Are You Mine

Chapter 4


Fox


There’s just something about Saige that keeps me thinking about her. It’s not new. I’ve been thinking about her since that party. Hell, before that. I’d only gone up to her at the party because I figured it’d be my last chance to do it. I’m usually not a coward, but something’s always kept me from talking to her. She’s abrasive, and everyone I know has warned me about her.

We’d gone to the same school for years, but I was always one or two grades ahead of her, so it’s not like we spent much time getting to know each other. And then because of getting held back, we were finally in the same grade, but as it turned out, we had zero friends in common.

Now that I’ve made Myka’s acquaintance, I have an ‘in’ with Saige, but she’s an incredibly difficult person to get to know. Something just below her harsh surface keeps my mind on her all day Tuesday. My thoughts stay with her through my morning warehouse shift. Then, halfway through my Burger Joint shift, she and Mkya come in with that guy Valentine in tow.

I can see them through the food warmer, and when I catch Myka’s eyes, she smiles and waves. Saige, however, keeps her eyes focused on the menu board like she’s never seen it before.

After I prepare most of their food, I take my break and invite myself to sit down with them. “This cool?” I ask as I slide into the booth next to Saige. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, but Myka’s giving me a look that tells me to stay put.

“Of course it’s cool,” Myka says. “We were just talking about you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

Myka nudges Val with her elbow. He’s shoving fries into his mouth, but pauses to say, “Yeah. ‘Myka’s Metal Valentine.’ Totally cool.” Then he continues shoveling the fries in.

“So when’s the next time you guys are getting together to work on it?”

When I turn to Saige, I see that she’s not eating the salad she ordered. She’s pushing the lettuce around, staring at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She doesn’t answer her friend, so I say, “I’m free after my warehouse shift tomorrow.”

“You work at a warehouse, too?”

I bring my eyes back to Myka. “Yeah. Stacking and packing books.” I look at Saige. “So? Like four? If you’re lucky, I’ll even take you out to dinner, and we can—”

She whips her head around, eyes narrowed. “We’re not going to dinner. You can come over to work on the book and that’s it.”

I hold my hands up. “Okay, okay, no dinner. Work only.” Dramatically, I widen my eyes and talk a bit like a robot. “No fun will be had. I do so solemnly swear.”

Saige goes back to pushing around her lettuce.

“What’s wrong with it?” I point to the salad.

“Nothing.”

“Not hungry?”

“Guess not.”

I look at her for just a second longer, but since it’s making her uncomfortable, I turn my focus to Val and Myka. They’re sort of an odd pair. Someone said he’s goth or something, but I don’t see it. He doesn’t wear make-up like the kids in the city. He looks way too relaxed and natural to be goth, but maybe that’s his weekend identity.

Myka on the other hand, she’s a trip. Ever since she came to this town, she’s worn crazy clothes and even crazier eye make-up. Like tonight, she’s got all that black stuff highlighting her eyes, but above it is a sparkling purple. It matches her hair and outfit. I don’t know what that thing is called. It’s like a torso wrap or something. Saige showed me pictures of women wearing it when we looked at Victorian fashion for the book. It doesn’t look comfortable, but she wears it every day, so it can’t be that bad.

A couple of years ago, there was a thing at school. Some of the parents wanted to enforce a dress code that came with restrictions on make-up. A bunch of kids protested it, including Saige, which is weird, because she wears normal clothes, and I can’t even tell if she wears make-up. But these kids, which totaled about a third of the school, all came in dressed as zombies. They were, uh, what’s the word when everyone is exactly alike? Not identical, but conformist. They all had on the same white shirt, splashed with red paint. The girls all had on those plaid skirts and white tights, and the guys all wore the same blue pants and tie.

It was pretty cool. The principal decided against the strict dress code and just reissued the “pledge of decency” at the next pep rally.

