One (10 page)

"So Julie-"

"Jules," I
can't help correcting again.

"So Jules, is this
your first date?" I nod. He smiles a little. "You've never
gone out with a boy ever before?"

Grandma wouldn't let
me.
"Grandma thinks boys are a bad influence," I
confess softly, thinking about my mother.

"We're not bad,"
he says, bending until his mouth is next to my ear. "In fact, we
can be very
good
."
Snap.
I try to step back, but
he holds me so hard I can't move. "You smell so good. Something
that smells so good must taste good, too."

I don't know what he
means, but Josh mentioning smells suddenly makes me more aware of the
odors emanating from him. His breath smells funny like he's drunk
something acidic. I look up. His wide eyes don't appear saucer like
anymore; they're narrowed as if he's squinting to see me through a
haze.

I swallow. "Josh,
" I begin uneasily.

"Hmm?"

I try to dislodge his
fingers, but they're iron on my waist. "Josh, I think you should
let me go," I tell him quietly, no longer embarrassed if I don't
sound cool.

"Let you go?"
He laughs. "We just got here."

I try to remove his
fingers, my nails scratching him as I do so. He doesn't move, and he
remains still as if he can't feel nails raking his skin.

"You need to let
me go," I tell him, more panicked than before. I remember now.
I'd seen this on one of the farms we worked at. A man who smelled
just like this tried to force one of the women into a shed. I was
with the older women, waiting for grandma. I heard the snap in their
words as they carried garden spades and rakes, rushing forward. The
man was surrounded so he left, swaying listlessly, tripping over his
own legs. Was that what Josh wanted to do to me? Take me to a shed
somewhere? That thought scared me, so much so that I bent down and
bit his neck- hard.

"Ow!" he
yelped, letting me go as his hands clutch at his neck. I use my
weight as momentum and I shove him hard enough that he takes a few
steps backwards. Without stopping, I bend down and grab the largest
rock my eyes find. I throw it at his head. His scream is louder now,
and there is murder in his eyes. I don't turn back to look to see if
he follows me. I assume that he will as I rush through the woods. The
good thing about working the way I do is that I know every piece of
land within a twenty-mile radius. I've worked everywhere, planting,
digging weeds, exploring. I know where we are. There is only one area
large enough to hold parties, and even though it's supposed to be
private property, the owner is never around. It's harder to navigate
in the darkness, but I try anyway. I use the moon to guide me,
looking for familiar spots I've marked.

I try not to think
about Josh as I make the long trek home, but my body is trembling
with rage and disappointment. My first date, my first normal night
out and this happens? I refuse to cry, and bite back the tears.
Didn't Grandma warn me about men like this? Didn't Braidon?

Still I tried anyway. I
needed to see it for myself. A sniffle escapes me even as the tears
shine in my eyes.

When I finally get
home, Braidon is waiting for me. His tall skinny frame is like a
young tree sprouting. I almost imagine him as a man. The lights turn
on as I climb through the window. I refuse to look at him. I don't
know how he knows I left. I don't know how he knows a lot of things,
but I do know he watches me closely. Too closely. I don't want him to
see the anger in my face. Without looking at Braidon, I walk past
him.

"Your shirt's
torn," he tells me in a quiet voice.

I ignore his comment.
"Is Grandma awake?"

"No."

I take a few more steps
forward.

"I told you not to
trust them."

I keep walking.

"You can't trust
anyone but me."

I ignore him. Suddenly,
he grabs me from behind, his skinny body harder than I imagined. "Do
you understand, Jules?" His brown eyes are intense. "There's
no one but me."

"I don’t like
dates."

Pax raises an eyebrow.
"How many dates have you been on?"

"One."
A
long time ago.

"So you're just
going to throw out a general statement about one bad experience?"

"Look," I try
to be patient. "I don't need a man. I don't want one behind, in
front or anywhere near me," I say, moving back from him.

"No one
needs
a man," Pax replies, stepping closer. "But having a man
near or in front of you might not be such a bad thing." He
pauses. "
Especially
if they're behind you. Magical things
can happen when a man is behind a woman. Want me to show you?"
That suggestive smile is back again, and if I wasn't so focused I
might have melted underneath the buttery smirk of his lips. The
memory of my traumatic first date is dark in my head, and it lingers
even as I stare into Pax's eyes.

