“Here’s those dried crickets.” Grandpa held the small, clear bag up in my doorway. “You left them in with the other groceries.”
“Oh. Right. I’m trying to forget I thought they were a good idea.”
“Crickets are always a good idea.” He set them on the end of my bed, then left.
It had been three days since the early-morning sunrise outing. Since then, I had visited a soup kitchen and helped serve dinner, for the service experience on my list. It was both fulfilling and depressing. I didn’t like to imagine children without food, but it was hard to deny it when they stood in that line waiting for a ladle full of the chicken-noodle soup I had served. I wished I had thought to do something like that on my own, without a list forcing me to. I signed a volunteer form when I left and let the director know she could call me when they were shorthanded.
I’d gone to the shelter without Cooper. In fact, I hadn’t seen Cooper since watching the sunrise. I tried not to think about why. Had he taken Ris out? Was he spending every spare minute with her since then?
Hey, if you’re still doing the list with me, you need to find a service experience. I did mine yesterday.
Done and done. I’m doing service right now. My dad volunteered me to paint some guy’s house. Paint. A house. Painting is your thing.
Oh. So it wasn’t Ris that was keeping him busy. He actually had a real excuse. That shouldn’t have made me so relieved. Not that kind of painting.
I’m on day three here.
I texted back: So can we add painting to your skill set now?
Of course. I’m awesome, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I’m tired and sore and want to be done.
You’re not done yet?!
I think we’ll finish up today.
Nice.
First some crazy whack job got me up at four thirty, and then my dad’s been waking me up at six. Not cool. When this is over I will soak in an ice bath and sleep for a week, followed by my best friend giving me a massage.
Justin’s home?
Funny.
I would not be giving Cooper a massage. That would send me into major relapse. It was hard enough looking at his body. I didn’t need to feel it as well.
Four thirty in the morning. You owe me.
That’s why I brought you doughnuts. I owe you nothing.
He sent me back the pile of poop emoji and I laughed.
I pocketed my phone and made my way back to my art room. I’d set up a canvas yesterday before work, and it still sat on its easel, only a coat of white primer to show for my time. I had been avoiding it. My initial thought was to paint the sunrise. I had pulled out all my warm colors—reds and oranges and yellows—and they still sat on the dresser waiting for me. But as I looked at them, it seemed like such a literal interpretation. I remembered how cold that morning had been. How it smelled like pine and made my nose numb. How the birds hadn’t come alive until the sun was sitting on the mountain. I remembered the feeling of life being awakened a little bit at a time. Awakened.
I took out more tubes of paint—gray and black and silver. At the bottom of the canvas, I started with cool colors. I drew rusty dried leaves and black bare trees and silver sleeping birds. As I moved up the canvas I added more colors and more life until I reached the tops, where the birds burst out from the green mountain, their flight mimicking the rays of the sun, the sky behind them bright and yellow.
“Wow.”
“I thought I taught you not to sneak up on me when I’m painting. That could’ve sent my brush across the canvas.” I’d managed not to jump. Barely. Cooper was normally a quiet observer until he saw me back away from the canvas.
“Sorry. I should know that, seeing as how I’m an expert painter now.”
“True. I should just let you finish this for me,” I teased.
“No way. That’s amazing. I love it.”
“You love everything I paint.”
“It’s true. But this one is . . . different. Are those birds dead?” He was referring to the ones on the bottom. “That’s a little dark for you.”
“They’re not dead. They’re sleeping. Do they look dead?”
“They look cool. This is supposed to be the sunrise, isn’t it?”
“That was my inspiration.”
I set my palette on the hutch to my right, the one whose drawers were full of art supplies, and turned to Cooper. “I thought you were going straight to bed for a w—” I stopped. “Whoa. You have paint all over you.”
“I know! That’s why I had to come by here first. It was important for me to show you that we’re twins now.”
I smiled and stepped forward. “I don’t think I’ve ever managed to get this much paint on me. Did you bathe in it?” I pinched a section of his shirt between my fingers and pulled it away from his body. “Coral? You painted the house coral?”
“It’s not coral. I think the official name is soft peach.”
I bit my lip and dropped his shirt. I now had some soft peach paint on my thumb and pointer finger. I wiped it on his cheek and he scrunched his nose.
“The house actually didn’t turn out half bad.”
“Huh. Well, I’m surprised my mom let you in looking like that.”
“Your mom loves me.”
This was true.
“Besides, she’s used to letting people covered in paint walk around this house.” His finger brushed along my collarbone, tracing a line of paint I had there. Tingles shot down my arms and I took a step back.
“How do you get paint on your neck anyway?” he asked.
“The same way you did.”
“Have I left any clothes over here lately?”
“I think your board shorts are still here.”
He turned and headed for my room. I shook out my still-tingling arms and followed after him.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I’m going to shower here and then you’re going to work a knot out of my neck.”
“No, I’m not.”
He went to the corner of my room, where his clothes were still draped over my chair. He picked up the shorts, snapped my leg with them, then headed for the door.
“What about the shirt?” I asked.
He waved his hand through the air. “It’s dirty.”
“But you need a shirt.” I went to my closet and flipped through my stacks until I found the biggest one I owned, then tossed it to him.
He held it up. “You want me to wear a hot-pink breast cancer run shirt?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Oh, and before you shower. I got something.” I snatched the crickets off the end of my bed and held them up for Cooper to see while I pointed at the list. “Try something new.”
“What is it?”
“Dried crickets.”
“Crickets? Are you being serious?”
I tore open the bag and poured them into my hand. There were six of them. Cooper stepped closer, took one off my extended palm, and popped it into his mouth.
“Mmm. Salty.” Then he walked to the door.
I let out a huff of air. I had hoped he’d put up more of a fight than that. I’d hoped that maybe I’d found something he was afraid of. When he got to the door, he turned. “Are you going to try one?”
Without thinking too hard, I stuck one in my mouth and chewed it up quickly. He was right—it was salty and crunchy and tasted a bit like dry grass. “That wasn’t too bad.”
“Not at all. But that doesn’t count for me.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ve eaten dried crickets before.”
I threw the rest of them at him, but they landed on my floor five feet away. “You brat. Well, it counted for me.”
“Okay, but we have to try something new together too. Something we both haven’t done. Something epic. Like that sunrise.”
I smiled, hearing he thought our outing was epic. “Okay.”
He backed out of my room, and I watched him disappear behind the bathroom door across the hall.