Breaking Nova
Page 23
I bite down on my lip. I couldn’t believe when that slipped out of my mouth, and I’m blaming it on my current inability to make good, coherent sentences before I speak. “Maybe, but I thought this was Dylan’s tent.”
“It is,” he says. “I was just curious.”
“About what kinds of tents I like?”
“About the things you like.”
He waits for me to say what I like, but I can’t, because I really don’t know anymore what I like and what I want.
We climb out of the tent and start wandering around the store again, trying to decide which tent to get, still holding hands for no other reason than neither one of us can seem to find a reason to let go.
“I like the purple tent,” I say as we stand in the section where the boxes of tents are stacked. I have my free hand on my pocket, reminding me that my phone is there—the video is there.
He rakes his fingers through his brown hair, using the hand that’s holding on to my hand, so I get to feel how soft his hair is. “Yeah, I’m not sure if Dylan will be too stoked to have a purple tent.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say.
He cocks his head to the side as he studies the selection and then fixes his eyes on me. “You know what, he can have whatever tent we get him, since he’s the one who made us do his shopping for him.”
I giggle as he picks up the purple tent and drops it into the cart. He smiles at the sound of my laughter, and I smile, too, as we head up to the register. With our fingers still laced, we use our free hands to load up the conveyer belt. It’s extremely awkward, maneuvering around the cart together, but I’m finding it amusing and kind of fun, which makes it hard to let go of his hand.
“You know, we should make a game of this,” he says, setting a sleeping bag down.
I take a lantern out of the cart. “Out of what?”
He glances down at our hands clasped together. “Out of how long we can do this.”
I feel a little guilty that we’re still gripping onto each other, but it’s comfortable—familiar and comforting—and I don’t want to stop. “What does the winner get?”
“Well, technically we’d both be winners since we both would let go at the same time.”
“Good point.”
Smiling to himself, he resumes piling stuff on the belt, and I do, too. But the longer our hands stay joined, the sweatier my hand gets, and finally the comforting sensation leaves my body and I pull away, noting that it was my hand that left his first.
Chapter 12
July 28, Day 70 of Summer Break
Quinton
Nova and I finish up at the store, keeping our hands to ourselves, making light conversation that in no way gives me any insight as to who she really is inside. Sometimes she seems happy to be with me and sometimes sad, and by the time we make it to the trailer park she looks like she’s going to cry. She wanders into Dylan’s room with Delilah, and I have a suspicion that they’re getting high. Part of me wants to go back there and stop her, but the part of me, the druggie inside, knows I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I lecture her for doing something I do every day, so instead I stay outside and load up the car. Eventually Nova and Delilah come back outside and start cooking hot dogs over a rusty barbecue grill on the porch. We all eat them and then get ready to hit the road.
We leave later than planned. It’s little after midnight when we pile into Tristan’s Cadillac, with our suitcases, tents, sleeping bags, and all the other shit Nova and I picked up at the store piled in the trunk. The stars are out, but it’s a little cloudy, so they look like distant dots hidden by a wispy veil. I’d sketch it because it’s one of those rare sights that should be recorded, but I’m squished between the door and Nova, who’s searching through videos on her phone.
Tristan is driving, and Dylan made Delilah sit in the backseat, even though she said it makes her carsick. He told her he didn’t give a shit, and I really don’t think he does. He wants to sit up front where it’s roomier and he can rest back and get some sleep. Nova chooses to sit by me, and I both love and hate that she did. And it really makes me want to get high, but I won’t smoke in the car. I’d never put any of their lives at risk by smoking in the car and getting everyone, including the driver, stoned.
“It smells like dirty socks,” Nova remarks, scrunching her nose as she scrolls through video clips on her phone.
Delilah giggles next to her. “It’s probably Dylan’s feet. They stink.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dylan complains from the front seat, kicking his boots up onto the dashboard. “I still have my shoes on.”
Nova’s eyes elevate from her phone and settle on me. “Is it you?”
I shake my head, confining a smile. “I still have my shoes on, too.”
“But you always have your laces undone.” She says it more as a question than a statement. Her fingers wrap securely around her phone and she hugs it against her chest.
“Because it makes it easier to slip them off,” I say, trying not to dig too deep into the fact that she noticed this minor detail about me. “And easier to put on.”
“Oh.” She glances back at her phone, but doesn’t do anything but stare at the black screen.
“It’s my feet,” Tristan shamelessly admits as he veers the car onto the desolate highway. “But if I’m stuck driving, you all are just going to have to deal with it, because I’m going to be comfortable.”
