FIVE
Snapdragon
Monday...
“Sophia?” Mr. Triggs calls me over as students gather their books and crowd the doorway. “Hang back a second.”
Hannah says she’ll meet me outside so I shuffle over to Triggs’ desk. The jangle of the last bell quiets.
“So I’m still waiting for the draft of your valedictory,” he says. “I’m excited to see what you’ve come up with.”
“Right, yeah.” My bag clunks down on the linoleum tiles. I forgot that I’d asked for his help just as soon as I was chosen for valedictorian. “It’s not really ready to show yet.”
“What do you have so far?” He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers.
“Just sort of…notes. Like an outline. Maybe some jokes about how we’re always on our phones.”
“That’s good.” He laughs. “And maybe you could argue that that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The interconnectedness of your generation, you know, it’s what makes you guys special. Fair warning, though: Justin Rubenstein did a pretty good bit about social media last year.”
I nod.
“Okay well.” He knocks on his desk. “I won’t keep you. Make sure to send me something soon. Graduation’s in less than a month.”
Drifting through the emptying halls, I have a hard time conjuring up anything thoughtful to say about St. Anthony’s. Sneakers squeak from basketball practice in the gym and the smell of stale perfume lingers around the doors to the girls’ bathrooms. Last year, when I started looking at colleges seriously, I imagined graduation as something that happened all at once. As if one day you were a high school student and the next, you weren’t. Staring now at the rows of dented lockers caked with maroon paint, I can’t shake the feeling that this place no longer bounds the perimeter of my world. A part of me is already somewhere else.
Out on the quad, Hannah loiters at the benches with Davina while Kayla lifts the front of her uniform blouse. Even at a distance, I can see sunlight glinting at her bellybutton.
“Did it hurt?” Hannah says in awe as she admires the silver dolphin dangling from Kayla’s navel.
“Only for a second.” Kayla shrugs. “It gets gross if I don’t wash it with saltwater though.”
“Girl.” Davina raises an eyebrow. “You have to be cleaning that every day or it’ll get infected.”
“Did yours get infected?”
“Hell no. Because I washed that shit with saltwater every day.”
“Hey.” Hannah finally notices me. “What did Triggs want?”
“He was asking about my speech. I still haven’t sent him anything.”
“I thought we went over this.” Kayla starts listing things off on her fingers. “Define ‘graduation,’ thanks to the teachers who inspired and challenged us, sorry we’re addicted to photo apps, we are the future. Bam.”
“I’ll take it under consideration,” I say.
“Huh.” Hannah squints over my shoulder. “Isn’t that your brother?”
“Wh—?” I turn in the direction she’s pointing.
In the distance, Dan leans cross-armed against his ostentatious Chevy. More than a few pairs of eyes drift over his tattoos as groups of students cross the street. I excuse myself and try not to jog to the sidewalk.
“Hey,” I say before lowering my voice. “What are you doing here?”
Dan looks both ways before answering. Two fingers gently pinch the front of my thigh. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Dude,” I hiss. “You can’t be hanging around my high school in your windowless van. It makes you seem like the sort of person who hangs around high schools in a windowless van.”
“This is not a van. This is a panel truck.”
“For all intents and purposes, it’s a perv van.”
“Don’t worry, I think everyone assumes I’m just here to sell drugs.”
“What a relief.” I try to repress a smile. “Well I have cello practice in a little bit. But that’ll only take half an hour if you can wait?”
“I can wait.”
“Cool. Well.”
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
“I know.” Looking at his eyes almost hurts. “I want to kiss you too.”
Hannah and Co. are still staring when I return so I make up something about “important family stuff” before heading off to the music room. My instructor is already sitting at the piano when I arrive. When he plays a scale, I twist my pegs to match his notes.
“You chose an ambitious piece for the ceremony.” He flips open his sheet music for Clair de Lune. “I hope you’ve been practicing.”
