Love, Life, and the List
Page 15
Mom smiled at Cooper. “It’s okay. I know you’re careful.”
If she had seen how careful he was, she would never trust him with me again.
Grandpa retrieved the plate my mom was extending and then said, “Didn’t you promise Abby a walk to the park after dinner today, Susan?” This was his way to push my mom, because I certainly hadn’t, with our downplayed ride. I shot him a look but then smiled at Mom. Because it was true. She had promised. “We can all go,” Grandpa said.
Mom’s lips formed a tight line. She finished filling the last plate, then sat down. “Yes, I did promise. That sounds good.”
I wasn’t sure what it was about having Cooper with us that made my mom more relaxed. Maybe it was his general happy nature, or maybe she sensed that he feared nothing, so she didn’t need to either. Whatever it was, when he was there, our success rate at getting my mom out the door was almost as high as when my dad was around.
Grandpa and I walked arm in arm, trailing Mom and Cooper. Cooper was doing most of the talking, like I generally did when I walked with my mom. But she was looking up more, laughing more, not hesitating as much. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but I’d ask him later so I could pick up a few pointers.
“How was your quad ride really?” Grandpa asked me.
“Terrifying,” I said. “Too fast.”
“That’s what I thought.” He patted my arm. “And did it give you newfound depth?”
“It actually gave me an idea for one of my paintings.”
“That’s great. So does that mean you’re going to be racing on the dunes alongside Cooper next week?”
“Not on your life.”
“How are you going to retaliate?”
“You mean what fear am I going to make him face?”
“Yes.”
“No idea.”
We arrived at the park, and my mom sat on a bench. I chose a swing close by, Cooper taking the one right next to me. Grandpa stood behind me and gave me a push.
“You’re surprisingly strong for your age,” I said.
“I’m strong for any age.”
I pushed myself higher with a pump of my legs.
“Which classics did you end up picking?” Grandpa asked.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” I yelled out from the top of my swing.
“A Tale of Two Cities,” Grandpa said. “Good choice. About two vastly different realities existing at the same time. And what about you?” Grandpa turned to Cooper, who was twisting in his swing, the chain getting tighter and tighter.
“Crime and Punishment.”
“Ah. About a man getting away with murder . . . or does he? Our internal judge can be the worst punishment of all.”
“Don’t tell us the end, Grandpa!”
He laughed. “I haven’t.”
I glanced over at Mom as my swing slowed to a stop. She was intently taking in our surroundings. “What’s next on the list?” she asked when she noticed me looking.
Cooper lifted his feet and began spinning violent circles as the chain unraveled.
“Dizzy,” he said when he planted his feet again.
“What’s next on our list, Cooper?” I asked.
He groaned. “We’re trying out for a musical tomorrow.”
Grandpa raised his eyebrows and said, “Really?” as if he thought it was a horrible idea.
I grunted. “It’s a new experience!”
A buzzing noise sounded from Cooper’s pocket and he pulled out his phone. A smile played on his lips.
When he looked up I nodded at his phone, asking him who it was.
He just shook his head and started spinning the swing again.
As we headed back to the house, my mom arm in arm with Grandpa this time, I leaned over to Cooper and whispered, “Who were you texting with?”
“Remember that girl I met at the outdoor movie a couple of weeks ago?”
“I?”
He smiled. “No. Ris.”
“Oh, right. Ris. Yes, I remember her.” I had hoped he hadn’t. That she was quickly forgotten. Apparently not.
“It was just her. We’ve texted a few times.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“I think you’d like her.”
I was sure I wouldn’t. “Yeah. Bring her to one of our outings sometime and I’ll see.”
“I will.”
When we got to my house, he went straight to his car.
“Your book is inside,” I said.
“I’ll get it tomorrow.”
He drove away and I watched him go, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.
ELEVEN
That night I pulled out a painting I had done over a year ago. It was Cooper on a quad, flying over the sand dunes. It was good, realistic, but that was it. I studied the painting, remembered the fear that had coursed through me when I was in the same position, and set out to alter what I’d created. I tried to mask its portrait feel and make it more dramatic. More shadows, more sand flying, more expression. I didn’t refer to a real picture while working out the details on his face. I didn’t care so much if it was true to life. Just that it was real.