"That's not
necessary," I say, facing my sketch of him. I touch the smooth
curve of his face on paper. I'm especially proud of how I drew his
eyes. Pax's eyes are a mixture of the human soul, I realize. Humor
and wisdom, determination and modesty. I chew my lip.
Well maybe
not
modesty, I think as I feel Pax move behind me. I shoot him an
irritable look because I know what he's trying to do. He puts a hand
over mine, and we both stay like that, as my fingers touch the paper
and his fingers touch mine. As if pulled by a magnet, my hand slowly
traces what I've drawn; pausing longer over features I enjoyed
illustrating. His hand follows mine, but soon we are making are own
art. His long fingers curl over mine and he moves my hand, creating a
picture only he can see. After a moment, he stops. Turning to my
side, I watch him pour a tube of blue paint onto a small tub. He
picks up a paintbrush and places it in my hand.

"When did you get
the paint and brush?" I ask.

"You didn't see me
because you were too busy admiring your own work," he laughs
softly.

I don't say anymore as
he dips the brush in my fingers with color. Pax's large hand covers
mine and I watch with suspended breath as he moves my hand, painting
around and over what I've created. I'm curious what he'll do. I'm
curious about what's in his head when he's not spewing out witty
remarks, and winning games for UW.

He begins with one soft
stroke over the drawing of his baldhead, and then he slowly brushes
down, dipping the brush in water to minimize the color. He's trying
to create something faded. I can't tell what Pax is trying to do as
we repeat the up and down motions, curving at the bottom like we're
drawing a lake. What we're doing is a quiet lullaby and the motions
of Pax's hands hypnotize me. Finally, we finish. He drops the brush
on the table. My hands fall to my sides, and I hear his soft
breathing in my ear.

He's drawn a curtain,
filled with different shades of blue. Some parts are more faded than
others, but each drape is connected. The picture of Pax is behind it,
peeking through in some places, and boldly uncovered in others.

"That's what dates
do," Pax says quietly behind me. I don't take my eyes off the
painting. "They reveal parts of another person you might not
have known before." He touches the part where the blue covers
half of his face. "But if you never try, all you'll see is the
curtain of who they present to the world." He touches a part
where the color has faded, revealing his chiseled chest. "If you
take that risk, you'll learn and experience things you might not have
before."

I swallow. I resist the
urge to touch the colors again. I need to let it dry.

In that moment, I
realize this isn't my art anymore; it's ours.

"Not so bad when
I'm behind, is it?" Pax whispers, breaking the silence.

A faint smile tugs at
my lips. I wave my hand over what we've just created. "All this
for a date?" I ask again, more serious this time.

You can't trust
anyone but me.

I turn to look up at
Pax.

There's no one but
me.

"Yes," he
answers simply.

No one.
The word
echoes in my head.

Pax's eyes are shining
softly down at me.

Red.
I stiffen.
For a moment, the color blinds me. I breathe hard, riding it out. He
watches me, staring intently into my face. When the red fades, I see
everything more clearly.

I turn and walk away.

* * *

I'm ready before the
alarm rings.

I didn't sleep after I
left Pax. A part of me hoped he would have followed me, but a more
realistic part knew he wouldn't. He'd tried his best, put out a
flawless game, and still I turned away. He wouldn't try again. He has
nothing to gain.

I almost attempted a
braid this morning, but decided it would be futile and put my hair
back into a ponytail. Remembering how all the girls looked yesterday,
I sigh and walk over to Nat. She's sleeping so I gently touch her
shoulder. "Nat?"

"Hmm…ghagh?"

"Nat," I try
again. "Can I borrow some of your make up?"

"What?" Her
words are clearer this time.

That brought her
right out of sleep,
I think wryly. "Can I use some make up
for work today?"

She raises herself up,
propping her body with her elbows. "You want to put on make-up?"
She blinks groggily at me. "Aren't you Amish or something?"

I'm stunned. "No,"
I answer, incredulous.
How does she come up with these things?

