Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Price: A Breech in Decorum

And would she still be looking at him as if he were a monster, a ragged delinquent standing in the jeans of a teenage boy?

He tried to soften the scowl on his face as he scanned the cafeteria for a table. It wasn’t until his eyes caught upon Ariel, jetty head bent over her coffee that he realized she had moved on without him. She shot him a cursory glance as he approached, then hid behind her overgrown bangs again.

“Feeling guilty?” He slid his tray across from her and took a seat. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his food – as if, when he did, that she would withdraw completely.

“For leaving Katrina? Or for leaving Iris to fend off my mother?”

He took in the downward curve of her mouth, doubting whether she was really as cynical as she sounded. Judging by her words, she had neglected to call either of her relatives. “Both, I guess. I was just thinking about Jewel. Lily isn’t exactly…”

“Responsible?”

He grimaced. “Uh, kind of. More like scattered.”

“Right.” Ariel said. She raised one eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. “If Lily is scattered, my mother is clinically insane.”

“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t met her yet.”

“Be grateful. Knowing her isn’t exactly a privilege.”

“But your aunt?” He was digging himself into a hole, he knew, but he couldn’t resist asking about her family. He didn’t know much, except that she and her mother had moved into Redemption to take care of her aunt.

Randall, the aunt’s son, had committed suicide last year.

He had always been a recluse in school. Ran track, all knobby knees and honor-society-worthy GPAs. Just another kid struggling through the woes of puberty and growing up and realizing that life was this messy, ragged thing. The thing about Randall was, he had a lot more to do with Charliegh’s – and consequently, Price’s – life than either cared to remember.  

“Iris is okay.” Ariel was avoiding his gaze again, eyes skipping over the cracked tile floor of the cafeteria. “I mean, better than my mom. Nicer. Oblivious, but nice.”

Oblivious seemed to resonate with detached. Decent enough to listen every so often, but not proactive enough to approach. Non-confrontational. Exactly the type of person Ariel was drawn to. He felt bitterness churning in his stomach. Was this her unspoken way of telling him that becoming close would entail leaving her personal life alone?

“That's what you want, isn’t it? Nice.”

She took a cautious bite of her apple, pausing to chew and swallow. Saliva trembled in the corner of her lip. It was the first time in the past few days that he had seen her look truly vulnerable, and it entailed nothing more than shooting questions across a dirty plastic table.

“You make it sound like a horrible thing. Nice.”

“You ever wanted something besides nice?”

“I assume you want me to ask, ‘like what’?”

He fiddled with his spoon, swirling it around in his coffee until it split apart and spun in opposing directions. A study in contradictions. The past and the present, colliding across a blank canvas. “Something honest,” he said.

Ariel tucked her bangs behind one ear. “No. I’ve wished for a lot of things in people, but never honesty.”

It was interesting, but, in a roundabout way, tragic. How strange it was that she had spent her life chasing after people who concealed the truth from her; while he had spent his bowling over those who attempted dishonesty.

Watching her meander through an apple, a perfect case of oblivion reincarnate, something occurred to him. An idea that was terrible, and probably crazy. And out of context – they were sitting in a hospital cafeteria, for God’s sake. But he couldn’t shake the niggling suspicion that he had to do something, say something, or he would lose his chance.

And what if it was a chance he could never get back?

He rubbed his palms against his thighs, trying to muster his courage. “I shouldn’t tell you what I was thinking, then.”

Surprised, she uncurled her body, straightening her shoulders with an almost imperceptible shake. With a motion like the slight unfurling of wings, she pulled herself up to eye level and shook her hair out of her face.

For a moment, she was quiet, surveying his features. Calculating his motives. Finding no obvious ulterior motive, she spoke. “For the sake of curiosity, tell away.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty,” he said, “I was wondering what you’d think if I kissed you.”

The silence between them was almost palpable. His heart was beating too fast, and seeing her eyes widen, blue narrowing to fine crystal pinpricks, made him feel like an idiot. It was a terrible thing to say. Impulsive. Reckless. Honest.

“I don’t know what I’d think.” Her voice trembled. “I’d probably ask you why you wanted to kiss me.”

“I’ve had my moment of honesty.” He leaned forward even as he tried to pull himself back, marveling in the way her pale cheeks filled with color. “Maybe things don’t need reasons.”

“Maybe,” she said doubtfully, “or maybe you just try not to give them reasons, so you can attempt those things, and dodge the honest part of them.”

For once, he didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t match her neatly formulated questions, fit together with the jagged pieces of her intellect and unrest. And – although not for the first time – it wasn’t something he wanted to match.

So instead of trying to field answers filled with honesty and curiosity and beauty, he leaned the rest of the way over the table, sweatshirt snagging on the edges, heartbeat reverberating along the length of his body, and met her half-open mouth with his half-closed one.

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