Art & Soul (12 page)

I
wanted
to know more about Aria, the girl who hardly smiled, the girl whose eyes remained sad when she did smile. She wasn’t really one to open up to people. I couldn’t blame her, really, seeing how everyone treated her at school. I wouldn’t have opened up either.

“Okay, tell me what I’m staring at,” I whispered, edging my chair closer to her, but still giving her enough space to feel comfortable.

“I can’t tell you. You have to figure it out for yourself. That’s the whole point of abstract art, it’s different for everyone.”

I nodded, staring back at the blues, yellows, and greens in front of me. To be honest, it looked messy to me, as if a two-year-old had broken into a room filled with paint and poured it all over the place.

But maybe that
was
artwork to some people.

I just couldn’t see it.

“How long do we stare at it?” I asked.

“As long as it takes for you to see it,” she replied.

“What’s ‘it’?”

“
Everything
.”

My eyes started seeing doubles of the painting as I went cross-eyed from the overall experience of intense staring. “Okay, well, your turn,” I said, pushing the book in her direction. “You tell me what you see.”

She took a breath of relief as if she’d been waiting for me to ask. The hair tie on her wrist was removed as she tossed her hair into a ponytail. She loosened and stretched out before crossing her legs on the chair and flipping the pages in the book.

She was searching and searching.

Searching for something familiar.

Something that she normally only allowed herself to see.

When she found it, she smiled. Not one of her halfway grins, but a full-blown, toothy, this-is-my-safe-haven kind of grin.

The painting was entitled
Grounded Fly
and Aria stared as if she was a part of it. Her body slightly rocked back and forth and her lips parted. I stared at her lips far longer than I should’ve, but the way they fell open was almost enough for me to want to press my mouth against hers. I forced my gaze to move elsewhere, and when it found her eyes, I completely forgot about the idea of blinking.

I’d never seen her eyes smile before; they were always so heavy and lost. In that moment, as she became a part of the abstract painting, she freed herself from reality, almost forgetting that I existed. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to. I saw what she was seeing as I watched her. The way her body lit with color for the first time since we’d met was indescribable. Part of me wanted to ask her how she tapped into the art, but I worried if any noise was made then she might snap back to reality and her eyes would be sad again.

Mom used to tell me that happiness didn’t last, so a person should hold onto it as long as possible, without questions, without regrets.

We sat there for minutes that felt like hours of peace. Her eyes kept looking down while mine took her in. She was so beautiful. I wouldn’t say the words, because every time I’d given her a compliment, she flinched with discomfort.

But I thought it often.
So freaking beautiful
.

“Do you see it?” she whispered, her fingertips tapping against her mouth.

“Yeah,” I whispered back. I saw it.

“Aria?”

“Yes?”

“Can I show you something now?”

I
took
her to Lance’s music shop, where we were greeted by Daisy as she passed out vegan cookies to the customers. “Hey, Levi! Who’s the friend?”

“This is Aria. She’s my partner for our art and music class,” I said, smiling at Aria. She smiled back. Whenever she smiled, I felt like I was winning at life.

“I’m guessing you’re the art part of the project?” she asked Aria.

“Yes, and he’s the soul.”

“I’m Daisy, honey,” she said, extending her hand out to Aria. “Lance, come say hi to Levi’s school partner, Art.”

Lance leaped over the cash register counter and hurried behind his wife, then wrapped his hands around her waist. “Is your name really Art?” he asked.

“No, but close enough.” Aria laughed.

I like that sound, too.

Lance smiled before his eyes fell to Aria’s stomach. When his eyes locked with mine again he smiled bigger. Turning his back toward Aria, he spoke just loud enough for only me to hear. “Not to dive into the uncool uncle role for too long, but I gotta make sure—Levi, the bun in that oven isn’t a Myers croissant, is it?”

I laughed. “No.”

Lance sighed. “Okay, back to the cool uncle role.” He flipped back around and gave Aria a high five. “Art, nice to meet you. You’re free to touch anything in the store and play anything you want. Anything you break, that fine nephew of mine buys.”

“So break everything?” Aria questioned.

