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“Do you want any popcorn?” “Oh, no. That’s alright.” He raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’ve been staring at the machine for as long as we’ve been standing here.” “I just like seeing how it’s made,”
“If you say so,” Adrian shrugs and then calls out to the worker. “We’ll need one large popcorn too.” My forehead crinkles. “What are you –” “You’re a terrible liar, you know,”
“Well, according to you, people only fall into one of two categories: obligations or problems. Does that make me an obligatory friend?”
“I’m not quite sure what that makes you.” I’m not sure either.
And it can’t be more than twenty minutes in before there’s a knock on my door. You’ve got to be kidding me.
You didn’t need to do this.’” His voice pitches higher, as if in imitation of me. “As if you could make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”
the hell kind of computer is that?” I clear my throat. “My computer.” “It looks like it’s from 2005.” “Actually, it’s 2007,” I correct. “And it works just fine.”
“If you were trying to offer your help in the most belittling way possible, I think you’ve succeeded,” I reply, oozing sarcasm. “And I think I’m going to have to pass on the offer. I’ve got everything I need here.”
“Well, it wasn’t much of an offer. I was just telling you what’s going to happen.”
“That’s my stuff. You can’t just take it.”
He bends even closer to scroll the page, and I take a sharp inhale of his fresh, woodsy cologne. Does he even realize what he’s doing to me?
Im sorry. Maybe if I write sorry in here Mommy and Daddy will believe it. I’m really really sorry. I wont ever oversleep again.
I know what I did wrong this time. I tried very hard to be good. I promise I did. Mom took me to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Costa so that I could play with Miguel.
Father hasn’t forced me into the cellar in a long time, and tonight will be the last. I know it as well as he does. Earlier, when he tried to manhandle me down the stairs, I nearly overpowered him. And, for a moment, there was genuine fear in his eyes. A second where he realized that I’m no longer the small child endlessly grasping for the fickle love of my parents. I’m almost a man, one that’s all but as tall as him.
The word dies on my lips the moment I see his face. Because Adrian’s anger is not heard – it’s felt. It’s in the tensing of his shoulders.
“Keeping it in the drawer is a recent development, you know. I used to keep it on the bookshelf with everything else, but one day, Mickey Mabel stumbled upon it.”
“He borrowed some of my books for a science class and supposedly took it home by accident. Thought it was his journal when he opened it – or so he told me. And really, I can admit that they do look similar.”
“It’s my due,” he says quietly. “For being born an Ellis. Nothing’s left to chance. You nip imperfections in the bud. You mold your children long before they ever have a chance to mold themselves. In a way, I’m lucky. I learned quickly. I never made the same mistake twice. My parents never had to resort to measures beyond the cellar.”
“It depended on how sorry I was,” he explains, and for all his talk of ‘being lucky,’ anger seeps through his tone. “In the beginning, it was only a few hours, but if I came out crying, I had to go back in. As I got older, my sentences got longer. The longest…” He hesitates. “Was my final trip to the cellar. The last entry in the journal.”
“How long?” I prompt softly. “Two days,”
water in the cellar, and at some point, I must’ve gotten dizzy and passed out. When I came to, it’d been more than forty-eight hours, and our family doctor was tending to the wounds on my ankle and the nasty kidney infection that must’ve developed from the dehydration.”
There’s a rose. In my locker. Sitting on top of my Biology textbook.
cobalt blue eyes pinned to mine. And it doesn’t seem like he’s joking. Freddy Rook shoots me a breathtaking, wide smile that leaves red blossoming over my cheeks.
Freddy is the only one that has my attention right now. He gestures to the rose and mouths: Think about it. I nod, still dazed, as he winks and turns back to his friends. Well, this is… I stare down at the rose – my rose – with wide eyes. …an interesting development.
Adrian about the rose, only to find that he’s already begun stalking away, the crowd melting into the corners of the hall to make room for him. I frown. So much for a friendly chat.
“There’s an art exhibit Saturday night. In Hartford. One of the museums has a few Dalí pieces on loan.”
“Dalí? Like Salvador Dalí?” “If it were another Dalí, I wouldn’t be bringing it to your attention.” “In Hartford…” My brain does a few quick calculations. “That’s –” “Two hours away,” he finishes, “My driver can take us.”
“I don’t want to go next weekend. I want to go this weekend.”
“It’s not about you. It’s not about him. It’s about me wanting to go to a silly high school dance with a cute boy and take pictures and embarrass myself on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Then go with me.” The world skitters to a stop. “What?” “Go with me,” he repeats. “I’ll take you to the dance.”
“Why?” Is the first word out of my mouth.
“Why not?” “I’d rather go with Freddy.” “No, you wouldn't.” “Yes, I would.” “You have to be lying.” “I’m not. I think I’ll have a great time with him.”
“This is insulting. I’m trying to do you a favor, and you’re still picking him over me. You should be grateful I’m even offering.”
“Tell me why,” he orders. “I need to know why.” There’s an edge
“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”
“You know, for someone so perceptive, I’m not sure you se...
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“I’m choosing to go with Freddy because he’s not trying ...
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and this is the ridiculous part – he’s jealous. As I said: ridiculous.
carrying the biggest bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen
in my life. It must be at least two or three dozen flowers bundled together. And that’s not all. Right behind is another florist carrying their own comically sized bouquet of what I think are roses with overlapping petals the color of apricot. And then a third – Jesus – holding some sort of hybrid bloom, the red petals bleeding into a white center.
I turn, my stomach plummeting all the way to the floorboards when I come face-to-face with a grinning Adrian.
“What’s going on?” Adrian’s grin only widens. “I want to take you to the St. Benedict’s Dance. Will you go with me, Poppy?” What the hell?
Until my eyes land on Freddy, whose devastation is sobering.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Because I see you now,” he breathes so quietly I know I’m the only one who hears. “So say yes or I’ll make a scene so bad this entire room will be begging for your expulsion before the day’s over.”
“God, you are so frustrating sometimes.” “It’s funny. I could say the same thing about you.” It’s the sound of his chuckle, low and rich like molten chocolate, that peels my eyes from the floor. And I still. Because he’s looking at me.
“You were right.” “Right about what?”
“That I didn’t see you very clearly.” “And what exactly is it that you think you see?”
“I see how it’s supposed to be,” he murmurs,
“I’ve been feeling odd things. You’ve been making me feel odd things.”
