"It feels scratchy." I grumbled, tugging at the collar of the wool suit.
Standing in the dressing room of some overpriced store lined with mirrors, I could not escape looking at myself. It left me with burning inescapable insecurities. Was my wavy brown hair weird looking? Would my scrawny arms grow muscles overnight? Would the hideous suit fix me?
I closed my eyes, I couldn't stop staring at my face. Sometimes, I felt like I belonged nowhere. I wasn't white enough to be white nor was I Asian enough. I felt like I was in this weird in between, a lonely place for the people who didn't have a box to check.
"So this isn't really a date, is it? They're just doing homework?" My mom attempted to whisper from the other side of the dressing room door.
There were many things she could not do: whisper, clean, be nonchalant.
"I'm a little worried he might get hurt. What if she's just using him for homework?" Wyatt admitted.
The more they talked, the more anxious I started to feel. Like yes, technically the word date was never exchanged. But I was hanging out with Mia, alone. I couldn't remember the last time I hung out with a girl alone. I wasn't even a blimp on any girl's radar, but maybe it was my fault. I never wore my heart on my sleeve.
My heart couldn't get broken if I kept it in a safe, wrapped in chains and locks.
There was one girl, before Mia. But she was a ghost from the past. And if I learned anything from her, it meant whatever this study date was, wasn't going to work.
I took a deep breath and texted Mia before I could change my mind. If I had lived life so safely and survived all this time, why stop? Life was complicated, intricate, delicate. Why mess with its balance?
I hit send and stepped out of the dressing room. "It looks weird."
"You look so handsome!" My mom exclaimed, clasping her nimble hands together, "Mia won't be able to stop herself from ripping those clothes off of you."
"Mom, she canceled." I lied.
It was more believable that Mia canceled than if I admitted it was me. At the end of the day, I was going to get embarrassed anyways.
My mom's eyes watered. "Oh, baby. I'm so sorry."
She tried to ruffle my hair, but I swatted her away. "Mom, it's fine. We all predicted it."
"What about the project?" Wyatt asked.
I shrugged, "Guess I'm working on it alone. Also I look like I'm going to the prom, in 1977."
Wyatt put his hand over his chin and said, "No, it looks like something my grandpa would be buried in."
"I wish I could be buried in it right now." I muttered. "I'm gonna look at the clearance section. We can't afford this ugly crap anyways."
I glanced at the price tag: $267.
There was no way my mom could make that on her cashier paycheck.
I opened the door to the dressing room, my face turning red. The suit wasn't right, the store wasn't right, was I even right? I slumped down against the wall.
I didn't even want the stupid jacket, I just wanted Mia. I know, it sounded totally gushy and gross, but all I ever wanted was for her to notice me. She was a mystery to me, to everyone. Mia James moved to our bumblefuck town one day with no backstory. She never dated anyone, kept to herself in class, and it drove me up the wall.
But what made me think I was the person who could solve that mystery?
I looked at the text once more, the feeling of anxiety being replaced by regret. I convinced myself it was better this way. If I went through with it, I would've ended up like Carrie at prom, hurt and humiliated.
I pulled off the jacket and stepped out of the dressing room, a nervous throb in my stomach as I thought about what I was going to say to Mia the next day in class.
But waiting outside the door wasn't my mom or Wyatt.
It was her.
It was as if my thoughts summoned her. But by that logic, she would have been by my side twenty four seven.
"Mia." I whispered breathlessly.
Our eyes locked, hers burning mine into oblivion. My mouth went dry, hands clammy, heart beating a million miles a minute. As if she wasn't nervous at all, Mia skipped over to me.
"Hey Jake." She smiled, revealing that tooth I loved so much.
I could feel the corners of my mouth inadvertently twitching upwards into a smile, "Hey. W-what are you doing here?"
Had she seen the text? Was she here to murder me? She totally seemed like the get-away-with-murder-type.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, "Oh you know, just finished doing that thing girls do when they go shopping and tell their friends what they look good in. I hate it."
"Community service?" I joked nervously, my phone feeling like a hundred pound weight in my pocket.
Mia laughed. It was the kind of laugh that filled the entire room.
"I hate going to the mall. So many great places I could be right now, but here I am listening to pop hits in a store. " Mia smiled.
I nodded, "Yeah I totally get that-"
"Jake!" My mom cut me off, "Who is this?"
I cringed, like physically cringed.
Wyatt appeared behind me and apologetically whispered in my ear, "I tried texting you when I saw Mia come in, but there's no service. Your mom is relentless."
There was no service. Did my text send?
Mia shifted her attention to my mom and stuck her hand out, "Hi, I'm Mia."
