Twelve
Friday morning Joshua is back in class. He looks normal but tired. Worry touches his shoulder. Sophia’s sister and my penchant for bruises aren’t the only subjects Edson High has to talk about. There’s been some speculation about the Hayes farm, about how their crops have been failing the past few years. Is that why he missed school yesterday? To help his dad?
When the bell rings, I approach Joshua slowly, treating him like I would a hurting animal. He looks up, sees me. Kids shuffle past us—Sophia slams by, and I stumble a bit—but Joshua and I stay where we are, two unmoving stones in a wild tide. His eyes narrow at Sophia as she passes and she falters, her cheeks heating. She regains her composure, however, and whisks through the door as if she doesn’t care what he thinks of her.
“How are you?” Joshua asks, shifting his gaze to me. All that hair hangs in his eyes.
He really is odd; his weariness and anxiety are evident, and he’s asking about me. “I’m fine,” I answer. “What are you doing after school?”
Joshua blinks, taken aback. “Uh … nothing.”
I nod, brisk, because I believe it’s what he needs: someone to take control, someone to offer him a distraction.
I ignore this.
“Come over to my house,” I say. “There’s something I need help with.”
He’s curious. “What?”
“You’ll see.” I hug my books against my chest and pivot on my heel, walking to the door.
He says my name, softly, uncertainly. “Elizabeth?” I turn. Standing up, Joshua clears his throat. He blushes a little and tries to cover it up by sounding confident, casual. “Why would you want to hang out with me?”
Teasing him, keeping up the pretense, I raise a brow. “It’s just a project, Joshua.”
He straightens, grinning. “Yeah, but you’re a girl, and you’re you.”
I study him some more, taking in the plaid shirt that hugs his thin torso, the stained jeans, the old work boots that I suspect belong to his father; they’re too big. “Because I think I should get to know you,” I answer honestly.
“Why?” he asks again.
We’re going to be late, and I still need to take a trip to my locker. I turn my back to his questions. “Meet me on the front steps after the last bell. You can follow me home.”
Before he has a chance to open his mouth and ask anything more, I vanish through the door, throwing myself into the sea of kids. My senses are consumed by their chatter, the sound of sneakers on the floor, laughter. These people are always in motion, always full of a life I lack, no matter how much I pretend.
There’s little danger in bringing Joshua home; Tim is asleep upstairs, under the heavy spell of alcohol and pain killers. He hasn’t moved for two days.
The door to Joshua’s beat-up car squeals loudly as he opens it and gets out. He shuts it, looking around. The farm isn’t much different from his, but the boy looks at everything like he’s never seen a farm before. I try to see through his eyes, and appraise the chipping white paint on the house, the way the barn roof sags, the rusty tractor abandoned on the lawn.
“So this is where you live,” Joshua says, so quietly he probably doesn’t mean for me to hear.
I shoulder my bag, inclining my head. “Come on. My room is upstairs.”
Joshua follows me inside. The screen door slamming announces my arrival to Mom. She doesn’t look up from her position behind the counter, where she’s breaking up some broccoli in a bowl. It isn’t until she hears the heavier thumps of Joshua’s shoes in the entry that her head snaps around. “Oh.” With wide eyes, she sizes Joshua up. She recognizes him; Edson is tiny and it would be impossible not to. Mom wipes her hands on a towel, turning. She glances at me once, and I know she’s surprised I’ve finally brought someone home. “You’ve grown,” she says to Joshua after a moment, taking a couple steps to extend her hand.
He shakes it quickly, shifting from foot to foot. “That’s right; you brought some food over once, after … ”
Displaying a sensitivity I wasn’t aware my mother had, she smiles at him, smoothly directing her next words elsewhere. “I suppose you and Elizabeth are going to work on your project.” She chews some skin from her lip, a nervous habit.
There’s no way to miss how she doesn’t address me, avoids it, really. I hadn’t mentioned working on the English project tonight, but Joshua isn’t stupid. He knows something is off. “Yeah, we are,” he tells Mom. He brushes some of that long hair out of his eyes. “Thanks for letting us do it here.”
Mom flaps a hand dismissively, smiling at him some more. She’s probably thinking about how nice it is to finally have someone normal around, someone who isn’t her family. “Are you hungry?” she asks. “I could—”
“We don’t have much time,” I interject, giving her a warning look. There’s a possibility Tim could wake up soon. She understands and shuts her mouth. “Thanks, though. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”
Mom nods, returning her attention to the broccoli. I take my shoes off, indicating that Joshua should do the same. He does so, trying to hide how dirty his socks are. I pretend not to notice and lead him upstairs.
It is an odd sensation, having a warm presence at my back.
I shut my bedroom door behind us. Joshua looks around curiously, eagerly, as if the room will tell him everything about me, add more pieces to the puzzle. He eyes the blank emptiness, the scant furniture, with interest. He says nothing. Just studies it all.
“It’s white,” I state, making a motion to the paint cans in the corner. While Tim was sleeping last night I’d gone and fetched them from my truck. “We’re going to change it.”
He takes this in with a bemused expression. “You want me to help you paint? That’s your project?”
“What did you think it was?” I’ve already moved the furniture to the center of the room, so all there is left to do is spread the tarps out on the floor to keep the wood from getting splattered.
Joshua doesn’t answer.“So … ” He begins to roll up his sleeves. “What do you want to do here? I see a lot of … green.” He eyes the paint cans, his mouth curving with amusement. “Guess we’re going for a forest.”
I raise my brows at him. “Exactly. A mural, of sorts.”
Nodding a second time, Joshua faces the wall. His lips twist. Seconds tick by and I know he’s imagining the possibilities as he squints at all the white. Twist, squint, twist, squint. Then he turns back to me. “I told you, I’m not very creative,” he sighs. “So you’re just going to have to tell me what to do. You don’t have a problem with that, right?” He actually attempts a wink. When I smile, he flushes, a bright red that crawls up his neck and face.
To ease his discomfort, I begin spreading out the tarp. He jumps in to help, the material crackling between us. “Let’s start on this wall first,” I direct, and once we have the tarp laid out, I tape it down to the floor. I stand back, thinking. “I’ll outline the trees with pencil, and I’ll let you do whatever you want with them.”
“What?” Joshua scoffs. “Are you serious? You really want to endanger your mural like that?”
His laughter is loud, boisterous, and I listen carefully for movement in the hallway, alert to any stirring in Tim’s room. He snores on in his drunken stupor. Relaxing a little, I turn my attention back to Joshua. “I trust you,” I say with an easy shrug. The simple words startle him; his eyes widen. For a moment he doesn’t seem to know what to say. Before he can read more into it, though, I slap a paintbrush into his hand. I step away quickly. “We don’t have much time today,” I repeat. “I’ll get started.”
Joshua just watches me. After another moment, he slowly turns away. As I draw the outlines, instinct is
