Counting to D (23 page)

“That’s my job.” Sophie smiled and looked up from the poster she was working on. “Don’t worry. Even if you don’t know anyone in our class, it doesn’t mean people haven’t heard of you. You’ve got this election in the bag.”

Sophie wasn’t running for anything, but she appointed herself campaign manager for both Kaitlyn and me. Kaitlyn running for class president made sense. She was smart, ambitious, a good leader, and most important — super popular. But me? Junior class treasurer? It didn’t make any sense. It made even less sense than Sophie’s decision to spearhead my
Sam’s Really Cool
campaign. Like being the baby brain who broke apart the senior class’s most exclusive nerd club made me somebody. It didn’t.

“So tell us about prom.” In Sophie’s warped mind, my having a geeky senior boyfriend made me more than qualified to manage our class’s finances. “Eli’s great, and I wouldn’t trade him for anybody, but I’m still so jealous. You’re dating a senior.”

I was jealous too, but I knew better than to tell her that. “Prom was all right.”

“All right? Please, we want details. What were the decorations like?” Kaitlyn picked up Sophie’s line of questions.

“The decorations were subtle. Prom was in a hotel ballroom, so it mainly just looked like a hotel ballroom. White tablecloths. Candles on all the tables. The lights were low and sparkly. There weren’t actual Christmas lights up or anything, but the lighting was set low enough that, when combined with the candles and mirrors on the ceiling, everything was twinkly.”

“Wow. That sounds so amazing. I wish Eli were older.”

“Don’t wish that. At least Eli’s still going to be here next fall. Dating a senior isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I finished my sign and grabbed a second sheet of poster board.

Sophie turned up the radio, and we worked in relative silence for a while. After about fifteen minutes, she set down her glitter pens and leveled her gaze on me. “So did you guys stay at the hotel after the prom?”

“Yeah.” I kept working, hoping she wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“This is kind of personal, but, well, does it hurt a lot? Eli keeps talking about how much he wants our first time to be together, and well, I’m sort of scared. I’ve heard it hurts.” Her blush reached all the way to her ears. “So does it?”

I felt my own cheeks flush, and I tried to focus on carefully coloring in the
4
on my poster. Eli hadn’t told me he was hoping to sleep with Sophie, and I really shouldn’t have been thinking about Eli at all. “I don’t know. Nate and I haven’t made it that far yet.”

“You haven’t? Even after he saw you in that nightie?” Kaitlyn seemed outraged. “Maybe Nate really is gay.”

I grabbed another pen, still not wanting to look at either of them. “God, this whole thing is such a cliché. Losing your virginity on prom night. It’s like the plot of a bad movie. Nate and I aren’t that predictable, okay?”

“You totally freaked out, didn’t you?” Kaitlyn’s voice was softer, like she was almost concerned.

I finally set down my pen and looked up at her and Sophie. “It’s just…Nate’s graduating. He’s leaving in three months. It’s hard to let myself fall so in love with someone that I actually make love with him when I know our relationship has an expiration date. The whole thing’s just…sad.”

“Maybe I am glad Eli’s a sophomore.” Sophie reached out and patted my arm, like I was a lost puppy or something. “Is Nate okay with that, though? I mean, sex is, like, all Eli wants to talk about these days.”

“I don’t think Nate’s ready yet either. He’s kind of sensitive.” I shot Kaitlyn a knowing look. “And not because he’s gay. He has some attachment issues. Just having a girlfriend freaks him out. I’m sure a part of him wants to move things further. He did book a hotel room with only one bed, after all. But I think a bigger part of him is sort of overwhelmed. Maybe something will happen this summer, but neither of us really wanted to lose our virginity on prom night.”

“So I guess it’s normal for me to be nervous.” Sophie went back to coloring my future.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Kaitlyn twisted her fingers through the fabric on her skirt. “It hurts a little the first time, but it’s not that bad. And once you’ve done it a few times, it feels really good.”

Sophie and I were both virgins with serious boyfriends, and Kaitlyn was looking really embarrassed. I was going to let the subject drop, but Sophie asked, “What was it like? Your first time?”