"I'm Mrs. Morrow, the mother." My mom boasted, as if I were an Olympic athlete.
My phone was burning a hole in my pocket.
"So when are you planning on working on this project with Jake now?" My mom asked.
My stomach dropped to the floor.
"Uh, Friday I think." Mia answered.
"But he said you canceled-"
"Mom!" I exclaimed. "I think I read the text wrong. Can we go?"
Mia cocked her head at me. I raised my eyebrows, praying she got my mental message.
"I actually have to go." Mia said slowly, "My phones getting fixed and I have to pick it up from the kiosk."
I was about to break into dance. She didn't have her phone! But then I realized, she soon would.
"Jake can walk you. I need to get home anyways. Right, Mrs. Morrow?" Wyatt suggested.
The text, the text! I mentally screamed at him. I guess our friendship wasn't that strong. He misunderstood the assignment.
My mom exploded with excitement, "That's a good idea! Jake I'm going to take Wyatt home. Pick you up in half an hour?"
"Make it an hour." Mia answered for me.
It would take less than an hour to murder someone, but the clean up probably took awhile.
Maybe she didn't want to murder me for canceling, maybe she just wanted to hang out with me, at the mall, alone.
That was until she got her phone back and realized how lame I was.
I swallowed. Was murder still an option? I would save her the work and just do it myself.
"Cool, I'll see you at school dude." Wyatt shrugged, "And lose the jacket, grandpa."
I looked down. I completely forgot I was still wearing the jacket from hell.
Mia laughed and fixed the collar, "I think you look dashing."
My heart pounded against my chest. Mia touched me.
I gave her a wry smile, "There's a matching pant suit. His and hers."
She raised an eyebrow quizzically as I shrugged off the jacket.
Mia stuck out her hand. I stared at it.
She leaned in and whispered. "Take it and follow me."
Her thin freckled fingers interlaced with mine and she pulled me toward the front of the store. I could feel my mom and Wyatt's eyes on my back, like the sun beating beating against me on a hot summer day.
When we left the store, it was then I noticed it, this undeniable heat between Mia and I, as if our skin was melting together and creating this feeling, a sensation that made every other feeling up until that point seem mundane.
It was a feeling I vowed would never forget.
I could barely think straight as I followed the heat pull me towards the light up fountain in the center of the mall. My childhood revolved around that fountain: terrified pictures with Santa, lap dances for the Easter bunny. She stopped and looked back at me.
"It looked like you needed an escape." She said softly.
"From my mom?" I pretended to act surprised, "Never."
A coil of hair sprung loose from her ponytail. She dropped my hand and tucked it back into place. Even with my hand empty, the feeling lingered like an imprint.
"My friends and I once threw a bunch of bath bombs in a fountain just like this one." Mia admitted, a sinister smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
"Why?" I asked.
She shrugged, "We were bored, and it was just there, bubbling. It was a shame really, no one ever tossed a penny in the thing. Fountains should be in gardens, not malls."
"Wow I didn't peg Kaitlyn and Sophia to be pranksters." I laughed.
Mia looked down. "My old friends, before the move."
I felt stupid. She looked away from me and back at the fountain, the memories from her past life coursing through her brain.
And then it was silent. Crap, I had to say something. Why was I so awkward?
"So," I said stiffly, "What is up?"
"What is up?" She repeated, grinning, "Lots of things are up, the sky, clouds, space, stars."
"The sky, seriously? You're one of those people." I groaned.
She grinned back, "Am I wrong?"
"Obviously. But you like the stars?" I asked.
I kinda liked stars, but not in the geeky telescope kind of way.
"No," She shook her head, releasing more curls, "I like the sky, between the stars."
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
She just laughed her perfectly pitched laugh and said, "I like the darkness. It's never ending and always there. The stars, they're not always gonna be there. I think the sky is the reason the stars shine. It doesn't get enough credit"
"Like I'm the reason people like you and Brandon shine." I mumbled.
Mia's mood shifted almost immediately. She pulled me by the shoulders, she almost seemed annoyed.
"You don't need anyone to shine, that's all you. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently." She whispered with such ferocity I believed her.
Then, I realized how strange we must've looked. A red faced tomato boy and a short ginger girl staring at each other in the middle of the mall talking about the sky. I hesitated, but grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Her face softened instantly as my heart pounded out of my chest and into the sky she loved so much.
"I like the stars," I said walking toward the east wing of the mall, "I think it'd be pretty cool to go to space one day."
"What else do you like?" I added a second later.
She paused for a moment, "I like to draw."
"Like landscapes?" I asked.