I stood back and glanced up at the wall clock. Three hours had passed. It hadn’t felt that long. My hands were covered in paint—black and deep blue streaked along all my knuckles. I used a clean corner of my paint shirt to wipe a blob I could feel under my eye, and then I assessed what I had done.
It was different. There was emotion on Cooper’s face that didn’t exist in the picture this was based off, along with steeper dune angles and misty sand flying and much more shadow. I wasn’t sure if all this made it better or just different. I wasn’t sure if I was better. The doubt that had lodged in my chest with Mr. Wallace’s summary of my work had built a sturdy nest there that wasn’t going to be easily disassembled. I dropped my paintbrushes in the jar and went to clean up.
“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” Cooper said. We were sitting in the red velvety seats of an auditorium with a hundred other people. They all held some sort of paper, and I stretched up to try and see what it was.
“What do they have?” I whispered. “We don’t have anything.”
Cooper looked around too, as if my mention of it made him realize that people were, in fact, holding papers. He was taller than me, so he had a better view. “Sheet music?” he said, as if not sure his guess was right. “It looks like sheet music.”
“Were we supposed to bring our own sheet music to try out with?”
“Obviously,” he said. “I guess that means we should leave.” He moved to stand, and I grabbed hold of his arm, pulling back down.
“We are not leaving.”
The click-clack of heels echoing through the room drew my attention to the stage in front of us, where Lacey now stood. I gave a small hum of surprise.
“What?” Cooper asked.
“Lacey Barnes is here. And apparently in charge.”
“And that surprises you?”
“I guess not. She is the star of a commercial.”
“And almost every single one of our school plays.”
“I guess I should watch more school plays.”
Lacey cleared her throat and spoke. “Welcome, everyone. We’re so excited to have you. I’m Lacey Barnes, assistant director of The Music Man this year. Thank you all for coming out. We’ll be starting soon. Our pianist today will be Mac Lawrence.” She gestured to the piano on the floor in front of the stage, and a man stood up and waved. Everyone clapped and I joined in.
If she had seen how careful he was, she would never trust him with me again.
Grandpa retrieved the plate my mom was extending and then said, “Didn’t you promise Abby a walk to the park after dinner today, Susan?” This was his way to push my mom, because I certainly hadn’t, with our downplayed ride. I shot him a look but then smiled at Mom. Because it was true. She had promised. “We can all go,” Grandpa said.
Mom’s lips formed a tight line. She finished filling the last plate, then sat down. “Yes, I did promise. That sounds good.”
I wasn’t sure what it was about having Cooper with us that made my mom more relaxed. Maybe it was his general happy nature, or maybe she sensed that he feared nothing, so she didn’t need to either. Whatever it was, when he was there, our success rate at getting my mom out the door was almost as high as when my dad was around.
Grandpa and I walked arm in arm, trailing Mom and Cooper. Cooper was doing most of the talking, like I generally did when I walked with my mom. But she was looking up more, laughing more, not hesitating as much. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but I’d ask him later so I could pick up a few pointers.
“How was your quad ride really?” Grandpa asked me.
“Terrifying,” I said. “Too fast.”
“That’s what I thought.” He patted my arm. “And did it give you newfound depth?”
“It actually gave me an idea for one of my paintings.”
“That’s great. So does that mean you’re going to be racing on the dunes alongside Cooper next week?”
“Not on your life.”
“How are you going to retaliate?”
“You mean what fear am I going to make him face?”
“Yes.”
“No idea.”
We arrived at the park, and my mom sat on a bench. I chose a swing close by, Cooper taking the one right next to me. Grandpa stood behind me and gave me a push.
“You’re surprisingly strong for your age,” I said.
“I’m strong for any age.”
I pushed myself higher with a pump of my legs.
“Which classics did you end up picking?” Grandpa asked.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” I yelled out from the top of my swing.
“A Tale of Two Cities,” Grandpa said. “Good choice. About two vastly different realities existing at the same time. And what about you?” Grandpa turned to Cooper, who was twisting in his swing, the chain getting tighter and tighter.
