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I wouldn’t lie to myself and pretend I didn’t think about kissing him, but I couldn’t deny I’d also wondered what it might be like to kiss Devan as well. And I was beginning to get the impression he wouldn’t be at all upset if I did. Not to mention every time Garrett managed to relax his tight leash of control long enough to let his actual personality shine through—which wasn’t often, but just enough to keep me curious—I couldn’t deny a strong attraction to him as well.
What a mess. I had no idea what to do with all those feelings, but I didn’t want to lose the friendships I’d managed to form, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt any of their feelings, so I kept it all locked down tight.
Nora’s question hung in the air though, so I gave the only answer I could. “Of course not,” I told her. “Micah is in my art class, so we work on homework together, and Garrett and Devan are in my group for that English lit project.” To be fair, we hadn’t once worked on said English lit project during any of the time we’d spent together recently, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Hm. Okay,” she said. “I don’t mean to nag.” Her smile was apologetic. “I just worry. You’re so...nice, and they’re…”
“Not nice?” I supplied, tipping my head to the side.
“No, it’s not that. It’s only…well, in four years I’ve never seen any of them say more than five words to another student, and suddenly you’re actually…hanging out with them.” She leaned closer. “Honestly, I’ve never even seen them participate in a group project before. I always assumed they had some kind of in with the teachers or something.”
I shrugged, shifting a little to hide my discomfort. “They seem pretty normal to me. I mean, as much as anyone here is normal.”
She laughed at that. “So, what does normal mean to you, then? I’ve never been to a ‘normal’ school. What did kids do on weekends at your last school?”
“I dunno,” I said, suppressing a snicker. I couldn’t imagine what kind of an upbringing she’d had. “We hung out, went to movies, parties at other kids’ houses…you know, the usual stuff.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s lame, but honestly, I spent a lot of time with my parents on the weekends.”
“Oh yeah? What do your parents do?”
I didn’t bother to correct her. “They’re artists. My dad’s a painter, and we’d spend a lot of time painting on the beach. And my mom’s a tattoo artist. Sometimes I’d work the front desk at her shop on the weekends and over the summer.”
“Oh, that’s awesome,” she said. “Did she ever give you a tattoo?”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. I’d pestered her to tattoo me for years. I could still hear her voice. If you talk Ian into giving you some stupid tattoo, then you’re the one that has to live with it. But if you can wait until you’re eighteen, we’ll start on that sleeve you’re always talking about, okay?
It had taken everything I’d had to wait, but I’d done it. Not that it mattered now.
“Did she ever let you tattoo anyone?”
I laughed again. “No.”
Which was technically true. But Ian had. He still had a shitty star on his ankle that he’d let me do when I’d turned sixteen. My mom had about had an aneurism when she’d found out, but it had only served to strengthen my resolve to follow in her footsteps when I was older. The memories still stung, but I was beginning to be able to find the humor again, rather than just the cloud of pain that had obscured all thoughts of my parents for most of the past year.
“That still must have been cool, though, working for your mom, painting with your dad,” Nora said, her voice wistful.
I glanced over. “Do you not spend much time with your parents? Over the summer, I mean?”
“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “My mom took off when I was three, so I don’t even know where she is anymore. And my dad is always shooting in the summer, so if he’s not on set then he’s off working in some exotic location or another.”
I was quiet for a moment, trying to imagine what that must be like. “What do you usually do then?”
She tipped her head, looking out the window. “Well, the last couple of years I traveled. Europe last summer, and South America the summer before that. I’ll probably see him next month for Thanksgiving though. Or over Christmas break, if not. He’s usually around for at least part of the holidays.”
She didn’t seem upset with her situation. I couldn’t fathom having that kind of freedom though, or even wanting it. I’d never really seen my parents as overprotective, but they’d certainly cared where I was and what I was doing. They’d cared about me, and we’d been happy together. A surge of emotion swept through me, and I missed them more than ever, with an intense ache I could feel in every part of my body.
I gave what I hoped was a convincing yawn and stretched my arms overhead. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, night,” she said, refocusing on her homework as I escaped to my room and closed the door.
I stacked my books on my desk, then opened the outside pocket of my backpack and pulled out my parents’ letter. I let my thumb slide over my mother’s handwriting on the envelope in what was becoming a familiar gesture.
I still hadn’t opened it, but having it with me was like having their presence nearby. Like they were in the next room, behind a closed door, and even though they couldn’t hear me, all I had to do was go in there and they’d be waiting for me.
“I miss you guys,” I whispered to the envelope. “And Ian, I miss you too. I’m sorry I haven’t come back yet.”
After the events of my birthday, the desperate urge to leave had dissipated somewhat. My plan was still intact—I would go home and pick up where I’d left off. Ian would teach me to tattoo and I’d work in his studio—but although I’d never made the conscious decision, something in me told me to stay. Just a little longer. Maybe until the end of the semester. One day at a time, and then I’d see what happened next.
I ran my thumb over the writing again, then carefully tucked the envelope back into my bag. I missed home terribly. But I also wasn’t ready to leave the guys.