She wipes her eyes with
a fist. "You don't go out much. You don't have sex that I know
of-" I gape at her. She ignores my reaction. "And I've
never seen you wear make-up. I thought you were a former Amish or
something and wanted to experience life on the other side."

"No," I say,
aghast. "I'm
not
Amish, Nat!"

She winces. "Okay,
okay, no need to shout." She blinks up at me. "You wanna
wear make-up? Looking good for a hot guy?" she asks.

"More like looking
good for some hot women," I answer seriously, thinking about how
Alaina and the other girls looked at me. Their faces said everything
they didn’t. Nat raises an eyebrow. "It's not like that,"
I say once I realize how she takes my statement. I hesitate,
wondering how much I should divulge. Finally, I sigh. "It's just
that the place I work has many pretty girls and I don't think they
like me very much."

"Maybe it's
because you're quiet in an intimidating way," Nat suggests as
she puts her feet to the floor.

My brows crinkle
together. "How can a quiet person be intimidating?"

"Quiet
pretty
girls are intimidating," she corrects. "They're mysterious
and men can't resist that." I think about what Pax said last
night; about how there's something about me that gets him. Does he
see me as "mysterious"?

"I'm not pretty,"
I say matter-of-factly, watching her get up.

"Not at first,"
Nat agrees. I blink at the insult. She puts a hand through her hair,
but the dark brown locks are stubborn and her fingers get stuck in
it. She winces as she continues, "Your beauty sort of grows on
people. It makes a person look twice. It's unusual in a weird, pretty
way," she concludes. I don't know what to make of that.
It's
like a compliment and an insult in one.
"I can't believe
you're letting me put make up on you, Jules," Nat continues
excitedly.

"Whoa," I put
two hands up. "I never said anything about you putting make up
on me," I say. "I asked to use your make-up. There's a
difference," I add.

Nat walks over to her
make-up case. She looks over her shoulder at me. "Can I do one
half of your face at least?" she pleads. Nat sees the look of
horror that flashes across my face because she mumbles something
unintelligible. She gestures to her cosmetics. "Have at it,"
she tells me in a dejected voice.

I roll my eyes as I
walk over. "Fine! You can help me," I say. Nat squeals
animatedly, and I want to cover my ears. I'm already regretting what
I just said so I warn her that the make-up needs to be light. "I
want to see my face after we're done," I say as sternly as I
can.

"Of course,"
she nods solemnly.

"I'm serious."

"Of course,"
she repeats. There's a glint to her eye when she pulls out a tube of
lipstick. "Do you know how you make masterpieces with your
paintbrushes?" Nat asks. She's seen some of my work when I hang
it up to dry. "Well I'm an artist with cosmetics. Prepare for my
greatest masterpiece."

I squeeze my eyes as
something soft and furry touches my face. It tickles at first, but
soon the strokes become less invasive.

"You don't need a
lot of concealer, but you do have uneven colored skin. Your hair
color does a good job of hiding that though," Nat tells me. "How
much did it cost to color your hair?"

"Um, nothing."
Nat pauses. "I mean, this is my natural hair color," I say.
"I've never colored it before."

She balks. "You're
shitting me?" She takes a few strands in her hand, letting it
fall like a curtain over my eyes. "Look at the highlights! Such
a gorgeous color, I'm jealous," she says with such envy that I
shift uncomfortably. I've never cared about my hair before, but now I
feel guilty like I should have appreciated it more. Maybe even do
something other than put it in a ponytail.

"Thanks," I
say awkwardly.

She sighs. "Some
people are born with all the luck."

I look at the calluses
on my hands. I think about all those nights asleep on cots harder
than rocks. "Not really." My voice is stiff and I swallow,
looking away. There's silence as Nat uses her cosmetic brushes over
my face. I watch her through her vanity mirror, and slowly she begins
to reveal more of me. Nat lines my grey eyes with black. The colors
contrast nicely, making my eyes pop out in a way I'd never thought
possible. She paints a soft pink on my lips, and the gleaming gloss
gives the illusion that I'm smiling even though I'm not. She brushes
a light pink blush over both my cheeks. She attempts to put bronzer
over my face, but I stop her. I'm not trying to impress anyone; I'm
just trying to fit in.