“Stupid. It was just stupid.” Kaitlyn put the cap back on the pen she’d been using with more force than necessary. “Jessica lost her virginity in eighth grade, ’cause she’s a total slut. But the way she talked about guys, I really thought there was something wrong with me, because I’d never been with anyone. She made this stupid bet with me that I couldn’t swipe my V card by the end of the summer between eighth and ninth grade. Somehow, she convinced me that if I couldn’t hook up with anyone that summer, I’d be a total loser when I started high school. Then she went on to sabotage every relationship I attempted that summer.

“We went to Sun River together during the week before Labor Day, and she wouldn’t stop talking about how it was my final chance to be popular in high school. There was this lifeguard that I kind of liked, so we flirted a little. One night I came by the pool when I knew he was getting off work. I didn’t really think anything would happen, but I figured maybe I could lie about it or something so Jessica would stop teasing me.

“When I got there, I saw him — making out with Jessica. I was so mad. I knew how much she’d ridicule me, and I wanted to prove her wrong. So I went back to her family’s cabin and slept with her cousin. I didn’t even like him. It was totally stupid. But Jessica was pissed, and somehow it made me feel better.”

“Can you tell me again, why are you still friends with her?”

“I don’t know.” Kaitlyn shrugged and grabbed another pen. “But Sophie, in answer to your question, it doesn’t hurt that bad. But it feels better when it means something. Eli’s a good guy. He’ll wait until you’re ready. And you aren’t a loser if you want to wait.”

“Thanks, Kaitlyn.” Sophie smiled. “And I’m really glad I asked you, not Jessica.”

We all laughed and returned to our poster making.

My mom got home toting Thai-food takeout. “Yum, I love panang curry,” Sophie said as her way of introduction to my mother.

Kaitlyn, Sophie, and I joined my mom in the kitchen to bond over rice noodles. Thankfully, we’d moved beyond talking about sex. Instead, we talked about our favorite movies and who we all expected would win this season’s
The X Factor
. I could tell my mom really liked both my new friends. They were nothing like Gabby and Arden, and even less like Haroon and Miles. But I liked them a lot too.

I was more stressed out getting dressed for my dad’s gallery opening than I’d been for prom. I must have gone through a dozen outfits before settling on a gingham sundress.

Nate took my hand as we walked into the gallery. It was located in the trendiest section of Portland’s Pearl District. Overmanicured adults sipped from champagne flutes while examining the art. My dad may have been only a ghost to me, but he was important to somebody.

He had a whole series of landscape pieces. The harsh lines of the desert were really striking, and he did amazing things with shadow. Nate and I stood together, looking at a wall-sized mural of a ruined pueblo. “Wow, I knew your dad was famous and everything, but this is seriously good.”

“Yeah,” I looked at the ghost of a bright-eyed, brown-haired girl as her moccasin-covered feet climbed over the ruins. “He’s come a long way since painting toddlers on the beach.”

“Is that my pretty girl?”

I turned around to face the evening’s guest of honor. My dad’s hair, missing on top and long in the back, was pulled into a gray ponytail. He wore slacks, a blazer, and a wild tie washed with color. “Just look at you! You’re the spitting image of your mother.”

The socialite gallery goers nearby gawked at me. “Hi, Dad.” I made a lame gesture at the art-covered walls. “I like your new stuff.”

He crossed the room in three steps. “Just look at you. You’re not my pretty little girl anymore — now you’re a beautiful young woman.”

I blushed, feeling self-conscious. It was clear to everyone present that I was the artist’s daughter, but we weren’t close. Why couldn’t we hold our reunion someplace less public?

“I need to draw you.” He pulled a small sketchbook out of his breast pocket. “Hold still.”

“Dad, do we have to do this here, now?”

“You’re right, a sketch can’t do you justice. I’m going to be in town for a week. Please let me paint you.”

Nate stepped forward and took my hand. He didn’t say anything, but the pressure in his fingers gave me permission to say no. My dad took off eight years ago. I didn’t owe him anything. But I was standing in the center of a room filled with the most amazing art I’d ever seen. Art my dad made, that I wasn’t in. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great, I can spend all day Saturday with you, assuming your mom doesn’t mind.”

“You’re my parent too. And I want to spend Saturday with you.”

“Great, it’s a date then.”

My dad put one arm around me in an awkward half hug. I turned and hugged him properly. “I’ve missed you, Daddy.”

He lifted me into the air, like I was a little girl again. “I’ve missed you too, baby. I’ve missed you too.”