We walked in sync.
"No," She said, "Like people."
"People you know?"
"People I see. Sometimes I go to the park, the mall, anywhere, and just draw people. I stop drawing them when they leave. The more I see, the more I draw."
We stopped in front of a bench. She shrugged her pale grey backpack off her shoulders and dug through it. It was then I realized I'd never seen Mia dressed so casually. Wearing baggy mom jeans, a black v-neck, and tan high top sneakers, she seemed different.
But it could also be the fact that before that night, I filled in all the blanks in my head about her identity. Maybe Mia wasn't the popular girl I always assumed she was, but a character I created in my plot of life.
Mia pulled a sketchbook covered in worn out stickers and paused, "I've never shown anyone these. Not even my parents or friends."
I nodded.
She flipped open the first page, it was a man with a beard and glasses, but only half of his face was drawn. She shadowed his face so he looked sad. A skyline was quickly sketched in the corner. I traced my finger along the pencil lines.
In neat script, she had written: Why so blue?
Mia shrugged, "I think his wife died. Wouldn't that make you blue?"
I nodded and turned the next page.
It was a woman smiling with kind eyes. She was more finished than the man, but half her face was demonic and red.
Mia explained before I could ask, "I watched this woman play with her little girl at the park. They seemed so sweet. I had almost finished her face when this guy, the father I'm assuming, stormed out of nowhere in a wife beater and hit the girl because she didn't want to go home."
I swallowed. "That's horrible"
And then I turned onto the page that washed away any doubts I had.
The next page was me.
I didn't recognize my face at first.
The shape of my face was drawn, my hair complete, brimming one eye. Only the left side of the mouth and the right eye were done. On the left, my mouth was curled up into a smile, but on the right my other eye was brooding, a light red tint sketched into the shadows. She made me look semi decent.
But what threw me off the most was the date in the corner of the page.
"You drew this almost three years ago." I whispered, "The fire in his eye." I read, running my finger across the words to make sure it was real.
Mia hastily grabbed the sketch book and shoved it back in her bag.
"Yeah, that was the first and last time you talked to me, since now at least." She quickly explained.
"Why did you draw me?" My interest piqued.
Mia fumbled with the zipper, "Because this town if fucking boring, Jake. You were the only interesting person I met the first day of school, the only person who didn't make me feel new."
I felt my cheeks warm up, "I thought you were weirded out by me."
"What about me, huh? You're not weirded out by your English partner drawing you like three years ago?" She sighed, a faint blush dappling across her sea of freckles.
I shrugged, "Not really. I think it's really cool, Mia."
Her name rolled off my tongue so easily, as if it were meant for me to say.
"I would have clocked someone if a stranger drew me." Mia laughed.
I shook my head. "No way. You didn't just draw me, you drew pieces of me I thought no one else saw at school."
"Ah, you have such a poet's heart, Jake Morrow." She sighed.
"Huh?" I blurted.
She shook her curls, "You know how poets see the world a certain way, in a beautiful way. They don't say the sky is blue. They say the sky's a deep ocean of clouds."
"Oh that sounds serious. Where did you come up with this diagnosis?" I asked in a mock professional voice.
Mia pretended to adjust the invisible glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, "I've diagnosed it this year. When you read your short story in class."
"You were paying attention?" I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks again.
I felt something vibrate in my pocket, but I ignored it. I could not take my eyes off of Mia's, it was nearly impossible.
Her eyes reminded me of the green light Gatsby watched across miles and miles of ocean, except in my story, I actually reached the light. But being with her there, I could understand why Gatsby did whatever he could to try to keep Daisy. If I had the money, I would shower Mia in silk shirts and jewels.
"I'm not a stalker, I swear. There was something different about you, like I couldn't not draw you." She admitted.
It was at that moment, I made up my mind for the second time that night.
"Mia." I gulped,"When you get your phone, you're gonna see a text."
"Mhmm?"
"I kinda got nervous having you over so I chickened out." I continued.
She raised a brow, "Chickened out as in?"
"Canceled" I said bleakly. "And then uh, told everyone you um... canceled."
I looked down at my beat up sneakers, my cheeks glowing. I felt like the world's biggest loser.
"Jake." Mia sighed. "It's just an English project."
I couldn't meet her eyes. "But I wanted it to be more than that."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I-"
"Jake!" My mom called from behind.
I whipped around to face her, and tried to remember where I was. How long had we been standing in front of a Victoria's Secret? How did we end up outside a Victoria's Secret? What time was it?
"I called you, Jake." My mom said, waving her phone in the air.
"I thought we said an hour." I grumbled.
