Page 14 of Searching for Beautiful
I hold my breath, hoping that will wrangle in my cry.
“That’s not fair, Brynn. ” He rubs a hand over his face, tired…weary. I am, too. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’m trying as best I can. I just told the counselors you had a traumatic summer and I want to make sure you transition okay. That’s all. ”
And I believe him, because I’m doing the same. We’re both getting pulled under. Both swimming for the surface, only to get caught in a whirlpool and sucked under again. All because I loved Jason. And because even though he doesn’t know if he believes me, I know Dad is trying to support me.
Dad’s eyes pull away from mine, studying his mashed potatoes like they’re one of the crossword puzzles he likes to do.
“I know it’s hard, but no skipping again. If you make the choice to be there, you have to do it all the way. ”
I nod my reply and the rest of the meal is eaten in silence. Dad cleans his plate. I push the food around mine until he’s done.
“I’ll wash the dishes. ” Dad tries to smile at me when he says it, but he doesn’t quite manage.
“I’m going out to get some work done. ”
; “Have fun,” he says.
If he’d taken the time to ask, he’d know I haven’t finished a piece since Mom died.
…
Mom wanted me to try everything as a kid. She’d sign me up for the most random classes, telling me it was the only way to find “my thing. ”
It’s because of one of her random classes that I found it when I was ten. Pottery. I took to it right away, like my hands were meant to be covered in clay. I wonder if God has a checklist. If there’s a form he fills out, marking bubbles for each new baby to be born. This one will be able to sing, the other run track. Brynn De Luca? She’s meant for pottery.
When I was fourteen, Mom talked Dad into building my pottery room. A girl deserves her own space, she told him. Without space, it’s hard to grow, and Mom knew if she gave me the space, my talent would grow.
Dad would never deny her anything—either of us, really—so I got my room off the back of the house. I have to go outside to get to it and it’s not huge, but it’s big enough. There’s space for all my supplies, cabinets for me to fill with whatever I need. My pottery wheel and even a small kiln.
When I step inside, I flick the light switch next to the door. It looks just how I left it. Two six-foot-tall wooden cabinets against the wall, one on each side of the door. A few older pieces of my work on the counters. A sink and stereo. There are two windows, one above the sink, which is on the back wall, and one on the left side.
But my wheel is still empty, in the middle of the room. My wooden chair with the pillow Mom made for me, sitting on it. There’s a small couch against the wall, where Mom or Dad used to sometimes watch me. It’s been lonely lately, too. And of course, in the corner, my kiln, cold and dusty.
And I can’t do it. Not in this room. How can I do anything here when I sat in that chair, making a vase while she was dying?
I turn and go outside again. Gasping, I suck in a mouthful of the rain-tinged air. I should be over this by now. Why can’t I get over it?
“Enjoying your night?” a voice says from the other side of the fence, separating my yard from the neighbor’s. The house has been empty forever. Apparently, it isn’t anymore.
“Whatever, Peeping Tom. ” Shivers skate over me. Talking to spooky neighbor guy, who I can’t see in the dark, definitely isn’t a good idea. I turn to head back into the house.
“I’m crushed. Two times in one day you didn’t remember me. In my defense, I’m not trying to be a creeper. Just wanted to say hi to an old friend. ”
I stop, the voice sparking something inside me. Memories that have nothing to do with having run him down this morning. Reaching inside his back door, he turns on the light. The fence is low enough to see his raised porch. Oh my God. I’m shocked into inaction, my mind riding a cloud back in time. To the seventh grade…
Chapter Eleven
Before
“All right, kids! This is the last slow song of the night. Enjoy!” The DJ’s voice echoes through the room, each pulse of his words making my eyes flood with tears. I haven’t danced with a single boy all night. This is my first dance. I’ve dreamed about this day since Mom first told me how she met Dad.
I wasn’t supposed to be miserable. The boy of my dreams was supposed to see me from across the room and come talk to me. It was supposed to be perfect.
Ellie and Diana stand by me at the gym door, like my jailers. If not for them, I’ll run and they know it. The three of us have always been on the same wavelength like that. We can read each other too well.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
