Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse Page 9
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 ca
mera
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,
Clean, and
Exciting in every way.
I captured the exact right moment,
With the exact right specs,
With the exact right model.
A thrill shoots through me, and
I know: Trevor was right.
I do absolutely adore everything about photography.
I mutter again,
“I hate him.”
“NO SCHOOL TODAY,”
I announce to Gramma-Linda
As soon as Dad leaves for work.
“You’ve been working me to death.”
I hold up my camera.
“Let’s go shoot something.”
Gramma-Linda looks up from the pile
Of supplies she’s brought.
“No school? Shoot something?”
She slips her glasses off and
Peers at my camera.
“It’s Friday,” I whine.
“I’m sick of reading, and
History, and
Chemistry.”
I hurry toward her to help her stand.
“I’m all caught up. Please,
All you have to do is wait in the car.”
I glance over my shoulder to the front door.
“But I have to get out of here.”
This week has been a bear, with
Boring days and long lessons, an
Absence of Jacey as she studies for midterms with Mason, and
Only Rose to drive to dance now and again.
I haven’t heard from Trevor at all,
Not even a text.
I never hear from Mom, so
That’s not new.
Dad compliments my cooking and
Checks with me about school, and
That’s it.
“Oh, all right,” Gramma-Linda sighs.
“But it’s cold out there.
Get a sweatshirt.”
I don’t care that she’s being overprotective.
She wants me to wear a sweatshirt?
I’ll wear a sweatshirt.
“DON’T LOOK AT ME,”
I complain.
I’d only gotten about two dozen shots of
Gramma-Linda before she noticed I was
Taking her picture.
“Just do what you were doing.”
She resumes watching the wind blow through
The leaves, but
The shots aren’t the same.
She knows I’m shooting now.
It’s the moments when people don’t know
I’m clicking away
That I want to capture.
The look of contemplation as they consider something important, or
Worry about money,
Their children, or
Their job.
As they live life.
The thrill of seeing a dragonfly, or
Listening to the trees sing, or
Whatever it was that had brought
The gentle joy to Gramma-Linda’s face.
I sigh as I lower my camera.
I can only hope one of the first few shots I got
Will be good enough.
“Brunch?” I ask her as we get in the car.
“I’ll buy.”
“You will not,” she says.
“You don’t even have a job.”
I laugh, and
Suddenly wish I was nine,
Like Rose, and
Could snuggle up to Gramma-Linda,
Breathe in her powdery smell, and
Tell her I love her.
“Okay, you pay,” I say,
My voice only slightly choked.
“And, Gramma-Linda?”
She swings her face toward me.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks.”
She pats my knee and
Says, “Of course, honey,” which
I know means,
I love you and want you to be happy.
“MMM,”
I moan as I eat the last bite of my pancake.
I remember when Mom used to look at me
With the same fondness in her eyes
That Gramma-Linda has watching me scrape
The strawberry syrup from my plate.
The small shake of her head,
The slight lift in her mouth,
Showing that she’s happy
I’m happy.
Showing that she loves me.
“Good?” she asks,
That love loud in her voice.
I nod and
Reach for another slice of bacon.
“Gramma?” I start.
“Do you think my mom still loves me?”
The peaceful expression on Gramma-Linda’s face
Disappears,
Gets covered with worry and
Tension.
“Of course she does, Livvy.
You know she does.”
I lean forward,
Resting my elbows on the table.
“Do I?
How would I know?”
Gramma-Linda picks up her fork,
Something she’d abandoned ten minutes ago
When she’d claimed she couldn’t eat another bite.
She begins pushing the cold eggs around her plate.
“She’s your mother.”
“So what?” I challenge.
“That doesn’t mean she loves me.”
“She does,” Gramma-Linda says.
“She’s your mother.”
“She doesn’t call me,” I say.
“Or text.
Or know what my grades are, or
If I’m home by curfew, or
What I like to do in my spare time.”
As I speak,
I realize that Gramma-Linda knows more about me than
My mom does.
“Well, for one thing.”
Gramma-Linda points her fork at me.
“She puts up with your attitude.
If that doesn’t take love,
I don’t know what does.”
I cock my head to the side,
Almost smiling at her.
“Okay,
fine. She puts up with me.
I put up with the wind, and
The rain, and
Mosquitoes.
But I certainly don’t love them.
In fact, I hate them and
Only tolerate them because
I have no other choice.”
I slump back in the booth.
“That’s what she’s doing too, isn’t it?
Putting up with me because
She has no other choice.”
“No,” Gramma-Linda says forcefully.
“Now stop it.
Your mother loves you, because
You’re her daughter and
She cares about you.”
“She left me to live with Darren Youngblood.”
My voice is barely-there,
A whisper in the crowded restaurant.
“Well, everyone makes mistakes,”
Gramma-Linda says airily.
“But you make no mistake about it.
Your mother loves you.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Because I’m a mother, and
Until you become a mother you don’t
Understand how deep love can go.”
She replaces the fork carefully on the table.
“That love is endless, honey.
No matter what my children do—
No matter that your mother abandoned you,
Rose, and
Her husband—
No matter if I think it was the biggest mistake of her life—
I still love her.”
She pauses.
“It’s what mothers do.”
“STOP SQUIRMING,”
I tell Rose, who
Can’t seem to hold still for longer than four seconds.
“Are we almost done?” she asks
For the third time.
“Susie should be able to play now.”
“Fix your belt, and
We’ll do a couple more shots.
Then we’ll be done,
I swear.”
I lift my camera as
Rose checks her belt.
Click, click, click.
I don’t want these pictures of
The top of her head, but
I do want to catch her
Innocence when she glances up,
Preparing to get ready for the shots.
I want to see her in that pinch of time.