My mom cocked her head, her bob following, "We did, it's been almost two. I've been running around the mall trying to find you."
"It's fine." Mia assured me, "Time slipped by I guess. I have to pick up my phone anyways. Very important texts. See you at school, Jake."
"Wait!" I cried.
She turned around.
"Forget I said anything!" I begged.
She smiled. "As if. I'll see you on Friday, Morrow. Better not cancel."
"For the project." I sighed.
She shrugged. "And maybe something more."
My jaw dropped as she walked away.
Something more.
---
"You didn't have to sneak up on me." I rolled my eyes.
My mom took her eyes off the road to look at me, "I called you twice, love."
"Third time's the charm." I snapped, "And keep your eyes on the road!"
She shrugged and slammed her brakes as she approached a light, "It didn't matter how many times I called, Jake. You are so in love with that girl you wouldn't have answered."
"Aren't you supposed to tell me not to get too caught up in young love?" I watched as her face changed from yellow to red.
"I thought so," She shrugged, "But I married your dad before I even got the chance to graduate college."
"You used to love dad though." I sighed, rubbing my eyes with my hands.
"I still do."
I sighed. "Why is love complicated?"
She flicked on her left blinker.
"Mom," I said. "Home is the other way."
She shook her head, "We're taking a detour."
---
"A fortune teller?" I said dubiously.
"No, a psychic!" My mom yipped.
We were on the bad side of town. My mom pulled into a trailer park littered with rusted beer cans. I counted at least seven stray cats as we drove down the cracked road. I named a tan one Poundcake for the heck of it. Most of the trailers were dark except for a single window lit, their lawns unkempt. We pulled up to a rusted yellow trailer with peeling paint and overgrown weeds. Waiting outside on the front steps was the so called 'psychic', clad in red and gold rags. With heavy golden hoops hanging from her wrinkled ears and makeup caked on so thick you could paint a picture if you slapped her face against a canvas, I certainly had zero faith she was legitimate. My faith for my mother's sanity was long gone at that point too.
"Chika!" The psychic smiled, wrapping my mother in a tight hug, the beads and bells on her dress jingling with every movement.
"Madame Gem, so good to see you." My mom smiled back.
I rolled my eyes.
Without even looking at me, Madame Gem snapped, "Don't roll your eyes at your mother, boy."
Woah. What?
That didn't prove she was 'magical' like my mom believed, but still, it was kinda freaky.
"Come inside, rude boy." She said, arm around my mom's waist.
I will never forget how strange I felt that night. It was as if I were a rag doll someone was stitching shut, setting everything in stone from there on out. A minuscule piece of me knew that following Madame Gem would change everything, but at the time, I still believed in theory, and in theory, to prove you're correct, you had to conduct research.
Hesitantly, I stepped inside.
Instantly, I regretted it. The trailer was a single room, split by tacky red velvet curtains and gold beads. All of the faded sunshine yellow kitchenware looked like it was from the 90's and the ceiling was stained from cigarette smoke. The floor was covered in mismatched carpets and creaked when I stepped on it.
I didn't know where to look, maybe the collapsing ceiling, or the stains on the floors or the cracked windows, but definitely not the creepy paintings of dogs in hats on the wall collecting dust. I was semi convinced I was not going to make it out of there and become a part of her horde.
But that strange feeling lingered in my chest, telling me to stay.
"Sit you two," Madame Gem commanded, pointing to two plushy bean bag chairs covered in faux animal throws.
While my mom chose the tasteful cowhide, I opted for the fluffy white sheepskin.
Madame Gem dragged a cheap white table between us and sat down in her ragged throne a mall Santa may have once sat in. Closing her eyes, she reached for my mom's hand, then mine. Before I could object, she held it tightly and started.
"What brings you here today?" She asked airily.
"Um." I stuttered.
My mom grabbed my hand, it wasn't the same sensation like when Mia held mine.
"My son, Jake, is seeing a girl on Friday. Her name is-" My mom started, but Madame Gem cut her off.
"Say no more!" She boomed like a cocky genie escaping from its bottle.
Quietly, she mumbled gibberish and rubbed my palm with the pad of her thumb. It was one of the most of uncomfortable moments in my life.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of gibberish and weird rubbing, Madame Gem spoke.
She coughed once then said, "Jake, I see lines, long beautiful strands in your web of life. There's strands of greens, purples and oranges intertwining for a lifetime. A red line that ends when you get older, a family member probably dying."
"Jeez, harsh." I said, flashing a pleading look at my mom to take me home.
"Jake listen." My mom snapped.
She took that magic stuff too seriously.
