No, not a crack in the wall. It was a crack in the glass—a crack in the glass of a window, to be more specific. And it didn’t matter if that window was bolted shut and had its opening screwed to the windowsill. It didn’t matter if the window had tinted glass to keep the light out—that crack was still there and through that crack, light from the outside filtered in.
And that was what watching Carmen with that crooked, jagged smile felt like. Like a flaw had the power to illuminate, if you just let it.
As if Asa’s skin could be the embodiment of the sun’s rays if he let it. As if his eyes could be reflections of a sunset if he just let it. As if everything that made him Asa San Román could be beautiful if he just let it.
Asa wondered then, for a split second, if this was what interacting with Carmen would always be like. If, when he wanted to speak to her and hold a conversation that would have taken a maximum of two minutes with any other person, he would end up analysing every sigh that escaped her lips, every blink of her eyes, and every flutter of her eyelashes.
He wondered if he’d always come up to her with the intention of offering her a ride and end up catching another glimpse into infinity instead. And despite the constant awkwardness, maybe Asa didn’t really mind it that much because even though he didn’t know exactly how many minutes and how many seconds had passed since he called out her name, Asa knew all that he’d asked her so far was if she wanted a ride and he’d spent the rest of that time marvelling at everything and anything that was simply Carmen West.
24.
Everything Beautiful About You
Asa backed out of the school’s parking lot, the engine of his truck coming to life with a soft groan despite its age, while Carmen sat comfortably on the passenger seat like it was made for her.
Carmen had a way of turning every place she graced her presence with into home, and it always amazed Asa. It made him want to look at her with awestruck eyes again, the way a kid would if they witnessed a shooting star for the very first time in their life.
Asa felt stupid—and giddy.
He’d just turned into the main road when he snuck another look at her from the corner of his eye and saw her open her journal on her lap. The corners of her mouth dropped into a frown at the red leaf taped right at the centre of a fresh page. He’d never seen those lips of hers tugged into something that wasn’t a smile. It didn’t feel right.
“What is it?” he asked, forcing his eyes to look bored and his tone to sound casual. Like he didn’t really give a damn, as if he didn’t want to stop the truck right then and there and turn her frown upside down.
“I’m good with paintbrushes and pencils, you know,” she said. And Asa wanted to tell her he did know. He did know because he’d accidentally seen that entry into her art journal of the frozen sun and the broken moon.
“I figured,” he replied, smiling slightly. “That’s why you’d have an art journal, right? Instead of a diary? Because you’re better with colours.”
His eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him, but something told him Carmen was smiling. Maybe it was the half-smile-half-grin thing she was doing. Maybe it was illuminating his worn-out truck, flooding the rickety old thing with light in all its dented areas.
“Right. Better at colours than words,” she emphasised.
“Is that the problem, then?” he asked, forehead creasing in thought. “You want to add some text into that too?”
She sat up straighter. Asa’s eyes followed her movements as she kicked off her faded shoes and brought up her bare feet on the passenger seat. She turned her body sideways to face him as she leaned her side into the seat, tucking her kneecaps under her chin. She really did make it look like that seat was made for her; as if it was only her body that could fit there and hers alone.
“Yeah, usually I just add in some quotes I’ve stored in memory for these purposes, ones that seem fitting to what I draw or paint…” she trailed off for a moment, hugging her knees and clasping her hands in front of them, “but, I don’t know. Nothing comes to mind for this one.”
“The leaf, you mean?”
“The very leaf, Asa.” She was grinning, he could tell without having to look.
“You don’t mean to say you’ve held on to that same one from last time?” he asked in a bewildered tone. But when he had to stop at a red light, he cast his eyes over at the journal laid open on the dashboard and the leaf that was taped to it had that same tear down its left side like the one that had fallen in her hair the first time he drove her home.
“Of course it is,” she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s a reason I took it with me and didn’t just chuck it away.” She let her hands fall apart and twisted her body towards the front again, sitting crossed-leg on the seat now. “I put the leaf in there as soon as I went home, but I’ve been trying to add some sort of quote or something and I can’t think of