“Crime and Punishment.”
“Ah. About a man getting away with murder . . . or does he? Our internal judge can be the worst punishment of all.”
“Don’t tell us the end, Grandpa!”
He laughed. “I haven’t.”
I glanced over at Mom as my swing slowed to a stop. She was intently taking in our surroundings. “What’s next on the list?” she asked when she noticed me looking.
Cooper lifted his feet and began spinning violent circles as the chain unraveled.
“Dizzy,” he said when he planted his feet again.
“What’s next on our list, Cooper?” I asked.
He groaned. “We’re trying out for a musical tomorrow.”
Grandpa raised his eyebrows and said, “Really?” as if he thought it was a horrible idea.
I grunted. “It’s a new experience!”
A buzzing noise sounded from Cooper’s pocket and he pulled out his phone. A smile played on his lips.
When he looked up I nodded at his phone, asking him who it was.
He just shook his head and started spinning the swing again.
As we headed back to the house, my mom arm in arm with Grandpa this time, I leaned over to Cooper and whispered, “Who were you texting with?”
“Remember that girl I met at the outdoor movie a couple of weeks ago?”
“I?”
He smiled. “No. Ris.”
“Oh, right. Ris. Yes, I remember her.” I had hoped he hadn’t. That she was quickly forgotten. Apparently not.
“It was just her. We’ve texted a few times.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“I think you’d like her.”
I was sure I wouldn’t. “Yeah. Bring her to one of our outings sometime and I’ll see.”
“I will.”
When we got to my house, he went straight to his car.
“Your book is inside,” I said.
“I’ll get it tomorrow.”
He drove away and I watched him go, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.
ELEVEN
That night I pulled out a painting I had done over a year ago. It was Cooper on a quad, flying over the sand dunes. It was good, realistic, but that was it. I studied the painting, remembered the fear that had coursed through me when I was in the same position, and set out to alter what I’d created. I tried to mask its portrait feel and make it more dramatic. More shadows, more sand flying, more expression. I didn’t refer to a real picture while working out the details on his face. I didn’t care so much if it was true to life. Just that it was real.
I stood back and glanced up at the wall clock. Three hours had passed. It hadn’t felt that long. My hands were covered in paint—black and deep blue streaked along all my knuckles. I used a clean corner of my paint shirt to wipe a blob I could feel under my eye, and then I assessed what I had done.
It was different. There was emotion on Cooper’s face that didn’t exist in the picture this was based off, along with steeper dune angles and misty sand flying and much more shadow. I wasn’t sure if all this made it better or just different. I wasn’t sure if I was better. The doubt that had lodged in my chest with Mr. Wallace’s summary of my work had built a sturdy nest there that wasn’t going to be easily disassembled. I dropped my paintbrushes in the jar and went to clean up.
“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” Cooper said. We were sitting in the red velvety seats of an auditorium with a hundred other people. They all held some sort of paper, and I stretched up to try and see what it was.
“What do they have?” I whispered. “We don’t have anything.”
Cooper looked around too, as if my mention of it made him realize that people were, in fact, holding papers. He was taller than me, so he had a better view. “Sheet music?” he said, as if not sure his guess was right. “It looks like sheet music.”
“Were we supposed to bring our own sheet music to try out with?”
“Obviously,” he said. “I guess that means we should leave.” He moved to stand, and I grabbed hold of his arm, pulling back down.
“We are not leaving.”
The click-clack of heels echoing through the room drew my attention to the stage in front of us, where Lacey now stood. I gave a small hum of surprise.
“What?” Cooper asked.
“Lacey Barnes is here. And apparently in charge.”
“And that surprises you?”
“I guess not. She is the star of a commercial.”
“And almost every single one of our school plays.”
“I guess I should watch more school plays.”
Lacey cleared her throat and spoke. “Welcome, everyone. We’re so excited to have you. I’m Lacey Barnes, assistant director of The Music Man this year. Thank you all for coming out. We’ll be starting soon. Our pianist today will be Mac Lawrence.” She gestured to the piano on the floor in front of the stage, and a man stood up and waved. Everyone clapped and I joined in.
