Love Blind (9 page)

The second I got home, I dropped Mom's things on the kitchen counter, ran to my room, and pulled out my most recent journal. I jotted a new item on my list. One that Hailey had first suggested.
DJ.
A weird rush hit me with those two letters. Because for the first time, I'd written something down that maybe I could do. Maybe.

A second later, I flipped my tablet open and refreshed email. Something I barely ever checked because Pavel's mom read all his correspondence now, so he stuck with texting. A bunch of spam about penile implants. And then there it was: an email from Hailey with a ten-digit number as the subject line.

To my friend with the green shoes,

I had to scour the Internet for an hour trying to find you, and that is seriously crap on my eyes. Even still, I ended up calling the IT guy at school to get your email address. Luckily, he owed me a favor.

I probably should have just showed up at the station, but I thought writing would be more effective. Didn't want to blindside you when you were working.

You're kind of a reader, right? Tess said she's seen you at the library with some pretty big books. And journaling too. You write, Kyle? Lots of stuff to unpack with you, isn't there?

So you need to come to my house with your list. We gotta start tackling some of that shit if you're gonna make it to college.

I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Ha!

Don't talk yourself out of it. This is a good offer, and I might give up on your ass if you don't show up. Also, I'll be fifteen kinds of pissed if this bounces back as a bogus email. So call me. Write me. Tell me when works for you.

Affectionately,

The girl with the glasses

PS: I think I should have your phone number; if you can't find mine in this mess, then never mind about yours.

She'd used her number for the subject line. Of course I had it. But what were the chances of me using it?

I read the letter probably thirty times. She'd had to show up at the station after all. Blindsiding me. Heh.

I used to check my email every day because Pavel sent me articles with love advice and they were the perfect mindless entertainment when my homework was done and I was tired of writing. Plus, sometimes he attached dirty pictures, and jerking off to those didn't feel as weird as trolling for porn on the Internet on my own. But then his mom read his “Hot Lady Soccer Players” email, and that was the end of that.

It was almost summer. School would be out soon, and I wouldn't see Hailey at all. We could email. Maybe. But then next year she'd be at north campus. And maybe everything would change. Or it wouldn't. She gave me her number, though.

“We got a letter from the village asking us to mow the lawn,” Mom said from my doorway.

I flinched. Forgot to close the door. Jesus, where was my head?

I looked up from my tablet. “Why is it the village's business if we mow our lawn or not? What if we're doing one of those natural prairie lawns?” I hated our house. Our run-down shitty house, which hadn't been redecorated or really touched for ten years. It'd gotten too dated to even blend anymore.

Mom's lips dropped into a frown. “We're not growing a prairie lawn, Kyle. Mow the lawn, okay?”

No
thank you for picking up my things.
No
sorry if I interrupted something with your friends.

“Why is this on me? You know how to use the mower.” I shouldn't have said it. I never said shit like that to my mom. But having had to bail on Hailey bugged the crap out of me.

Mom blew a hair out of her face. “Because, Kyle, it's just
us. And I work all the time so we can live in this house. It's not easy being a single parent, you know?”

Yeah, so she'd reminded me. Constantly.

“So let's move to an apartment. We don't need all the space.” The house wasn't huge, but big enough for emptiness to echo through the halls. Not exactly
home.

Mom's jaw clenched. “I got this house in the divorce. We're not leaving.”

She needed to find someone else. She needed to stop making everything about her and me. Or about my dad abandoning us. But I didn't know how to tell her. As it was, the reality of only one more year of high school hung like an albatross around both our necks.

I swallowed every thought down. Choked on it until it was a solid mass at the base of my throat. The real truth? It wasn't Mom's fault. Dad had left because of me. Not because he didn't want me or anything like that. Although he hadn't. He'd left because I'd told him to go. Told him he wasn't good for either of us. I'd thought it was true at the time. It probably was, but it hadn't made the past seven years any easier.

And I certainly hadn't realized that one conversation when I was ten would have the kind of impact on Mom that it did. A conversation that I could never talk about. That strangled me every time Mom and me spent more than ten minutes together. And now I knew I had another item to add to my list.

Talk to Mom about Dad.

M
y afternoon chat with Kyle felt unfinished. Instead of dwelling on something I couldn't change, I found some relief in knowing that he hadn't gotten my email instead of actively not answering.

To pass the time on my way home, I sent Chaz a text, but he was at the gym and couldn't talk. And that was fine. I mean, he was an adult. It wasn't like I wanted to wear someone's letter jacket or class ring or talk on the phone for hours only minutes after seeing each other at school.

“Hey there!” Rox called when I was a driveway away from home. “Wanna make something?”

I shrugged. I didn't have much homework, and I didn't care about what I did have. I wasn't going to need to know the details about the First World War to be a musician.

“I got fresh clay today.” She grinned.

All the clay was sort of gross to me, and there was no way I'd ever be able to tell what clay was “fresh” and what wasn't.