I say that I have but it’s not exactly the truth. Adjusting the cello between my knees, it’s hard not to remember Dan’s words blinking on my cellphone screen. Each ellipsis ached with wanting. I definitely feel closer to the song now but I suspect it would be a stretch to call that “practice.”
Fingers brush softly on piano keys before I draw my bow out. The note swells out of the silence like a sigh. One hand glides over the neck while my bow arcs, a gently yearning melody against low harmony. Closing my eyes, I feel my brows lifting at the center.
Strings tremble beneath my fingers. Notes quiver as they trend higher. My bow presses down harder and the changes come more quickly. The piano thrums faster, building toward a barely restrained chaos. I lean into the fever of each note. My lips part and my shoulders sway. The song possesses me, thrilling me, pulling at me from the inside. Yearning manifests as sound.
Together, cello and piano descend into a quiet storm. Down, down my fingers travel. The melody’s thread almost gets lost in the fervor before revealing itself again. Notes stretch long, longing. Each begins like heartbreak but ends like hope. The final pull of my bow draws out, dragging, until nothing remains.
For a moment, we’re silent. My eyelashes feel damp.
“Wow.” My instructor turns around on his bench. He looks impressed. “This whole suite was written for piano but on the cello… It’s a whole new piece. It aches.”
“Yeah,” I say, almost a sigh. “I agree.”
He lets me go before even fifteen minutes has passed, deciding it’s better I “save it for the ceremony.” Turning out the exit to the parking lot, I see it’s vacant but for Dan, waiting.
“That was…” He claps his hands together slowly. “Seriously, Sophie. Wow.”
I adjust my backpack and try not to blush. “You heard?”
He points toward the open window.
“I’m supposed to perform it at graduation.”
“Jesus,” he says. “How many different things are you doing at graduation?”
“There’re a lot of things.” I start off in the direction of his Chevy and shoot him a pointed smile over my shoulder. “You’d know that if you ever went to one.”
He catches up and bounces against me. “Maybe I’ll go to yours.”
Something about the thought of that makes me laugh. I suppose before, I’d taken for granted that he’d be there. Maybe stuffed reluctantly into a borrowed suit. Now the idea of him sitting beside my mom, watching me accept my diploma, seems ridiculous. Thinking about it, I realize he’s not even the strangest thing about the picture.
It used to be so easy to imagine myself in a maroon gown and mortarboard. I’d always been the most-likely person to stand before the assembled crowd and give the valediction. Now the details don’t seem to fit together right. The pieces are all there, but I can’t conjure the whole.
Climbing into the passenger seat, I feel a wave of something that isn’t quite deja vu. How many times have we done this exact thing? His car, the St. Anthony’s parking lot. The dance is the same but the song couldn’t be more different.
“Are we going home?” I ask, not sure what else to say.
“I was thinking we’d drive somewhere?” He turns the key in the ignition. “That okay?”
“Yeah.” I lean back into my seat and remember that I’m allowed to look at him now. The tattoo down his forearm—YIKES spelled vertically in a medieval font—twists and bends every time he turns the steering wheel.
Soon we’re driving west, past gas station spires and red-brick auto body shops. Hand-painted signs fade on the facades of industrial buildings and determined blades of grass battle cracked concrete. Power lines rise and fall between skeletal towers. The sky stretches out above us, the same bright blue as our westbound Chevrolet.
I rifle through the glove compartment and sample his tape collection, mostly scratchy demos of his friends’ bands. A familiar orange-and-yellow case makes me smile—Kate Bush’s The Kick Inside. I must have left it there ages ago. Back when I made a hobby of annoying him, I used to crank the volume and sing along to Wuthering Heights in a shrill falsetto while he begged me to stop. It strikes me now that Heathcliff was adopted by Cathy’s family, ostensibly making him her stepbrother. I sincerely hope our similarity to those characters begins and ends there.
Eventually I choose the Pixies, the only tape I bought that Dan ever really liked. Lazy to rewind, I start it on the B-side. He spins the volume knob louder when Holiday Song starts to play.