That was one of the first times I really looked at Saige and wondered what other tricks she had up her sleeve. If she was willing to protest something by dressing up as a zombie, what else did she keep secret? Because until then, I was sure she was just the quiet girl who hung out with the chick with the crazy hair.

Snapping draws my attention back to the table, and I see Myka flicking her fingers in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I catch Saige staring at me, too, but as soon as I tilt my head toward her, she stops.

“Where’d you go there, Foxy?”

I give Myka a smile. “Sometimes I get swept away in daydreams or distracted by shiny objects.”

“Saige, too.”

When I shift in the booth, I find Saige still picking at the salad. “That bad? Let me get you a refund.”

She lets out this deep breath, like she’s been holding it for years, then turns her eyes to me and says, “The salad is fine. I don’t need a refund.”

“Are you distracted by shiny objects?”

She flicks her eyes to Myka, then back to me. “No. I’m. . .”

“When she commits to anything, she’s very dedicated and single-minded about it, but the problem is getting her to make a decision one way or the other.”

“Really?” I reach out and take a lock of her hair between my fingers and let it slide through. It seems like a natural thing to do, but it’s got Saige all wide-eyed and frozen, so I pull my hand back. “Because it seems like you’re a girl full of opinions.”

“It’s like he knows you already,” Valentine says.

Myka nods. “She’s a walking contradiction.”

“Jesus, guys! Can we focus on something other than me?”

“But you’re the most interesting thing here,” I say, and she goes a bit pink. Glancing at my watch, I see my break was over about five minutes ago. “Dang. Got to go. See you guys later.”

I slide out of the booth, but stop before I leave, I wag my finger at Saige in a playful way and say, “You’re a tough nut to crack, Saigey, but I think I can do it.”

This time, her mouth drops open a little bit as she turns her wide-eyes from me to Myka. “So tomorrow. Four. Dinner and a graphic novel workshop.”

I don’t give her time to realize I snuck dinner back into the deal or time to back out of it because it seems like maybe she’d like to. They stay in that booth for another half an hour. I keep an eye on them from my spot in the back, and I smile when I see Saige finally eating that stupid salad.

***

“So here’s one for you since you’re a word girl,” I say after sitting in silence for far too long. “Which word is spelled incorrectly in the dictionary?”

Saige looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I doubt any of them. Don’t you think dictionaries have tech writers and copyeditors?”

“Wrong. Want the answer?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Sure.”

“Incorrectly.”

It takes her a second to get it, but when she does, she shakes her head. A smile grows, and I feel triumphant.

To keep it going, I look around. “This is a great apartment. You live here all by yourself?”

She brings her legs up onto the couch. “Yep.”

“What’s that about? I mean, you’re only eighteen, and this place looks lived in.”

“My grandma and I had an arrangement. She let me live alone as long as I didn’t get into trouble or drop out.”

There’s a story there, but I don’t think now is the time to ask about it, so instead I nod toward the sketches I did last night. “Do you think that’s the look Myka wants? I don’t know much about steampunk, and Wikipedia said a bunch of stuff about the Wild West and the Victorian era. I don’t know anything Victorian, so I had to look up some pictures. The women had big butts back then.”

Saige twists up her mouth and narrows her eyes at me. “There’re bustles, not actually their asses.”

I chuckle at how serious she’s being. “I know. Wikipedia explained that, too; I was just being funny. Do you know that word?” While I find this amusing, it’s clear she does not. “Ah, come on, Saigey, it doesn’t have to be that deep all the time, you know? Quit being so intense.”

“It’s pretty much who I am, Fox.”

I smile and nod while I clap my hands once. “There! You finally said my name. Do it again.”

“Are you, like, ADHD or something?”

“Nope, just easily amused and distracted like I told you last night. Come on, say it again.”

For a second, I think she’s going to get pissed because she might be the kind of girl who can’t lighten up even a little, but then she rolls her eyes in a way that lets me know she’s not really annoyed.

“Fine. Fox.”

“Yessss!”

“You’re a dork.” Her voice is light and there’s a hint of a laugh to it.