“No one made you drive,” Dylan says, cracking the window so he can smoke. “You just did.”
“Because no one else offered,” he retorts, flipping on the high beams. The road in front of us lights up, every twist and turn, and every single tree. There’s no one on the road, and it makes me apprehensive. It’s not like I haven’t been in a car since the accident, but I’m also usually high whenever I get into a vehicle. I didn’t have time to light up before we drove off, and there’s no way I’m smoking it in the car when I have other people in it. Being sober in a car painfully forces me to think about the accident and how in a blink of an eye we all could be gone.
Nova lets out an exhausted sigh as she drops her phone on the seat between Delilah and herself. “We should play a game,” she says.
“Like spin the bottle,” Tristan suggests, smiling at her in the rearview mirror.
She frowns as she tips her head down, pieces of her hair curtaining her face. “No, like I spy or something.”
“That’s the stupidest game ever,” Dylan snaps from the front seat. His head flops back against the headrest, and his hand rests on the windowsill so the cigarette ashes can blow freely outside. He’s been pretty moody lately—well, moodier than normal—which means he’s probably coming down from something a lot rougher than pot.
Delilah unfastens her seat belt, and it makes my stomach somersault as she slides forward in the seat to massage the back of Dylan’s neck. “Relax, babe,” she says, moving her fingers in circles along his neck. “Try to get some sleep.”
Dylan mutters something as he puffs on his cigarette. “This is such bullshit.”
I move my attention from them to Nova, because looking at her makes my heart calm down a little, especially since she has her seat belt on. It gives me a sense of peace, even though I don’t have my own on.
“How’s your face feeling?” I ask her, observing her enflamed cheek.
She pouts out her bottom lip as she covers her cheek with her hand. “I think it’s going to bruise, even after you put the ice on it.”
“The ice was for the swelling.” I resist the urge to put a hand on her cheek, because I need to stop touching her so much. “And it’ll probably bruise, but it’ll go away eventually.”
“I know,” she replies, disheartened. “But it hurts and I need a distraction. That’s why I wanted to play the game. Well, that and my dad and I used to play it all the time when we’d take road trips.” She sucks her lip between her teeth, looking sadder than someone whose dog just died. “Sorry, that probably makes me sound like a little kid, doesn’t it?”
“No, it makes you sound like someone who misses her dad.” I stare out the window at the lofty trees and fence lining the road, thinking about my dad back at home, all alone, living in a house packed with memories of my mom. “I spy something green,” I say. I wait for Nova to say something, but when she doesn’t, I turn my head toward her. “What? Now you don’t want to play?”
Her expression is unreadable. “No, I just didn’t think anyone would actually play a game with me.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I guess I’m a sucker for those sad, puppy-dog eyes of yours…” As soon as it slips out, I want to retract it. It’s not a friend thing to say. It’s a flirty, I’m-going-to-try-and-fuck-you-later thing to say. And I shouldn’t be flirting with her or thinking about fucking her. Plus, Tristan’s in the car and the last thing I want to do is piss him off, especially after how nice he’s been to me, all things considering.
By the look on Nova’s face, I think she knows I’m flirting with her, and I bite my tongue, wondering what the hell is going to come out of her mouth.
“The grass,” she guesses breezily, letting me off the hook.
I frown, disappointed by her answer. “That’s seriously your guess?”
“What.” She bats her eyelashes innocently at me. “It’s green.”
“Nova.” I shake my head, pretending to be severely displeased in her answer. “Your lack of creativity is alarmingly disappointing.”
“Well, not all of us our artists,” she retorts. “But if you think you’re so creative, then let’s see how good you are.” She thrums her finger on her chin as she glances around at the forest on each side of the road. “I spy something… green.” She smiles at me, amused by herself, which makes her at the moment completely and utterly the most wonderful person that’s ever existed, at least in my book.
“Did you just copy me?” I question with an arch of my brow.
She exaggeratedly presses her hand to her heart. “No way. How could I when I don’t even know what the answer was?”
“Yeah… I guess…” I focus on her, pretending like I’m trying to read her thoughts, and it makes her squirm. Maintaining an impartial expression, I give her an answer she’ll never expect. “Your eyes.”
She points a finger at me, grinning. “My eyes are blue.”
Even though my mind is resistant, I raise my hand and touch my fingertips to her temple. “Actually, they’re blue with little specks of green in them. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”
She presses her lips together so forcefully the skin around them turns purple. “You did?”
I nod, my guilt consuming me, and I want to retract everything I’ve ever said to her. But like I know way too well, you can’t just take stuff back. The decisions we make from the moment we definitively make them stick with us forever. Like deciding to take the responsibility of being the driver for the night, which may not seem like a big thing, but in my case, it drastically altered my life forever.
