|CHAPTER FIVE|

When I woke up the following morning, I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling that told me I should ditch, call Bash and tell him to go without me. But, when that thought crossed my mind, all I could think about was Henry and Quinn, what they said about me—my mother.

I lived by the motto: What would mom do?

Henry was right. I couldn’t let that dictate my life. Maybe like Quinn said, I did need to “live a little.” Right now, I had everything I needed. I could take that road less traveled by if I wanted to. I was smart enough to know when to cut things off. I was good at that. I could do this. Besides, Bash made me feel like I could be exactly who I was. He made me feel comfortable enough to make a decision I normally wouldn’t.

I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me. We could be anything we wanted together. This was my fork in the road. I didn’t need to take it, but, God, I wanted to.

I silently got ready while my mother did and then got back under the covers to wait for her to leave. Usually, I was a late sleeper. If she caught me awake, she’d spend time asking questions I couldn’t answer. I felt like a disappointment if I wasn’t honest. I had to avoid her in order to make sneaking away for the day easier.

She came to check on me before she left, but with my face tilted away she couldn’t see my closed eyes were twitching—a dead giveaway that I was a fake. Although I knew she wouldn’t react as dramatically as I was playing it up, I couldn’t have any loose ends.

The second my door close, I sat up and threw my bed sheets off. I heard her car start, and by then my feet were already stuffed in my shoes and purse tossed over my shoulder.

I waited three minutes for her to drive down the street before pulling open the front door and darting down the driveway toward my bike. The Pea Shucker wasn’t out yet, but the chickens began to scream. I figured the neighborhood was too sleepy to notice but still hurried away, their chatter following me to the end of the block.

The morning was cool, and the sky a little grey. When I arrived at the bus station, Bash was waiting with our tickets. Despite the clouds he wore a brimmed hat and sunglasses. His tank top was black and had giant white letters on it that I couldn’t make out. When he saw me, he offered two thumbs up and jogged over to the bike rack where I was locking up.

“Bus leaves in five,” he told me and pointed at a bus that looked ready to go but was still semi-empty. It wasn’t a surprise, considering the times; still, it made my numbed nerves come back to life.

I stood up straight after securing my bike and followed him. “Why don’t we take a car?” I asked.

He cleared his throat and pointed over his shoulder. “See that red bike beside yours? That’s mine. I don’t have a car. See, I moved here from L.A., share an apartment, and work in a library all while drowning in university debt. I can barely afford groceries much less a couple gallons of gas.”

 “Oh,” I said, embarrassed to have even asked.

He jabbed an elbow at my arm and grinned. “Don’t feel bad. It’s fun to explore my other options.”

I followed him onto the bus where he handed off our tickets to the driver and then lead me back to a row of empty seats. He pocketed the return tickets as he sat, then reached over me and unhooked the blinds so that he could see out the window.

“Nervous?” He asked after removing his hat and sunglasses and set them on the floor beside our feet.

I twisted my hands together in my lap and nodded.

“It’ll be fun,” he reassured me. Reaching over, he placed a hand over mine and squeezed. “I promise.”

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My fingers twisted nervously in my lap as I looked out the bus window at the passing trees. We were somewhere in the country now, a city out from Ashwood Creek. Bash sat beside me, looking over my shoulder with vague interest. For the past twenty minutes we had been listening to the couple sitting behind us chat about dysfunctional distant family, but they had since dozed off.

It wasn’t uncomfortable silence between Bash and I, but I desperately wanted there to be words to fill the void. I didn’t have second thoughts, but my mind would only dwell on all of the rules I was breaking if it didn’t stay distracted.

Bash’s arm brushed against mine and then nudged my arm away so he could steal my armrest.

My lips pursed and I glanced sideways to find him waiting with playful grin. He licked his lips when I noticed him and then leaned in.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” he began, the smile he wore shining in his voice. “You look entrancing.”

His breath batted against my skin, words tangling in my hair and encouraging a light blush to flood my face. I hated that he did that to me. He knew how I felt about long-lasting friendships or any kind of commitment. It scared me to death and I always rationalized my way out of it. He was such a romantic—which I figured must have been because of all those books.

"It sounds so fake when you say things like that:  entrancing, radiant..." I muttered, even though my lips had turned up in a soft smile.

He huffed. "Fake?” He asked. “You know what's fake? The word ‘beautiful’.” He shook his head as though just saying the word offended him. “Why would I call you something as tired as that? Nearly every girl gets called beautiful in her life—and why? There are so many other words to flatter women with—so many better words to capture the feelings they evoke."

A sudden rush of admiration flooded my system. It felt like I was weighted down by a thousand bricks or melted into the bus seats. His voice was like slow-melting chocolate in the hot sun, and paired with those words was like finding a caramel drizzle—smooth and sweet. A part of me found it funny that a couple of pretty words could make me feel that way, but he gazed at me like I was every word beautiful could not describe.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” I asked. “You seem like the kind of person that devotes their whole heart to someone. I’m the kind of person that will drop off the face of the earth when I’ve had enough. Isn’t it destructive being as open as you are with someone like me?”

He pinched his lips between his fingers and thought about it for a moment. Hardly any time passed before he shrugged and answered me.

“I’m not going to say life is too short—because that’s a lie. Life is the longest thing any of us will ever experience. I also won’t say I have no regrets, because I have too many to count. Usually, I just ask myself ‘why not?’ and that’s the end of the argument. What’s a life without experience?”