But I followed her through the showroom and into her wheel room. The smell of earth and dirt clung to the air and walls. I dropped my pack to the floor and sat at the smaller wheel in the corner.

“Do you have any requests?” I asked.

Rox ripped off a chunk of clay and set it in front of me, placing a water bottle within reach—for me or the clay.

“You ready to try a plate?”

I made a face. “I think my brain is only up for something simple.”

“Then do whatever you like.” Rox sat at her own wheel.

I think sometimes she loved being out here alone, and other times Lila would come sit and read in the corner to fill space.

“Where's Lila?”

“Danielle called in sick.”

Which meant Lila would be late.

“Pizza?” I asked. Lila never went for pizza, but Rox could sometimes be convinced. There were no vegan pizza delivery places, and in fantastic stereotype fashion my pottery and yoga moms were also weird about food.

Rox tilted her chin toward my wheel. “Let's see how you do first.”

I grabbed the smock off a hook and slipped it on, pressing
my foot down to get the wheel moving. Maybe my hands would know what to do once I started. I pressed on the top of the clay and then the sides, letting the mud slip around my fingers. Even breathing was pretty important for this kind of thing because one small move could ruin the whole project.

I wish I were afraid of mud, because this would be such an easy thing to cross off my list. But that wasn't the point of my list, really. The point was empowerment. The idea that the things I was afraid of wouldn't control me.

Did I feel in control of my list?

I mean, spiders . . . How does one even conquer a fear like that? And seeing a spider in my room was nowhere near the feeling I got when I thought about living in a black world.

Did it even count?

Part of me wanted to add a few things about Chaz. He'd asked me for a picture of myself. One I hadn't taken or sent. I was afraid I couldn't see well enough to know if the picture was good or not. The moms might see it. Was it a real fear?

Dipping my fingers into the center of my mud cylinder, I started working on a mug. Or maybe just a cup. No handle.

“Close your eyes, Hailey. Might help,” Rox said over the sound of our two spinning wheels.

My eyes fell closed, and instead of watching the clay move and shape, I felt it. Felt how it curved under my hands. Felt the cup begin to take shape.
One day this is how I'll see.

I didn't want to live in the dark. My eyes flew open.

There was no air in the room. I needed air.

I took my foot off the pedal that spun the wheel, tugged off my smock, and walked out.

“Hailey?” Rox called.

I walked through the showroom, out the door, and sat on the driveway, resting my hands on either side of my face. Grasping the sides of my glasses, I wanted to rip them off and throw them at the house. Listen to them shatter. But these had been a gift from Lila's mother, my grandma who didn't want me to call her Grandma because it made her feel old. I couldn't do it. I forced my hands to relax.

“Hey, you.” Rox sat next to me. “What's going on?”

I shook my head. The moms were great and all, but sometimes letting them inside my head meant a whole lot of talking and feeling and things I didn't want to deal with.

She nudged my shoulder with hers. “What do you want on your pizza, kiddo?”

“Olives. Lots and lots of olives.”

◊ ◊ ◊

My cheeks hurt from smiling as I squinted at my iPad. Messaging on phones really sucked. The text was always too small, and having a voice read it out loud could get embarrassing fast.

Chaz: I wanna see you. When can I see you?

Blinders On had no gigs coming up—who knew playing in a seedy bar wouldn't immediately put us on lists for more seedy bars?

Hailey: Not sure.

I hadn't come out and told him how particular the moms were. How there was no way in hell they'd ever approve of someone like him.

Chaz: your parents strict?

Hailey: “Strict” would be putting it mildly.

Chaz: that's ok. Makes things more fun ;-)

Hailey: Perv

Chaz: maybe you're the perv, preying on older men

I barked out a laugh. I considered myself pretty lucky.

Hailey: You wish.

Chaz: you tell me what time I can see you this week, and I'll be there.

Meanwhile, I still hadn't heard back from Kyle.

Hailey: Okay, let me figure it out

Chaz didn't know about my list—that was reserved for friends. Didn't know about my eyes, not really. And that was fine. That wasn't the part of my life Chaz belonged to. He belonged with the Hailey that played in a band and went to bars and wore boots instead of Converse. He fit there perfectly.

H
ailey probably didn't need to
see
my list.

I opened my notebook on the desk at the radio station. My hands shook a little as I leafed to the loose page I'd tucked in back. I'd have to leave soon to be on time. To be there when I said I'd make it in the very short email I finally sent back to her.

Wednesday after school?

She wrote back one word—probably making fun of me again, but the word was “yes,” so it didn't matter.

“You're not engineering today, are you?” Mr. Schmidt, our faculty advisor, asked as he paused reading the paper spread before him. We'd transitioned to a twenty-four-hour radio station two years ago, though all the programming after ten was
automated. By this point in the school year, our faculty advisor was more a babysitter than anything else.