Stretching my arm out the open window, I let my hand rise and fall against the wind. I can’t remember a time when no one knew where I was—could never guess. There are no boundaries anymore. I feel as open as the sky.
We pull off the highway down a rough road edged by a few warehouses. Even those soon give way to wide swathes of vacant concrete. Blocks upon blocks of paved emptiness sprawl around us. The engine gives a final sigh as we roll to a stop.
“Come on.” He swings out the driver’s side door and circles to the hood.
Through the windshield I give him a curious smile before following.
“Gimme your hand,” he says.
“Wait.” I frown. “You want me to climb on your truck? Your beloved truck?”
“Just do it.” He grins and boosts me onto the hood.
The metal feels hot beneath my knees and palms. With a helpful push, I throw myself up on the roof of the cab. Dan hops up beside me and pulls me up by the hand. Windblown hair whips my face and I try to tuck it behind my ears. Wasteland spreads into the distance, empty, unfinished and forgotten. Because it’s ours, it’s beautiful.
“I lived here for almost a month when I was seventeen,” he says.
“I don’t remember that.”
“It was just before I met you. I’ve never shown anyone this place before.”
We stand for a while, not speaking, just looking, before Dan combs the hair out of my eyes. When I meet his lips, I have to stand on tiptoes.
“Come on.” He jumps over the back of the truck onto concrete. It’s more than six feet to the ground. Less bold, I just stare unsteadily at the drop before he holds out his hands.
“It’s okay; I’ll catch you.”
“You sure?” I call.
He nods. Sitting down at the edge, I dangle my legs before letting myself fall. My skirt slides up as I land in his arms.
The rear doors open out with a groan and I follow him into the cavernous back. Assorted blankets scatter over what feels beneath my knees like a mattress.
“All you need is a beaded curtain and a disco ball,” I say.
“The bed is new.” He laughs “I had to sleep in here when I was working in Ohio.”
“Right. Ohio.” I bounce onto my back. “Are you ever gonna tell me what you were really doing there? Obviously, ‘farm work’ was a total fiction.”
“Obviously.” His teeth brush playfully at my chin. Tattooed arms rise on either side of me, muscles flexing to hold up his weight. “No, I really was working on a farm outside Columbus.”
I just blink at him, unconvinced.
“Well.” He cocks his head. “A weed farm outside Columbus.”
“There it is.”
He breathes in deep when he kisses me, pulling the air from my lungs. Hands slide up my blouse, over my bra. I drag off his shirt and explore his decorated skin. Lips find the rose on the side of his neck, lacy fern leaves on his side, Latin just above his belt. He takes a sharp breath when I roll him on his side and loosen the buckle. Slowly, slowly, I push away his jeans. My mouth follows behind the elastic waistband underneath. Smooth skin stiffens under my fingers and I feel a moan rise from his chest. Even though I’ve never done it before, I know what it is I want to do.
He gasps as I take him into my mouth.
“Yes,” he sighs.
The edge of his tip slides under my tongue, making him tremble. My lips tighten around him. My tongue swirls over the head. He grasps his chest then reaches to feel mine. I watch him spread below me, watch his back arc. A thrill shudders up my spine.
Deeper I take him, almost to my throat. I feel his fingers twist into my hair. Quickening my tempo, I rise and fall faster. The steadying hand on the back of my head starts to guide me and I like the way it feels.
“Wait,” he breathes. “Not yet.” He pushes me back by the shoulders before cupping my breasts. “I want to see you. Like you were the other night, in your room.”
At first, I feel embarrassed. He takes a gentle hold of my wrist and guides my hand to my chest. Slowly, carefully, I pull open the first button of my blouse. Then the second. His hand travels to his cock while he watches me undress. Every few seconds, his eyes close and he makes a soft sound. When my fingers disappear into my panties, the sound is louder.
