Mom points her finger at me. “But I didn’t get it when I was underage. And I completely regret it because I was young and didn’t understand that tattoos were forever.”
“How did you not know they were forever? Isn’t that like saying you didn’t know ice cream was cold?” I raise my eyebrows.
Mom rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Sometimes when we’re young, we don’t understand the concept of forever. We live too much in the moment.”
“Can I see it?” Emery leans over the counter.
“No, you most certainly cannot,” Mom says, pouring herself more tea. When the glass reaches her lips, she adds, “It’s not in a child-friendly spot.”
Emery explodes with laughter, and Mom just watches her with a strange smile on her face. She looks proud—like she thinks she’s won Emery over.
Except I know Emery. She laughs at everything. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
I don’t realize I’m scowling until Emery nudges me again and mouths, What’s wrong?
I shake my thoughts away and try to enjoy my time with Emery, because there’s not much of it left.
We drink more tea, eat way too much ice cream, and then Emery has to leave. I walk her to the door and she makes a face like we’ve just stepped into an alternate dimension and she has no idea how to react.
When I walk back into the kitchen, Mom is facing the doorway, her back to the counter. She’s standing there, stoic and eerie, and there are tears streaming down her face.
My first instinct is concern. “What’s wrong?”
Mom takes a few erratic inhales and wipes her tears away with her fingers. “Do you really hate me so much that I can’t even get to know your friend a little better?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You looked so irritated that we were having a good time together. I was only trying to be nice.”
“I don’t care if you want to talk to Emery. You just confuse me. I mean, we had a huge fight. We weren’t even talking. And you never let people inside,” I point out.
Mom pulls her lips in and shakes her head. “I don’t mind if the house is clean.”
I grimace. I’m pretty sure she means she doesn’t mind as long as it’s her idea and on her own time. But I don’t say that.
“It’s hard for me too, you know.” She’s still wiping tears away.
I don’t understand—she was smiling a few minutes ago. How does someone go from smiling to crying? I’m the one whose college plans recently imploded. Why is Mom acting more emotional than me?
“You guys always act like I’m not interested in you—but nobody is ever interested in me, and I don’t get mad about it. You guys never want me around.” Her face crumples like she’s about to cry even harder, but the sob never comes.
“That’s not even true. I do want you around. I invited you to my art show, didn’t I?” She’s the one who didn’t want to be there.
She looks up at the wall, ignoring my question. “I wanted to be here today, hanging out with you and your friend.”
Again—she wants to be there as long as it fits into her schedule. I don’t know what to call that, but I certainly wouldn’t call it “wanting to be around.”
“I feel like you’re embarrassed by me,” she says, her eyes beginning to pool once more.
“You don’t have to cry,” I say, shifting awkwardly near the doorway. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say; my second instinct is to feel bad for her. “I don’t think those things at all.”
“I feel like all my kids hate me. My parents never did a thing for me, and I don’t hate them. I don’t get it.” She sniffs.
“We don’t hate you,” I tell her. The ice starts to thaw, just a little bit, just enough for me to forget that Mom makes the world feel dark.
“I want us all to get along,” she says quietly. “I do love all of you. I mean it.”
I nod. My third instinct is to hope—hope that this is some kind of turning point, or that her crying is some kind of sign that things will change.
It’s strange—hope can make you forget so much, so quickly. That’s why hoping is so dangerous.
Afterward, Mom gives me her credit card and says she knows I need clothes, so she wants me to order some new things as a graduation present.
I even manage to forget all about Prism until I’m lying awake in bed at night, realizing I haven’t sketched a single thing all day.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When the ceremony is over, I sit on the steps of the auditorium with my scarlet-red graduation robes folded in a pile next to me. Emery is somewhere behind me, fluttering around like the social butterfly she’s always been. I sit there, watching the cars disappear from the parking lot one by one, tapping my feet against the concrete and thinking about what I’m going to do with my life.
When I look back across the pavement, I catch sight of a familiar face.
Jamie’s hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he looks like he hasn’t decided if he’s moving forward or backward.
And then he smiles, raises his hand, and waves.
I wave back, a little too excited, and my chest tightens the closer he gets to me.
“Congratulations.” He’s standing at the edge of the sidewalk a few feet away.
“Thanks. What are you doing here?”
“My cousin is in your class, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I knew that,” I say. Rick is standing with his parents next to their car. He’s still wearing his graduation robes.
Jamie brushes his finger against his thick brow. I get the feeling he’s trying to think of an excuse to leave.
And I feel like I need to give him one. “I’m not sitting here by myself. I’m waiting on Emery,” I say. “So, you know, don’t feel like you have to come over and say ‘hi’ or anything.”
“No, it’s not—” He stops himself and studies me instead. It takes him a while to say anything, and when he does, he shakes his head like whatever he was thinking doesn’t matter anymore. He sits down next to me, his long arms draped over his knees. “So, what’s the plan? You off to college next?”
I flatten my mouth. “I was hoping art school, but I didn’t get in. I’m still trying to come up with a plan B.”
He pauses, holding on to his words like they aren’t quite right in his head yet. “I’m sorry, Kiko. I know how much you always loved to draw.”
I lift my eyes and follow the trail of his sharp jaw to his dark hair, which is just starting to curl above his ear. I’ve missed him so much. I’ve missed the way we were together. I’ve missed the way he always made me feel, like I was interesting and normal and funny.
Like I was someone worth being interested in.
He grins. “I still have some of your drawings, you know. The ones of us as different superheroes are my favorites.” He laughs easily. “Do you remember Klepto Kiko? And Jamie Juggernaut?”
“Oh my God, yes!” I burst into a fit of laughter. My head rolls to the side and both my hands fly up to cover my face. I can hear Jamie laughing too, and suddenly I really do feel like I’m six years old again and we’re laughing the way we did when we thought we’d stay best friends for the rest of our lives.
When I thought I’d be in love with Jamie Merrick forever because we were perfect together.