“It is,” he says. “I was just curious.”
“About what kinds of tents I like?”
“About the things you like.”
He waits for me to say what I like, but I can’t, because I really don’t know anymore what I like and what I want.
We climb out of the tent and start wandering around the store again, trying to decide which tent to get, still holding hands for no other reason than neither one of us can seem to find a reason to let go.
“I like the purple tent,” I say as we stand in the section where the boxes of tents are stacked. I have my free hand on my pocket, reminding me that my phone is there—the video is there.
He rakes his fingers through his brown hair, using the hand that’s holding on to my hand, so I get to feel how soft his hair is. “Yeah, I’m not sure if Dylan will be too stoked to have a purple tent.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say.
He cocks his head to the side as he studies the selection and then fixes his eyes on me. “You know what, he can have whatever tent we get him, since he’s the one who made us do his shopping for him.”
I giggle as he picks up the purple tent and drops it into the cart. He smiles at the sound of my laughter, and I smile, too, as we head up to the register. With our fingers still laced, we use our free hands to load up the conveyer belt. It’s extremely awkward, maneuvering around the cart together, but I’m finding it amusing and kind of fun, which makes it hard to let go of his hand.
“You know, we should make a game of this,” he says, setting a sleeping bag down.
I take a lantern out of the cart. “Out of what?”
He glances down at our hands clasped together. “Out of how long we can do this.”
I feel a little guilty that we’re still gripping onto each other, but it’s comfortable—familiar and comforting—and I don’t want to stop. “What does the winner get?”
“Well, technically we’d both be winners since we both would let go at the same time.”
“Good point.”
Smiling to himself, he resumes piling stuff on the belt, and I do, too. But the longer our hands stay joined, the sweatier my hand gets, and finally the comforting sensation leaves my body and I pull away, noting that it was my hand that left his first.
Chapter 12
July 28, Day 70 of Summer Break
Quinton
Nova and I finish up at the store, keeping our hands to ourselves, making light conversation that in no way gives me any insight as to who she really is inside. Sometimes she seems happy to be with me and sometimes sad, and by the time we make it to the trailer park she looks like she’s going to cry. She wanders into Dylan’s room with Delilah, and I have a suspicion that they’re getting high. Part of me wants to go back there and stop her, but the part of me, the druggie inside, knows I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I lecture her for doing something I do every day, so instead I stay outside and load up the car. Eventually Nova and Delilah come back outside and start cooking hot dogs over a rusty barbecue grill on the porch. We all eat them and then get ready to hit the road.
We leave later than planned. It’s little after midnight when we pile into Tristan’s Cadillac, with our suitcases, tents, sleeping bags, and all the other shit Nova and I picked up at the store piled in the trunk. The stars are out, but it’s a little cloudy, so they look like distant dots hidden by a wispy veil. I’d sketch it because it’s one of those rare sights that should be recorded, but I’m squished between the door and Nova, who’s searching through videos on her phone.
Tristan is driving, and Dylan made Delilah sit in the backseat, even though she said it makes her carsick. He told her he didn’t give a shit, and I really don’t think he does. He wants to sit up front where it’s roomier and he can rest back and get some sleep. Nova chooses to sit by me, and I both love and hate that she did. And it really makes me want to get high, but I won’t smoke in the car. I’d never put any of their lives at risk by smoking in the car and getting everyone, including the driver, stoned.
“It smells like dirty socks,” Nova remarks, scrunching her nose as she scrolls through video clips on her phone.
Delilah giggles next to her. “It’s probably Dylan’s feet. They stink.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dylan complains from the front seat, kicking his boots up onto the dashboard. “I still have my shoes on.”
Nova’s eyes elevate from her phone and settle on me. “Is it you?”
I shake my head, confining a smile. “I still have my shoes on, too.”
“But you always have your laces undone.” She says it more as a question than a statement. Her fingers wrap securely around her phone and she hugs it against her chest.
“Because it makes it easier to slip them off,” I say, trying not to dig too deep into the fact that she noticed this minor detail about me. “And easier to put on.”
“Oh.” She glances back at her phone, but doesn’t do anything but stare at the black screen.
“It’s my feet,” Tristan shamelessly admits as he veers the car onto the desolate highway. “But if I’m stuck driving, you all are just going to have to deal with it, because I’m going to be comfortable.”
“No one made you drive,” Dylan says, cracking the window so he can smoke. “You just did.”
