“Did you get my best friend wasted this past weekend?” She yawned.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She gave me a knowing grin.

“Okay. He might have been wasted this past weekend, and I might have been there with him.” I smirked. “He was a bit heartbroken over Abigail rejecting him, so he asked me to go out for a manly night with him.”

“But I thought she liked him?”

“I know. Freakin’ women, I tell ya.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Watch it. Hormonal pregnant female here.” She chuckled.

“I also almost got my ass kicked by a guy who thought I was screwing you over.”

“What? By who?”

“James Martin. He told me that if I was screwing with your emotions, he would kick my ass because you’re like a sister to him. Later that night he also told me that I was messing around with some girl named Heather, which was a surprise to me seeing how I’d never heard of her.”

Aria’s mouth dropped. “Seriously? He said I was like a sister to him?”

“Yeah. He seemed to really care about you. Which I can’t fault him for.” I smiled.

She didn’t. She huffed. “Oh my God. I’m going to kill him.”

“I’m going to place the murdering side of you in the pile of hormonal pregnant things, too.”

“No. That’s not hormonal. That’s just the facts. I am going to kill him.”

“Oh. Well, then I am a bit terrified, yet oddly turned on by this dark side of you. If killing him is your goal, that’s fine and dandy. But just not today. Today we’re skipping school.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, reaching for a few berries for the deer from my tin bucket.

“We’re. Skipping. School. Today,” I repeated, this time slower.

“Don’t be silly,” she replied, leaning against a tree. I leaned against the one beside her.

“I’m not being silly.”

“You are.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“The girl who’s skipping school today?”

“No, the girl who’s not skipping school today because she’s already behind in her classes.”

I sighed. “I’ll help you with homework,” I offered.

“You hardly do your own homework.”

“Homework is overrated.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

“I’m sad we aren’t skipping school,” I said.

“Why would we skip anyway?”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a pair of tickets. Aria’s eyes fell to the tickets. “It’s your birthday present.”

She snatched them out of my hands. “Shut up.”

I shut up.

“You got tickets to the Jackson Pollock exhibition?”

I didn’t reply.

“Are these for real?”

Silence from me.

“Why aren’t you talking?!”

“You told me to shut up.”

“Well, talk now.”

“Okay. I got us tickets to the Jackson Pollock exhibition, but today’s the last day.”

She frowned. “It’s in Richman. That’s a two hour train ride away.”

“Then we better leave soon.”

“I have a therapy appointment after school.”

“Then we better return early.”

“You really want to skip school?” she asked, a bit of hope in her voice.

Only if you do. “Yes.”

She didn’t reply right away. She stared at the tickets in her hands while I stared at her. I tried to count each freckle on her nose, and when I lost count, I started over.

“I’ve never skipped school on purpose.”

“There’s always a natural high doing something for the first time.”

Her lips turned up. “We’re totally skipping school today.”

I wanted to do a dance, but she would’ve thought I was a dork.

But then again, she already thought I was a dork, so I did a jig anyway.

“You’re such a dork.”

Then she danced with me.

She was the only one who could call me a dork and make me feel like Superman at the same time.

22 Aria

Levi called into school pretending to be my dad, stating that I was out sick. Then fifteen minutes later, he called pretending to be his father, stating that he was going to be missing school due to a family emergency.

“That was a very impressive Midwest accent, Mr. Myers.”

He held an invisible award. “I’d like to thank the Academy.”

I chuckled.

“All right, we have about a thirty minute walk to the next town to make it to the train station. Do you think you can handle that?” he asked sheepishly, zipping up two backpacks. “I didn’t really think this all the way through.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”

I didn’t tell him that my back had been hurting lately and that my feet had been swollen, because I was certain he would’ve canceled our secret adventure, and canceling a trip to see Jackson Pollock’s abstract paintings was against the law. Or at least it should have been.

He looked at me warily, so I put on a cheesy grin and changed the subject. “What’s in the backpacks?”

“Oh,” he said, his concern transformed into excitement. “It’s our art kits. I was reading online that all the cool, hip kids take art kits with them to art museums and fall into deep, soulful thoughts.”

“What’s in it?”

“All of the basics. A sketch book, pens and pencils, a water bottle, a dirty magazine for me, a Jane Austen novel for you, and double stuffed Oreos.”

I laughed. “Sounds about right.”

* * *

When we reached the train station I’d already eaten all of my Oreos, and two of Levi’s. He offered me all of them, but I refused, saying I wasn’t greedy. My feet were pounding and I felt as if standing was a task straight from hell. I’d never been so happy to see a train pull up into the station. When we sat on the train I ate the rest of his Oreos.

He laughed at my black teeth.

* * *

At the art museum, I wanted to look at each piece and stay until the museum closed. Then, after it closed, I wanted to sneak back in and sit in front of Jackson Pollock’s paintings and lose myself completely so I could find myself again.