“Oh, I like her spunk,” Lance said, nudging me in the side. “Balls to the wall, my friend. Since you have that badass rocker chick look and are wearing a T-shirt with a badass kitten on it, might I suggest you start with the crazy new, crazy expensive Pearl Crystal Beat 5-piece shell drum set in the display window? Levi tried to play it once, but he sounded like complete shit, and I’m almost positive you can do better.” He handed a pair of drumsticks Aria’s way and told her to have at it.

So she did.

She played like every badass rock star in the movies. She pounded the drums, over and over again, whipping her hair back and forth, losing herself in the whole act of letting loose.

“Whoa,” Lance said, staring at Aria in awe when she stopped. He started a slow clap with Daisy and me joining in. “That was fucking
awful
. It’s almost as if you walked up to the drums and said, ‘I am going to take these sticks and proceed to kill the fucking joy of music.’ No, seriously, are my ears bleeding? Because I think my ears are bleeding,” he joked.

I couldn’t stop laughing because he was right—it was pretty painful. Aria fell into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, since I’m terrible at the drums, do you think you can play the violin for me?” she asked, gesturing to the violin on display. It wasn’t any violin, but it was the violin that I kind of wanted to marry. A Karl Willhelm Model 64—the best violin in Soulful Things.

“I can’t play that,” I replied. People didn’t just pick up a Karl Willhelm violin and start playing. Especially a violin with a three thousand dollar price tag.

“Why not?” Lance asked, picking it up from the display. He handed it to me. “I think you and this violin might have a lot in common.”

I took the wooden instrument into my hands and smiled at it. Lance handed me the bow, and after a few minutes of tuning, I placed my chin on the chinrest. “Any requests?” I asked Aria.

She smiled. “Surprise me.”

I slid the bow across the strings of the violin, playing Henryk Wieniawksi’s classic, “Polonaise No. 1.” It was one of the hardest pieces of music I’d ever learned to play. Part of me was terrified of messing up and looking like an idiot. Another part of me wanted to impress Aria.

When I finished, the three started applauding and Aria mouthed, “Wow.”

Before we left she somehow managed to also murder the beauty of the piano, guitar, and a few tambourines.

I walked her home and stood at the end of her sidewalk. She kept fidgeting with her fingers and smiling.

“Thanks for hanging out with me today.” I smirked. She didn’t know it, but she gave me a few hours of not thinking about my least favorite word: cancer.

Her cheeks reddened and she kept fidgeting. “I’ll see you at school?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She smiled and turned away. Then she turned back, and smiled again. “You’re amazing at the violin. I hope you know that.” She turned away and walked up the porch steps. She turned back to look at me. “Like, really, really amazing.” Another smile.
Keep smiling.
She turned away once more. As she stepped into her house, I started to walk away and heard her shouting my name. “Levi.”

“Yes?”

More fidgeting. More smiles. “Do you think we can be friends?”

I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I thought we already were.”

I
stepped
into my bedroom right as my phone dinged. Glancing down at the cell phone, I saw Aria’s name, and I instantly rushed to read the message.

Aria:
Glitterati - noun plural | [glit·te·ra·ti \ˌgli-tə-ˈrä-tē\] : Wealthy or famous people who conspicuously attend fashionable events.

Me:
Sounds sparkly.

Aria:
I bet they have wonderful punch that they pour into diamond encrusted glasses.

I reached for my dictionary and started flipping through it.

Me:
Art – noun | [\ˈärt\] : The quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.

Aria:
I like that.

Me:
I think you’re art.

She didn’t respond. I went and worked on some homework, pretended that I understood calculus, and checked my phone. I spoke to Mom on the phone. After I hung up, I checked my phone. I cooked a nasty TV dinner, ate it all, and checked my phone. I sat in the foyer laughing at black and white comedies, and checked my phone.

I checked it one last time before I shut off my light and climbed into bed.

As I lay in the dark, I listened to the phone ding as the blue light lit up my room.

Aria:
Goodnight, Levi.

I smiled in the darkness.

Goodnight, Art.

T
he next day at school
, Simon slammed his lunch down on the table in front of Levi and me. His anger from the day before seemed to be placed in the back of his mind as he blasted his annoyance on another issue at hand. “We will
NOT
be allowing Awkward Abigail to eat with us anymore! I forbid it!” For the past few weeks, Abigail would walk to our table, sit for two minutes—three when she wasn’t in a hurry—talk about some random quotes, compliment Simon, and then hurry away. It had actually kind of become a weird highlight of my day.

