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Not that she’s seen my ideas. She just knows it’s what I’d do if I could.
I know it won’t happen though.
It’s just make believe.
Plus, it’s the one thing that’s mine. The idea of ever actually sharing it…
They’d laugh at me. All of them. Even Mason…especially Mason…
I’m nowhere as good as real comic book artists. He’d think it’s stupid.
My chest squeezes painfully at the thought. My ears begin to ring.
“JJ, come dance!” Izzy runs over to me, grabbing my hands, and yanking me up from the couch where I was looking at the new comic books I got for my birthday. Not that I was really seeing anything, once my mind started spiraling like it does.
My eyes widen on my sister and I shake my head, trying to pull my arm away.
A new song has started playing, one I recognize immediately. Mason’s favorite.
“You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals.
He turns the volume all the way up, and runs over to us, grabbing my other hand, and they both drag me over to the center of the room.
Waylon’s laughing where he sits on the recliner, watching us. He’s eating another piece of cake. Probably because he didn’t even get to taste the last piece, he ate it that fast.
Izzy releases our hands, running over to get Waylon, and for a split-second it’s just me and Mason standing there, hand in hand.
Our palms are sweaty. Warm.
My neck tingles.
I yank my hand away and go to sit back down, my face feeling hot, but he drags me back by the shoulder. “Come on, JJ.”
I turn and glare at him.
He grins.
He probably thinks it’s ’cause I don’t want to dance with them, but it’s really ’cause I don’t like it when he calls me that. Even Mom and Dad have started calling me Jeremy more.
It’s Izzy who hasn’t stopped.
Which means Waylon hasn’t. And Mason too…
At least when she’s around.
He calls me Jeremy when it’s just us.
Something flutters in my chest, helping erase some of my lingering anxiety. He doesn’t know it, but even in my head he makes things better.
The real Mason though, he starts singing, and all thoughts of stupid nicknames and fluttery feelings are forgotten as I find myself just standing there, staring at the tan carpet awkwardly. In the corner of my eye, I see him using the TV remote as a microphone.
He’s crazy. He really is.
I wonder what it’s like though, not to care what people think.
But I know that’s not true. He cares a lot. He’s just better at pretending he doesn’t.
Izzy’s managed to drag Waylon up, and somehow we all end up dancing, even me. Just a little bit. Just for a moment. Just for this song.
