucked into the visor in his truck. He even keeps one underneath the insole of his baseball cleat for good luck.
But just as Im about to share my idea, Megs head drops to the side and her bottom lip gets so pouty, it shows a rim of the slick pink inside.
I would seriously rather get a nose job than a car this summer.
My stomach muscles get tight, like they dont want to do the work its going to take for another breath. What? I reach for my napkin.
But Meg wont hand it back to me. She keeps staring down at it in her manicured hands, blinking a lot. I just hate how fat the tip looks, she says quietly, and scratches the drawing with her nail, as if she could shave the pen marks down.
Here, let me fix it, I stutter after a few awkward seconds. The thing is, Megs nose is kind of round. Not in an ugly way. In a Meg way.
The door opens and the air makes a suction sound as Rick steps into Starbucks. Hes wearing stiff gray coveralls, mud-caked Timberland work boots, and a red baseball cap embroidered with the name of his family business, WILEY LANDSCAPING. Rick is so tall and broad-shouldered that he blocks out most of the sun shining through the glass behind him.
Meg and I stare at each other in a moment of panic, my napkin drawing hanging in limbo between us. I absolutely dont want Rick to see it, so I reach for it, but Meg snatches her hand back first.
Rick rests his hands on Megs bare shoulders and plants a kiss on the top of her head. She climbs onto her knees and hugs his torso. I watch her discreetly slide my drawing into the back pocket of her red terry cloth shorts.
I guess I should feel relief that its hidden. Only its kind of weird, how upset it makes me to see my drawing become a lumpy wad. She should have just given it back to me.
Rick smiles at me. Hey, Emily. I like your flip-flops.
Hi, I say back, and then shove my straw in my mouth. My flip-flops are the same old Havaianas that everyone in town wears. But Rick always finds some random thing like that to compliment me on. Meg says Ricks afraid I dont like him. Which isnt true, exactly. Hes nice, nicer than a guy of his good looks should probably be. Hes just not that smart, especially compared to someone like Meg. But he understands how tight Meg and I are, close enough so that our names are always mushed together in conversations around school, like MegandEmily. He gets that Im important, that I matter.
Rick stretches and yawns. His armpits are damp, but he doesnt smell stinky. He wears the spicy smell of fresh-cut grass like a too-powerful cologne. I thought you guys would be hanging out by the pool all day. Ive just got to take one last trip to the greenhouse and then I can come over and swim. Since Ricks dad owns their landscaping business, he pretty much gets to set his own hours. Which is to say, hes always around. Do you guys want me to drop you off anywhere on my way?
Meg turns to me. Do you want a ride back home? Or we can walk. Its just hot out and Im kind of tired. But whatever you want, Emily. Its your last summer afternoon. Shes talking fast. Her light blue eyes sparkle. She still gets so excited about Rick driving us around, even though hes probably given us over a million rides.
Hey, thats right! Rick says. Emily, are you dreading summer school or what? I was so happy when I passed my US History final so I wouldnt have to go again this year and lose out on all the money Id make working for my dad. But dont worry. The classes are way easier than regular school.
Even though I dont want to get into it with Rick, I feel the need to defend myself. Its not summer school, I tell him. Its a pre-college art program. Rick looks at me blankly, like Im speaking another language. Its at the Philadelphia College of Fine Art. Still nothing. I chose to go to it.
Rick takes off his ball cap, runs his hand through his matted brown hair, and puts it back on again. Thinking. Then he chuckles in a friendly, quiet way. Okay, that makes sense. Ive never heard of anyone failing Art at Cherry Grove High.
I dont know why this annoys me so much, because Ricks right. Ms. Kays Art class is an easy A. Thats why its so popular. Thats why I took it in the first place.
No one takes it seriously. In my class, all the boys ever drew were sports players or weird Alice in Wonderland-type drug stuff. Amy Waterman turned every project into a chance to practice her bubble letters. And the rest of the girls were obsessed with glitter pens and making origami roses for each other. Everyone but me slept during the weekly slide-show presentations. Though it was actually hard to pay attention, since Ms. Kay always had the projector tweaked slightly out of focus, and unless you squinted the whole time, youd get nauseous.
But for whatever reason, I really did like it. I looked forward to tying on my musty apron, even the eggy smell of the water in the slop sink. It was a place where I didnt have to think about anything other than what I was drawing.
So when Ms. Kay offered to recommend me for the invitation-only summer program, I felt relieved. Though, honestly, I doubt anyone else in our class would have been interested. But I needed a break from it all, and taking some art classes in Philadelphia a few times a week was as good an idea as any I could think of. Meg got a boyfriend and I got a hobby. Thats just the way things worked out.
Well, dont worry, Emily. Megs going to be lost without you. Rick shuffles backward toward the register and grabs a bottle of water. But Ill take good care of her while youre gone. Promise.
I say thanks not because Im thankful, but because it seems like thats what Im expected to say.
Meg pivots so Rick cant see or hear us. She pulls my napkin out of her pocket, smoothes it out against her thigh, and hands it back to me. Im sorry, but I didnt want Rick to see your drawing before you had a chance to fix it. Youre not mad, are you?
Meg pivots so Rick cant see or hear us. She pulls my napkin out of her pocket, smoothes it out against her thigh, and hands it back to me. Im sorry, but I didnt want Rick to see your drawing before you had a chance to fix it. Youre not mad, are you?
Megs apology is sincere. I can tell by how her mouth refuses to close until I let her know that things are okay, that Im not upset.
Its fine, I say, and give her arm a squeeze. And we can get a ride home with Rick.
You sure?
Seriously. And I take the tray and napkin from her hands and throw everything away including my drawing to prove it.
Meg and Rick wait for me outside, standing closer than close. I watch as Rick twirls a piece of Megs long hair around his finger. She stands on her tiptoes, gently picking bits of cut grass off his neck.
I make sure to put on a smile before stepping through the door.
Two
My heart is not beating in my chest. Instead it thumps a tiny beat underneath the callus on my middle finger. The skin there is white, almost translucent. It bubbled up a week after taking Ms. Kays class, in the exact spot where I steady my pencil when I draw. I usually keep the callus covered with a Band-Aid because its not very pretty, only I forgot to put one on this morning. Luckily, the bump has gotten smaller, softer since school ended two weeks ago. But not by much.
Mom, can you please put the top up and turn on the AC? Even though I blew out and then flat-ironed my hair, it is already frizzing in the humidity, and soon my only option will be a boring ponytail. I wear ponytails a lot you can tell by all the broken little pieces of hair that have been ripped by my elastic bands. They stick straight up if I dont hair-spray them down.