Pressing onto my center, I feel my body start to sway. Pleasure radiates out to the edges of my skin. All the while I hold his steady gaze and feast upon the private movements he makes. This is the way he touches himself when he’s alone. When he’s thinking about me.
We watch each other at our most intimate, watch each other laying ourselves bare. It feels like gifts exchanged. His eyes follow me to the most secret corners of myself, and mine to his.
Soon, I can feel the pulse beating between my legs. Soon, the sight of his cock isn’t enough. I roll my panties down, stretching them off my legs. He tugs out a condom and I pluck it from his fingers. When I roll it down his length, he takes a sharp breath.
I mount him and his eyebrows pull together with wanting. Tentative hands graze my thighs. The tip of him pushes against me and I relish the way he shivers from my tease.
Finally, I draw him into me. He throws back his head, closes his hands around my breasts. I wrest from him calls of pleasure. Muscles ripple under his skin as he moves with me. My eyes devour his image. My fingers tighten on his chest.
Arms close around my waist and he rises to meet me. My elbows pin between our chests. His sage eyes pull mine into their embrace. Locked together, we watch the parting of each other’s lips. We watch the flutter of each other’s eyelashes and I see his forehead glow with sweat.
He pushes into me hard, deep, and his mouth searches mine like a need. His arms loop tight around my back. Holding his jaw in my hands, I moan against his lips. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to anyone. Everything about our bodies, together, feels right.
Tucked away in this empty, forgotten corner, we let our pleasure have a voice. I ride him hard and moan loud. His yearning breath warms my cheek. Fingers glide through my hair and I feel my muscles contract. Inside me, his cock quivers.
Gasping, out of breath, he buries his face in my neck and holds me close. I feel his orgasm like a wave throughout my body. Hair falls into his eyes so I brush it back. Soft kisses land on the curve of his cheekbone.
We fall into the blankets and I find my spot inside his arm, perfectly sized to fit me. It’s strange the way my hands can dance over his chest. The way I can touch him anywhere. I’ve heard every sound his voice can make now. I’ve seen every hill and valley of his body. This is the car that once carried me to school every day. We lie together in the back, all pretense stripped. I curl into the strangeness of us. For the first time, I wonder what he is to me. And what he’s been.
“Do you remember when we hated each other?” I ask.
“That only lasted as long as our parents liking each other,” he says. “So, not very long.”
“Can I ask—how long have you…you know…liked me, I guess?”
“Hm.” His knuckle grazes my cheek thoughtfully. “I definitely felt something after I got back from Ohio. But honestly, I can’t really pinpoint when it started. It didn’t really happen all at once.”
I remember when he showed up in time for Christmas, the rose on his neck still edged with tender pink while it healed. Seeing him for the first time in four months, I’d been struck by how muscular he was. I couldn’t tell whether he’d gotten stronger or if I’d just forgotten. More striking still had been the realization that I’d actually missed him while he was gone.
It’s just after six when I get a call from my mom. Then three more in quick succession. Her urgency eventually forces us to detangle our limbs and replace our clothes. Dan tries to stay perfectly quiet while I talk to her but his face keeps making me want to laugh. Apparently, it’s super important to Mom that I come home right away.
“Where are you now?” her tinny voice demands.
“Just at the library with Hannah.”
“How long ‘til you can be home?”
Dan mouths twenty minutes so I tell her as much.
“Okay. Well. Hurry please.”
My best and only guess is that Frank walked out again. Then a few minutes later, Dan gets a text of his own.
“‘Need you at home’,” he reads aloud. “It’s from my dad.”
I guess that means Frank didn’t leave. Neither of us speaks as Dan heads back to the highway. Factories and trailer parks blur past the windows and a thousand chilling scenarios swirl in my mind.
“What if she’s pregnant?” I groan, palms snapping to my temples. “She’s only thirty-six. It could happen.”
“Well if that happened… Yeah that would be really bad. Let’s hope it’s not that.”
When my phone buzzes with a text, I can hardly bring myself to look. I experience a brief moment of relief that it’s only Hannah then a moment of horror when I read what she said.
