3 Sides to a Circle (18 page)

I glance back up at the cop car just as the speaker turns on. “It won’t take me long to find you, but if you make me follow your tracks through the grass to do it, I’ll be in a much worse mood than if you come this way.”

“Huh.” Libby giggles as she shivers against my side. “At least the guy arresting us has a sense of humor.”

I’m still in shock that I’m in the back of a police car. Libby’s shivering against my side, grinning.

“Seriously, you have to get arrested at least once in college, and no
w we can cross it off our list,” she chatters.

It’s almost worth it the way she’s latched on to me.

“Or you could not break the law and not get arrested.” Our cop smirks.

Honor ended up in the front seat. He claims it’s because she’s not wet, and Libby and I are, but he looked at her a little too closely for me to buy that.

Honor is silent and staring out the window.

I feel this surge of protection for these two girls who sort of bombarded their way into my life. Libby snuggles in closer, and I pull her more tightly to me.
There’s nothing I can do for Honor right now, and I hate that I can’t hold them both. But part of me gets that Honor doesn’t need me. Not in the way that Libby does. Even the way Libby burrows into me makes me want to pour everything I have into her. Honor would never allow that.

We’re separated at the police station and words like ‘criminal mischief’, and ‘breaking and entering’, and ‘felony theft’, and ‘restitution’
are tossed around. All I can think about is Libby and if someone’s getting her warmed up and Honor and how sensitive she is and how impossibly shitty this must be to her. I can’t take in a deep breath when I think about being without these two girls, despite the crazy shit storm that is this night.

When I’m finally released
, I run into the waiting room and relief fills me as I see Honor, and then I freeze when I see she’s talking to the painter.

“I just need space,” he says quietly. “
I like you too much and I’m falling too fast to do this when I don’t think you know what you want. I’m sorry.”

He backs away and Honor looks like she’s breaking a
part, but she doesn’t say anything because I can see that she’s frozen up again. I want so hard to go to her, but Libby slams into my side. “I got us a ride to go pick up Honor’s car. Ready?”

“
How the hell do you have any energy left?” All I can think about is my own bed in my own room across the hall, and maybe asking Honor what just happened, but I’m not sure if I want to know or not. Because I don’t want her to hurt, but I also don’t think I can spare the energy to worry about her.

Honor doesn’t move from her chair, just stares out the window.
I wish she could get outside of herself enough to fight for what she wants, because it’s more than obvious she wants her painter, and right now the guy probably needs a hell of a lot of space as much as he needs her to refuse to give it to him, which she won’t.

Libby
full on belly laughs. “Didn’t someone get you coffee?”

I shake my head.

“Come on!” She grabs my hand and then Honor’s hand and leads us to Rob’s huge grandpa-sized Buick.

I have no idea how she got this guy to give us a ride b
ack into the country at three a.m., but I guess I should be impressed.

Instead
, I ache for Honor as she blinks back tears, allowing herself to be led without a word, and I want to scream some sense into Libby, but I do neither. I do as I’m told and sit in the back seat while we’re driven out to get Honor’s car.

For the
second time since I got to school, I’m actually looking forward to the chaos that will be going home for Thanksgiving break.

Honor

“You know how models always look bored?” Libby asks as she sits cross-legged in the middle of the large bed that we haven’t taken apart, even though Toby moved back across the hall.

“I’m not really in the mood.” I don’t even snap. I’m too tired for that. My chest aches from missing Sawyer, but I don’t know if I have it in me to beg for him back. Being as angry with someone as I am at Libby is exhausting, and a week after our arrest, I’ve distanced myself as best I can, but she seems totally un-phased.

“Honor.” She grabs my shoulders. “I don’t get the modeling
deal, but that’s cool. The thing is…” She almost huffs. “The thing is that you’re gorgeous enough and you need to get that into your head so you can go in there and be all relaxed. Since you’re not sure if you want it, you shouldn’t care, and that should make it easier.”

I sigh and lean against the side of the closet, not really ready to be okay around
Libby again. I know she’ll make her way back in, but I want her to really work for it.

I shove a few more thing
s into my suitcase to take home but still don’t look at her.

Libby half pounces on me and then gently rests her chin on my shoulder. “Honor. Please be happy with me.” She pushes her lip out in a full pout.

“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head, but I can feel my resolve cracking.

“There you are.” She pushes her finger into my cheek. “I love how insecure you are for how amazing you are. Remember that. And if you want the Victoria’s Secret thing
bad enough, you’ll get it.”

What I don’t say i
s that I’m terrified to want it, but for the first time, I think I could do it.

“Thanks,
Libs.”

She grabs me in a tight hug as I try to close
my case, and it takes a moment, but I finally give in and hold her as tight as I know she wants me to.

“Have a great break!” She sings brightly. “I’m off because I hate any kind of goodbyes, so see
ya in a week!”

And just like that,
two seconds after I may have forgiven her, Libby’s gone.

New York is as busy as I remember, and Mom’s thrilled to be here. I’m looking at the city in a totally different way than I ever have, because if I want the modeling thing, I’ll need to be here. Instead of watching the city, I’m wondering what it would be like to be a part of it.

Mom’s clutching her hands together as we sit in the back of the cab, and I’m trying to ignore the nervous energy pulsing off of her and trying to remember to be bored, like Libby said.