When my dad returned me to the ground, there were tears in his eyes. Nate stood close behind me, wanting to protect me but not knowing how. I reached back and took his hand. “Dad, this is my boyfriend, Nate.”

“A boyfriend?” His eyes scanned Nate with skepticism. “I really have been away for too long, haven’t I?”

My dad was polite enough to shake Nate’s hand before he started sketching him. When he’d finished doodling Nate, he did another sketch of the two of us together. Haroon came by a little later to compliment Dad’s art, and Dad started drawing him too. I knew he would have happily spent the entire night sketching my friends and me, but we weren’t the only people in the gallery.

Eventually the local art collectors with thick wallets managed to pull my dad’s attention away. He had to sell art to survive. This wasn’t just a family reunion — it was a business trip. When I turned away from my dad, he called after me. “I’ll see you on Saturday, Samantha.”

I nodded. “See you then.”

I
decided to wear my green Oregon T-shirt and a pair of jeans for my portrait session with Dad. The shirt made me feel grounded to my new home, and I knew Dad would like the way it brought out the color in my eyes.

My mom may have been fearful that Dad would somehow burn the place down, because she didn’t head into the office that Saturday. Instead, she holed up in her room with her laptop to work from home. She didn’t want to see my dad, but she didn’t want to leave me totally alone with him either. It kind of pissed me off. Mom never had a problem leaving me alone with myself. Why couldn’t she trust me with my own father?

When I answered the door, my dad dropped a large canvas, an easel, and a bag filled with paints onto the floor and folded his arms around me in a giant hug. The scent of acrylics tickled my nose. I felt five years old again. “Hi, Daddy.”

“How did my baby girl become such a beautiful young lady? Seriously, child, have you looked in a mirror? You’re gorgeous.”

I picked up my dad’s easel and carried it inside. “Where do you want to set up?”

“I want to capture the real you. Where do you spend the most time?”

I carried the easel down the hall to my bedroom, while my dad followed with his canvas and paints. He set up his stuff in the corner of the room while I perched nervously on the edge of my bed. I’d had my portrait painted daily for the first six years of my life. Why did I feel queasy now? “You want to draw the real me?”

“If I can find her. Absolutely.”

I looked at the floor, my knees bouncing with nervous energy. “I’m a pretty big nerd. I spend most of my time doing homework. Do you want to try painting me doing that?”

“Sure. Make yourself comfortable.”

I grabbed my MP3 player and my calculus book off my desk and took up residence on the floor. Papers filled with numbers scattered around me. I plugged in my chemistry text and lay on my side with my weight supported by one elbow. A single lock of brown hair twisted with the headphone wires, framing my face.

My dad crossed the room and opened the blinds on my window before repositioning the lamp on my dresser to cast the correct shadows. Then he returned to his easel and lifted his paintbrush. I lifted my pencil, and we both disappeared into our own private worlds.

I finished my calculus homework but knew I couldn’t move, so I flipped to the next page in my notebook and started doodling a fractal. My dad had always been observant, so I figured he must have noticed the shift in my concentration when he asked, “So what tunes are you rocking out to?”

I reached over and turned off my MP3 player but left the earbuds in. “
Fundamentals of Chemistry,
” I said without shifting my gaze. “I get all my textbooks in audio. Right now I’m learning the second law of thermodynamics.”

“What is it?”

“That the world’s a basket case and the only thing you can ever count on is that everything’s bound to fall apart.”

“Sounds about right.” The room was silent for a minute except for the sound of his paintbrush on the canvas. I was about to turn back on my chemistry text when my dad said, “Audio textbooks. That’s got to be helpful.”

I smiled. I did like doing math homework, so I doubted the expression would wreck Dad’s picture. “It’s a total godsend. If it weren’t for audiobooks, I’d probably be failing every class.”

“Maybe if I’d had that option, I would’ve stuck with school a little longer.”

My dad had dropped out when he was in eighth grade, and as far as I knew, he’d never done anything but art in the decades that followed. “Do you wish you knew how to read?”

“Every day.”

“Me too. I have a new tutor that I’m working with now, Ms. Chatman. She’s actually my school’s special ed teacher. We’ve been reading together a lot, and I’m getting better. Since moving here, I’ve read the entire Harry Potter series, and I’ve moved on to Percy Jackson.”