I didn’t know we were at the library.
…
Ur mom just called me.
…
Don’t worry, I covered for u. But ur now legally obligated to tell me who ur with.
Shitshitshitshitshit. Improvising quickly, I settle on the only lie that fits every detail.
He’s one of Dan’s friends from Detroit. I promised not to tell anyone because he’s older.
!!! Hannah says. What’s his name?
Ethan. I pick the first thing that comes to mind.
Kk well I want details later. Have fun “at the library” ;)
We weave through the residential grid of our neighborhood before Dan slows to a stop a few blocks away. Obviously, we need to arrive separately. After I lose the coin flip, it’s decided that I should go first. I hate that I have to go first. It means being there to bear the brunt of whatever’s going on alone.
I can’t stop thinking about the Transitive Property—if a equals b, and b equals c, then a equals c. Any child of Mom and Frank would be a blood sibling to both Dan and myself. I don’t know what that would make us to each other.
“Wait.”
He touches my arm just as I grasp the door handle.
“You might want to do something about—” He waves his hand in front of my head.
“What?”
“It’s just…” He smirks. “Well to put it bluntly, you look like you just got fucked.”
Checking the rearview mirror, I wipe smudged mascara from the corners of my eyes and try to finger-comb my hair. There’s nothing to be done about my slick red lips or the smell of his sweat drying on my skin. At least not until I get inside.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says.
I just nod and hop out onto the street. A chill has settled into the air so I hug my cardigan tight over my chest and take quick steps home. Climbing up to the porch, I hear Mom call out for me just as soon as my key jiggles in the lock.
“One second,” I shout back and cut a course for my room.
There’s barely time to spritz myself with perfume and drag a brush through my hair before she starts knocking for me to come out. Through my window, I see Dan parking.
“What’s up?” I finally open my door and try for a bright smile.
“Come on.” Mom tugs my arm. “I need some help in the kitchen.”
I follow, dumbfounded, and start to notice the smell of green beans and scalded milk. There’s a thin haze of smoke hanging in the air and the sink is full of dirty pots and mixing bowls. Everything she knows how to make sits waiting on the counter: chili mac, green bean casserole, cherry chicken salad and mashed potatoes (from a box, with taco seasoning).
She claps once. “Gimme a hand bringing all this out.”
Something is terribly, terribly wrong. Dan pushes through the front door while we load serving dishes onto the table. Mom ropes him into doing the place settings. There aren’t enough plates for everyone so he ends up putting down two bowls. The tableau is more than I know what to do with.
Watching her be minimally nice to him makes me realize that she’s never been nice to him. At best, she usually comes off as distant and vaguely annoyed that he exists. At worst, she’s threatening to kick him out of the house. The latter happened a lot more when he was still in school.
“Mom, can you please tell me what’s going on?”
“Glasses!” she announces. “And napkins!”
Frank finally sidles in as Mom circles the table, tearing paper towels from a roll and sliding them under the silverware. Only hesitantly does he take his seat. At her encouragement, Dan and I follow suit and perch opposite each other. There’s a nihilistic sort of smile waiting just under the surface. If I didn’t know him better, I wouldn’t even be able to see it.
“Isn’t this nice?” Mom says, settling down as though onto a throne.
“Mom. Focus. What’s going on?”
“Well I was thinking, and I thought we should all start having real dinners together.”
My head drops into my hands. “Oh my god, you’re pregnant.”
“You shut your mouth!” she snaps. “I am not.”
“Then what is all this?”
“I just said. I thought it would be nice to have family dinners together.”
No one says anything for a beat. Then Dan catches my eye and we break out laughing. Mom looks half confused, half outraged but we can’t stop now that we’ve started. The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it gets. She’s dropping the anchor but the ship has already sailed.
“What’s so funny?”
Dan and I just laugh harder. If, all this time, she was trying to make a real family of us—well she failed magnificently.