“Because no one else offered,” he retorts, flipping on the high beams. The road in front of us lights up, every twist and turn, and every single tree. There’s no one on the road, and it makes me apprehensive. It’s not like I haven’t been in a car since the accident, but I’m also usually high whenever I get into a vehicle. I didn’t have time to light up before we drove off, and there’s no way I’m smoking it in the car when I have other people in it. Being sober in a car painfully forces me to think about the accident and how in a blink of an eye we all could be gone.
Nova lets out an exhausted sigh as she drops her phone on the seat between Delilah and herself. “We should play a game,” she says.
“Like spin the bottle,” Tristan suggests, smiling at her in the rearview mirror.
She frowns as she tips her head down, pieces of her hair curtaining her face. “No, like I spy or something.”
“That’s the stupidest game ever,” Dylan snaps from the front seat. His head flops back against the headrest, and his hand rests on the windowsill so the cigarette ashes can blow freely outside. He’s been pretty moody lately—well, moodier than normal—which means he’s probably coming down from something a lot rougher than pot.
Delilah unfastens her seat belt, and it makes my stomach somersault as she slides forward in the seat to massage the back of Dylan’s neck. “Relax, babe,” she says, moving her fingers in circles along his neck. “Try to get some sleep.”
Dylan mutters something as he puffs on his cigarette. “This is such bullshit.”
I move my attention from them to Nova, because looking at her makes my heart calm down a little, especially since she has her seat belt on. It gives me a sense of peace, even though I don’t have my own on.
“How’s your face feeling?” I ask her, observing her enflamed cheek.
She pouts out her bottom lip as she covers her cheek with her hand. “I think it’s going to bruise, even after you put the ice on it.”
“The ice was for the swelling.” I resist the urge to put a hand on her cheek, because I need to stop touching her so much. “And it’ll probably bruise, but it’ll go away eventually.”
“I know,” she replies, disheartened. “But it hurts and I need a distraction. That’s why I wanted to play the game. Well, that and my dad and I used to play it all the time when we’d take road trips.” She sucks her lip between her teeth, looking sadder than someone whose dog just died. “Sorry, that probably makes me sound like a little kid, doesn’t it?”
“No, it makes you sound like someone who misses her dad.” I stare out the window at the lofty trees and fence lining the road, thinking about my dad back at home, all alone, living in a house packed with memories of my mom. “I spy something green,” I say. I wait for Nova to say something, but when she doesn’t, I turn my head toward her. “What? Now you don’t want to play?”
Her expression is unreadable. “No, I just didn’t think anyone would actually play a game with me.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I guess I’m a sucker for those sad, puppy-dog eyes of yours…” As soon as it slips out, I want to retract it. It’s not a friend thing to say. It’s a flirty, I’m-going-to-try-and-fuck-you-later thing to say. And I shouldn’t be flirting with her or thinking about fucking her. Plus, Tristan’s in the car and the last thing I want to do is piss him off, especially after how nice he’s been to me, all things considering.
By the look on Nova’s face, I think she knows I’m flirting with her, and I bite my tongue, wondering what the hell is going to come out of her mouth.
“The grass,” she guesses breezily, letting me off the hook.
I frown, disappointed by her answer. “That’s seriously your guess?”
“What.” She bats her eyelashes innocently at me. “It’s green.”
“Nova.” I shake my head, pretending to be severely displeased in her answer. “Your lack of creativity is alarmingly disappointing.”
“Well, not all of us our artists,” she retorts. “But if you think you’re so creative, then let’s see how good you are.” She thrums her finger on her chin as she glances around at the forest on each side of the road. “I spy something… green.” She smiles at me, amused by herself, which makes her at the moment completely and utterly the most wonderful person that’s ever existed, at least in my book.
“Did you just copy me?” I question with an arch of my brow.
She exaggeratedly presses her hand to her heart. “No way. How could I when I don’t even know what the answer was?”
“Yeah… I guess…” I focus on her, pretending like I’m trying to read her thoughts, and it makes her squirm. Maintaining an impartial expression, I give her an answer she’ll never expect. “Your eyes.”
She points a finger at me, grinning. “My eyes are blue.”
Even though my mind is resistant, I raise my hand and touch my fingertips to her temple. “Actually, they’re blue with little specks of green in them. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”
She presses her lips together so forcefully the skin around them turns purple. “You did?”
I nod, my guilt consuming me, and I want to retract everything I’ve ever said to her. But like I know way too well, you can’t just take stuff back. The decisions we make from the moment we definitively make them stick with us forever. Like deciding to take the responsibility of being the driver for the night, which may not seem like a big thing, but in my case, it drastically altered my life forever.