I get a text from Toby, even though I’m
not sure he’s ready to utter Victoria’s Secret and my name in the same sentence yet.

Toby: Deep breaths. You’ll do great.

I push out a breath and type back.

Honor: Thanks. Hope you survive your siblings.

Toby:
Me too.

I laugh a nervous little laugh at what I’m about to do, and because Toby thought to say something to me this morning. Of course I don’t hear from Libby. We hear from her when it’s convenient for her. At some point, will all the frustrating things outweigh all the good things? I sort of hope not, and that’s a big realization for me.

And then my brain goes to the last place it should be right now. What’s Sawyer doing this week? I’m sure he went home, but for how long? And how did such a talented artist come from such a normal background? What’s Libby’s background? Where is she from?
Is Sawyer missing me as much as I’m missing him?

My nerves are ramping up so I take a deep breath and stare at the snow on the busy
New York sidewalks.

I have to calm myself
and not think about the people I can do nothing about—especially if they’re painters.

I’m standing in a bra and panties, having pictures taken of me in a room filled with feathers
floating from the ceiling. I think about how personal Sawyer’s paintings are, how the people on his canvasses are so much more than objects. Maybe, right now, I’m that muse for my photographer. It’s an amazing, powerful feeling that I never expected to have in front of the camera. And even if it’s just in my head, it’s still working.

The whole thing feels sort of magical, even though we’re in a corner of what almost feels like a warehouse.
I tilt my face up and stretch out my arms. There’s no way to constrain my smile as I reach out and catch feathers on my hands, and then blow them toward the camera and the man behind it. I tell myself again.
He’s an artist. Like me. Like Sawyer.
And in this moment, as the photographer smiles with almost every shot, I know I can do this.

When they ask for a few sexier poses, all I have to do is think about Sawyer
, his hands, the way his body feels against mine, how badly I want to feel that again… The photographer continues to smile, and part of me thinks he’s just a smiling guy, and the other part of me hopes that I’m giving him a reason to smile. Even the two people behind the computer screens looking at the shots are nodding. I’m doing it. Well.

I wish Libby were here to see me now.
She’d give me shit, but she’d also cheer. This is what I want. And I want it for me.

I breathe in the winter air of New York
after spending all morning at the Victoria’s Secret shoot. So much energy is buzzing through me that I start to wonder if this is how Libby feels all the time. I almost pull out my phone to call her as Mom and I continue up the sidewalk, but I want to leave school at school for the week and enjoy the city. Also I don’t think I could handle it if she didn’t pick up.

“Where
are we headed?” Mom asks.

“I’m not sure.” I shrug. Part of me wonders if I’ve
accidentally planned something but I haven’t. “I just wanted to wander the city, see if I might want to move here.”

“Really?” Mom doesn’t even
try to hide the excitement in her voice. “You know we’ll help you however we can, sweetie.”

“I know.” My parents have been great. And it’s not like my dad makes loads, but he does pretty well because he’s been in the Navy for so long.
The GI bill covers some of my tuition expenses, but not rent in New York so I can pursue modeling.

“I wonder when we’ll hear back?” she muses.

“I’m not sure.” I’m now distracted because we’ve passed three art stores on this single block, and I’m wondering where we are. I back up to the last one and look through the windows.

“Would you like to go in?” Mom asks.

I remember Sawyer talking about a gallery here who was maybe going to be showing his stuff. Nerves make a swipe through me as I think about walking into an art store when I’m so far from home and so far out of my league, but I’m still dressed from this morning. I have Victoria’s Secret hair and makeup. I’m not even recognizable as me.

I can be anybody here. I could live in New York and be a different person every day and no one would notice.
Or not many people. How amazing would that be? And then I laugh because I’m pretty sure that’s how Libby feels almost every single day.

“Yes. Let’s.” We
step inside and stop, like I did when I first went to Sawyer’s apartment. Emotion washes over me at the incredibleness of it all.

So many people with so much talent.

“I never got abstract art,” Mom whispers in the room that’s really trying to look bigger than it is, with simple white walls that don’t quite touch the ceiling and as much floor space available as possible.

“I love it.” My mouth pulls into a frown as I think about
Sawyer and how broken he looked at the police station. How I totally understand why he can’t be with me now, even though he has no idea how badly I want it. Him.

Total silence from Libby
since break started, and I’m not surprised. But I remember her talking about how people aren’t permanent in her life, and now I see why. Just like Sawyer wants to feel important to me, I want to feel important to her all the time, not just when she wants me to be.

“Where are you?” Mom asks quietly.

“I miss Sawyer.”

Mom has a very watered-
down version of the story.

She wraps her arm around my waist and leads me back outside. “Sorry, honey. Why don’t you write him? Or just call?”

I blink when we step back outside, and a trail of cold down my cheek signals my failure at keeping my emotions in check. “It’s not that simple, Mom. We might still be okay. But he…”
He doesn’t get my friendship with the two people that are keeping me sane this year.
“We’re in different places.”

Mom chuckles. “Your dad and I have been in a different place for most of our marriage, and we still manage.”

“Not geographically different.” But Mom already knows that, and her play on words works. I’m smiling, even though I’m also wiping my cheeks. “But yeah…” I might try to talk to him when I get back, but I don’t even know how to start. How do I explain what Toby and Libby are to me when I’m not completely positive myself. “Maybe.”