Madame Gem continued, "There will be hundreds of threads that start and end, it could be a pet dying, losing a friend, a break up. I see a strand of yellow, it will end soon. Do you have any pets?"
"Um, yeah. A dog, Crackers." My voice cracked.
I loved my dog and even the thought of him dying made me want to curl up and vomit.
"Is she healthy?" She asked.
"He," I corrected, "Is fine, a little old, but..."
Madam Gem sneezed. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again.
"If the strand ends when something ends in my life," I said slowly, "How do you distinguish what it is? Can you see how long it's been in my life?"
Madame Gem chuckled, "No my dear, I can only see the threads you have now and the ones you will eventually have and lose. Let me ask you something, are you depressed?"
What kind of question was that? Of course I was, my generation was a cesspool of suicide jokes and good ol'depression.
"Not really." I answered, "I mean like, I stress over school and stuff. Does that count?"
She shook her head, "I see a black line, it is intertwined with the yellow, it's thick and goes on for the rest of your life. I'm not sure what that can be. Health maybe? Black is such a powerful thread..."
I hated to admit it, but I was actually getting interested in all the thread talk.
"Could the black mean a health condition I'll have for the rest of my life?" I asked anxiously.
Madame Gem opened her eyes, they looked young and smokey with little flecks of grey.
"Don't look too much into it." She assured me, "The threads aren't set in stone."
I couldn't help but notice her wince a little.
"Chika, you're next." Madame Gem declared, shifting her attention to my mom.
My mom shook her head, "No Gem, I'm okay. Just here for my son."
"No." Madame Gem whispered, "Your marriage is falling apart."
"What?" I said, dropping Madame Gem's wrinkled hand.
"It-it's not." My mom stuttered, her face turning red.
Madame Gem shook her head, "Thomas does not love you anymore."
Before I could react, my mom shot up, still holding my hand and stormed toward the rusted door, tears streaking her cheeks.
"You don't know anything!" She yelled.
I turned to get one last look at Madame Gem.
"Maybe I don't, but I was right about the rest." She called without leaving her throne, "Take care, Jake. I'll see you soon."
In less than a minute, we were in my mom's beat up sedan, racing home. Sitting in the passenger side seat, I stared out the window. Everything was a blurring from the speed we were going. We slowed as she approached a stop sign and a red balloon caught my eye. It was sad, really, the string stuck on a branch, the words "Happy Birthday Mike!" printed on it, barely visible in the darkness. A part of me wanted to run out of the car and set it free, but I knew that was no use, there would be no little kid to take it home. Then again, maybe it was a blessing knowing now that the balloon would never be the kid's, because it would have deflated in a week or so anyways. We lurched forward and I looked at my mom, she was quiet.
The silence was unbearable.
"Mom," I spoke calmly, even though my hands were trembling, "Slow down and pull over."
I could not die in a car accident, I had to find out what Mia meant when she said "Something more."
To my surprise, my mom obliged.
She pulled over on the side of the road, her head fell into her lap and she moaned, "It's true Jake. Your dad doesn't love me anymore."
"You can't know that." I breathed, "I'm sure he loves you a ton."
But I knew he didn't. He didn't even like me.
She pounded her head with her hand. "I think he's tired of dealing with me, but it's not my fault I was born broken." She raised her face to meet mine, "Are you getting tired of me?"
"No," I paused, "And you're not broken, mom. But you would make our lives a whole lot easier if you took your meds more."
She shook her head. "Can you drive us home?"
I nodded and got out of the car. I saw my mom crawl across to the passenger side seat.
The drive home was quiet again, the good kind of quiet that let me think clearly.
A psychic said that something was going to end in my life.
She also said that my dad did not love my mom.
I didn't know what to believe. Frankly, I didn't want to believe either, but I knew at least one thing she said was true. I wasn't sure which was worse. And she never even talked to me about Mia.
When I pulled into our cracked driveway, I turned off the car and became a statuette.
My mom ruffled my hair, "Jake, you need to live more. There's a whole world out there. Don't spend the rest of your life playing video games with Wyatt."
She never liked to talk about her flaws, but always talked about mine.
Then she added, "Not that I don't love Wyatt!"
I chuckled and dropped the car key in her palm.
The thing was, I never wanted the whole world. My life had always consisted of a few stable and never changing goals. 1) Move to New York City. 2) Become a filmmaker. 3) Publish a book or two. 4) Fall deeply and irrevocably in love.
I didn't think one through three were that hard to achieve, but that night I made myself a mental promise to eat something spicy or maybe visit France, even though I thought Paris was a cliche.
But it was a start.
"Thanks mom."