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“How’s Rusty?” I ask, diverting the conversation away from me.
My sister hops up onto a seat at the island, her face brightening at the mention of her boyfriend. “Really good. Cedar Cider is doing their soft opening this weekend, you know.”
I nod at her reference to the brewery Rusty and Boyd are opening up downtown with another buddy of theirs, Jackson. “Shit, I knew it was coming up, but I didn’t realize it was so soon.”
She grins. “Yup. And everything is going so well. All the furniture was moved in last week, and all the glasses and stuff were delivered over the weekend. I’m going in after work today to help with setup.” She pauses, and I don’t miss the glow on her face. “I know Boyd and Jackson have definitely had a hand, but this is Rusty’s baby and he is doing such an amazing job, you know?”
When Bellamy looks at me, her brows furrow at my expression.
“What?”
I shake my head, smiling. “Nothing, it’s just…I’ve never seen you like this.”
She makes a face. “Like what?”
“All…” I wave a hand at her. “In love and stuff.”
She rolls her eyes. “You watched me moon over Connor for years.”
“Meh, that guy was a chode, and you didn’t love him. Not really.” I pause. “It looks good on you, this kind of happiness. The real kind.”
Bellamy doesn’t say anything for a few minutes after that, but a small smile lingers on her face as we finish eating our sandwiches.
“Are you going to come on Saturday? To the opening?” she asks me a while later as we’re putting our plates in the dishwasher. “Busy’s driving up for the weekend to help out.”
It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my younger sister. I attended a baseball camp in LA over the summer to prep for the draft combine, and Busy—who attends college only twenty minutes from where I was staying—visited me a couple of times when it worked for our schedules. She’s wildly independent. Maybe even more so than Briar and Boyd. And I loved getting to see her in her element.
But as much as I enjoy knowing I’ll get to see her this weekend, I can’t help but shrug in response to Bellamy’s question. “We’ll see. Depends how I feel.”
My sister’s smile dims, and she nods. “Okay, well…I hope you can make it. I know it would mean a lot to…everyone.”
She leaves the kitchen, and only a few minutes later, I hear the front door open and close, Bellamy probably heading back to her office. As much as we’ve been able to play and tease since I’ve been home, there’s been a thread of strain between us, and I’m not entirely sure why.
Part of me thinks it’s because she’s constantly pushing me to talk to her about how I feel when I don’t want to. If I have to be honest about how I feel, I’ll have to admit that the voice in my head telling me I fucked up is a lot louder than I want it to be.
chapter four
Gabi
“A lot of you tend to move your wheel too slowly while you’re getting your clay centered. You need to make sure it’s moving at least medium-high. It will give you more control.”
My eyes scan the room, watching as my students respond to my instructions, each resulting in completely different outcomes. Helene presses too hard on her foot pedal, and the lump of clay begins to wobble as she attempts to raise the edges to create a bowl. Mary’s speed doesn’t change at all—she just presses harder on her clay, trying to force it where she wants it. Johnny keeps pressing and releasing instead of finding a consistent speed, and the shape of his clay continues to change.
There are only seven students taking the Fundamentals of Ceramics class I teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, and sometimes I wonder what the hell this place was thinking, hiring me to be a teacher.
Also, high schoolers are little weirdos, and my eyes narrow as Johnny flags down Peter two chairs away to point at the phallic shape of his clay. They laugh silently until they catch me watching them, and then they quickly return to their forming.
I step next to Mary and bend slightly, keeping my voice low.
“Let’s try increasing your speed just a bit. Then you won’t have to push so hard to get it centered,” I tell her. “If you have to use a lot of muscle to get it going, you’ll wear yourself out really quickly.”
“I got it,” she says, mostly ignoring me. “I’m probably a lot stronger than you are, so I’m not worried about getting too tired.”
Rolling my eyes, I return to the front, retaking a seat at my wheel and stepping gently on the pedal. I can’t get too irritated at kids like Mary, so certain she has all the answers and doesn’t need any help from anyone. That’s just part of being a teenager, I guess.
I have plenty of memories of receiving unwanted advice when I was young and ignoring it completely. Sometimes, only growing up a bit will provide the ability to take suggestions on board.
I cup some water into my hand and add it to my clay, gently molding it into the small bowl everyone is attempting to make. Well, except for Johnny. Who knows what that kid is making.