“Why not? She’s great,” Levi said.

Whenever he spoke, I watched his lips.

He could’ve said poop and it would’ve sounded romantic.

Stop it, Aria.

“Great?!
GREAT
?! Look at this!!!” He reached into his backpack and pulled out two Ziplock bags. One had two new bottles of hand sanitizer in them, and the other had cookies. “See?!” he said, his pale skin turning red with emotion.

“…Hand sanitizer and cookies?” I asked, confused.

“
Homemade
cookies! Yes—that’s right! Awkward Abigail came to a full-blown stop in front of my locker! And she said, ‘Hi, Simon. I noticed you were running low on hand sanitizer at lunch yesterday, so I bought you two new ones. Plus, I baked you some cookies.’ Then she handed me these and left!”

“That’s nice,” Levi replied.

“Nice?! It’s insane! What if someone saw us?! What if people thought she and I were, were…a thing?!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Levi asked.

Simon huffed and laughed angrily. “She’s—she’s…
she’s Awkward Abigail!”

“Yes?” Abigail said, stepping behind Simon.

His face turned redder as he turned to meet her stare. “Oh. Hi.” He gave her a big, fake grin.

Abigail smiled wider than him. “You have a perfect smile. Very white and pearly. Too bad they are going to have to pull out your wisdom teeth at one point because I’m sure those would be nice, too. I would like to eat with you guys but,” she glanced at her watch, “I’m behind schedule today. I’ll see you later, I’m sure. Simon, that yellow T-shirt is a great color for you. I thought maroon was good, but yellow’s better. Okay. Bye, you guys.”

With that, she swished away with her wind pants, leaving Simon with his mouth hung open and confusion in his stare. “She
CANNOT
eat with us anymore!”

“If you like her so much, just ask her out,” Levi said, biting into his chicken patty.

“You think I
like
Abigail?
ABIGAIL
?! Yeah right.” Simon laughed. “Just because she’s weird, and kind of beautiful and happens to be an exceptional baker, and has a little dimple on her right cheek next to a heart-shaped birthmark, and actually quotes some interesting things sometimes, and is funny, and odd, and probably great at kissing because she’s always running her mouth nonstop which makes me want to kiss her four times in a row—
doesn’t mean I LIKE HER AND WANT HER COOKIES
!” he screamed.

Levi and I sat silent as we stared wide-eyed at Simon, who had just given the most awkward, messed up monologue ever delivered by mankind. Our eyes moved over to Abigail, who had returned and was beet red, frozen in place and holding two packs of cookies. Simon turned to see Abigail. He blinked. She blinked.

He blinked again.

She blinked again.

Several awkward moments of blinking passed before she spoke up.

“I forgot to give Aria and Levi the cookies I baked for them.” She handed them our way, and then stood up straight. Her stare met Simon’s.

Simon blinked again.

Abigail blinked, too.

“I’m going to go now,” Abigail said.

“Yup, that sounds about right,” Simon agreed.

She hurried away, her high heels and swishing pants sounding her exit.

Simon flopped into his chair and buried his face into his hands. “Do you think she heard me?”

“No way.” Levi smirked. “I think you’re in the clear.”

W
hen I wasn’t
with Levi at school, I found myself thinking about him more than I should’ve been, and every time I received a message from him, my stomach flipped.

Levi:
Eyesome –
adjective
| [ahy-s
uh
 m]: Pleasant to look at.

Me:
Can you use it in a sentence, please?

Levi:
You looked very eyesome when you walked into calculus today wearing two mismatched socks.

Me:
You’re so crazy.

He didn’t respond.

I made dinner for my sisters, and checked my phone. I took a nap, woke up, and checked my phone. I weighed myself, stared in the mirror at my stomach, and checked my phone. I listened to Mom and Dad fight about me being homeschooled next semester, and then I checked my phone.

This was all before seven at night.

Levi:
I hate that word. It’s my second least favorite word.

Me:
Which one?

Levi:
Crazy.

Me:
Why?

He made me wait again.

I didn’t get a response until 7:39 P.M.

Levi:
Because the people in my old town always called my mom crazy.