“Wrong. I’m an epic dork. Get it right, will ya?”

Saige bends down, grabs a little wooden box out from under the couch, and sets it on the coffee table. Flipping open the lid, she looks up at me. “Want to smoke a joint?”

She plucks a pack of papers and a bag full of weed out of the box.

“Nah, that’s okay.”

“Will it bother you if I do?”

I shake my head. “I’m not anti-pot or anything, just don’t do it. I’ve got a natural high going, if you couldn’t tell.”

“You had water at the party. You don’t drink either?”

Thrilled she noticed and remembered the water bottle I held during our brief chat, I try to contain the urge to jump up out of this chair like I’ve won some huge victory. Instead, I manage to be as calm she is when I say, “My mind’s better without all that stuff.”

As she starts to break up the pot into fine pieces, Saige asks, “Have you ever gotten drunk or high?”

“I got drunk in ninth grade.” I pause. “The second ninth grade.” At my clarification, her cheeks go a bit rosy. “Just seemed like depression in a bottle, so no need for that.”

“Because of your natural high?”

“Yep.”

Some of my friends enjoy pot, so this is not the first time I’ve seen the ritual of creating a joint. She seems to be an expert. “So you get high a lot?”

“Not a lot,” she says. Her voice is almost defensive. “Just sometimes.”

“Is it easier to write when you’re high?”

“Not especially.”

I decide to change the subject once she puts fire to the end of her joint. “So I have the perfect soundtrack to this book we’re writing. Well, you’re writing. I’m just drawing.”

“Just drawing.”

I barely hear it, but when I ask her what she said, she says it again.

“What?”

“Like everyone can just draw. That’s talent.”

“Oh, my God, Saige. Did you just compliment me?” She’s not impressed, but I can’t stop now. “Is that—”

“The first time I’ve ever given someone a compliment? Ha, ha. I can be nice, you know.”

We’re staring right at each other now. “Prove it.”

“Didn’t I just prove it with the whole compliment thing?” She takes another hit from the joint, then snubs it out before getting up to light an incense by the fireplace.

“That wasn’t proving anything beyond being capable of being nice.”

“I’m a nice person,” she says.

“I know, but other people don’t know; that’s the problem.”

“What?”

When she’s sitting again, I say, “People think you’re mean, but I think you’re great.”

It must be the wrong thing to say because she narrows her eyes at me again. “So this soundtrack of yours?”

I push the fact that I just said she was great and she completely ignored it to the side, and pull my mp3 player from my pocket. “Got a dock?”

She points to the built-in shelves across the room, and I see it. Once the player is in the cradle, I turn around. “So this music is modern, but feels like old school bluegrass or country. Perfect for a Victorian wild west novel.”

After I push play, the Avett Brothers’ “Pretty Girl from Raleigh” starts, followed by “The Traveling Song.”

Halfway through, she says, “You listen to this?”

I shake my head at the tone of her voice. It’s obvious she’s not a fan. “You’re just not ready to listen to it.”

“Not sure I’ll ever be ready for this.”

I place my hand over my heart like she’s stabbed it and say, “How dare you say anything bad about The Avett Brothers. I don’t think we can hang out anymore. Sorry.”

Saige gives me a smirk as she crosses her arms over her chest. “If I knew it was that easy to get rid of you, I would’ve had you play this earlier.”

“Oh, so it’s like that, now is it?”

“Like what?”

“First, you’re supposed to be proving you can be nice. Second, now that I know you want me to leave, I’m not going anywhere.” I mimic her posture and fold my arms over my chest. She tries not to, but I can see she’s fighting a smile.

“I and Love and You” starts at the exact right time. I can see that she’s really listening to it, not just the instruments, but the words, and she likes it. “Yeah, now you’re into it, aren’t you?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond, so I block the looming silence. “Don’t worry, for you The Avett Brothers may be an acquired taste, but luckily, you’re going to hear a lot of them this summer.”