I didn’t know what to say, because ‘why not?’ never seemed good enough for me. He was organized chaos, and I just didn’t get it.

“Why put yourself through all of that, though?”

Again, he shrugged. “Life would be so boring without fears and heartbreak and confusion. I want to feel everything, see everything, and be anything.”

 “You’re so lucky,” I sighed. Just thinking about experiencing everything he wanted to was overwhelming.

“What’s your philosophy, then?” He asked inquiringly. He leaned back in his seat as though getting comfortable for a long explanation.

I exhaled and rocked my head back against the headrest. To me, life was more complicated than a couple of reckless choices designed to make me feel something. All I could see were flaws and regret. I wanted to minimize hardships, take any and all preventative measures.

"Life isn't a whiteboard,” I explained. “You can't just scribble haphazardly across the board and erase it all when you decide you don't like it anymore. You draw with a permanent marker; you're careful about where you put that cloud and how big the petals of the flower are. There's no going back, no erasing. You live with the mistakes you make. I don’t want to hate the final product, you know?"

He tapped his fingers on his knees thoughtfully, nodding slowly as he considered what I said.

“How about this,” he finally spoke, “I’ll be Picasso, you be da Vinci.”

We smiled at each other. “Deal,” I agreed.

I guess he had a point. Two vastly different artists can be successful. To some, realism is the finest art, but to others, a little chaos is a masterpiece. Either way, they’re both beautiful.

Satisfied, Picasso removed his forearm from my armrest and settled back into silence. I rolled my head toward him and watched the sunlight catch his blonde eyelashes and reflect in those wide eyes of his. My insides were doing somersaults, and I couldn’t control the goosebumps that were popping up along my skin.

It’s crazy how you’ve always been one thing and then suddenly you meet someone, or hear something, and you think about being something different—even if the only difference is believing you can do something you normally thought you couldn’t.

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Winsor was a fairly big city with a giant city square that hosted a music festival every summer. Bands from all around would gather and play music for half-drunk spectators that threw their hands in the hair and rocked their sweaty, sun kissed bodies to the beat of the songs.

When Bash and I stepped off the bus, we had to walk half a block up the mostly packed square. People were filling in quickly, some with lawn chairs on the outer corners, but others squeezed together at the front of a makeshift stage. It was pretty crowded, so I was both relieved and stunned when Bash grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers in between mine. I knew he did it so that we wouldn’t lose each other, but the hiccup my heart made was undeniable.

I couldn’t believe he made me feel this way. The last time this happened I was in elementary school crushing on the flag-football quarterback. It absolutely didn’t count and I’d dismissed every other feeling a boy might have given me until now. Usually, by now I would have bored potential suitors away, but Bash held true, and it was both exciting and nerve-wracking.

I didn’t know whether to shy away or encourage him. Shying away is something my mother would do, so I decided to reject it—especially now while I was away doing something she would disapprove of. So, I squeezed his hand.

All I had to do was remind myself of summer and all the time I had to pretend I wasn’t what I was, and I could do anything.

We stepped into the densely pack crowd of spectators both young and old. Bash stuck his sunglasses back on and pulled down the brim of his hat to shade his face, then he pulled me across his body so that I stood in front of him. I felt lost in crowd without being able to see or touch him, totally disconnected from the only person I knew. So, I leant back so that his chest pressed against my back and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders to reassure me of his presence.

When I got used to the stimulus of my surroundings, I could finally hear the music. In that moment I felt so free, so far away from everything that I was. Bash and I rocked slowly from side to side, and I closed my eyes.

In my mind, shackles cracked open and I wandered out of my self-appointed cell into the sunlight. It burned my skin and blinded me, so that when I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t even recognize myself.

It felt so safe in secure in his arms. I thought I could live in that moment forever with my back flush against his chest, so much that I could feel our hearts pulse together to the beat of the drums. I think it was then that I began to fall in love.

Bash was going to be my crooked cloud in the painting of my life if things didn’t work out, and I’m sure da Vinci had a slip-up somewhere, too.

This was my short moment of pure bliss, a moment where I was nothing but me—completely and entirely me: a little timid and falling fast in a hazy cloud of uncertainty. I wanted this so bad, more than I ever wanted anything before. It was raw desire, a splurge in the most human direction of my life. No robotics, no logic—I couldn’t even rationalize anymore. I was dizzy and spinning, knowing there were chemical reactions I couldn’t even fathom happening in the deepest corners of my brain.

It was entirely dangerous, stupid really, but I knew if he asked me to jump, I would—knowing that when I fell, I would land in his arms.

It was so early, we hardly knew each other, but I was a spinning wheel, and I didn’t want thinking to slow me down.

●════════●♥●════════●

We were sun kissed and smiling when we arrived back in Ashwood Creek. He held my hand the whole bus ride home and talked to me about everything that popped into his head. Books and big words and his roommate’s nicotine addiction. I was disappointed when we arrived back home because then he had to take a breath.

We walked to the bike rack where we had to part ways, and he squeezed my hand before releasing it.

“Well, Jovial,” he said, a hint of regret evident in his voice. “Did you have fun?”

I nodded. “Did you?” I asked.

He smiled brightly. “Of course. I got to spend my day with you.”

I bit my lip and glanced away. His intense gaze was hard to meet.

“We should do something like this, again,” he proposed.

“You mean, like a date?” I stammered, embarrassed to ask.

Hesitantly, I peeked at him to see his reaction. His head tilted in question, and then he leaned back in surprise when he realized I was serious. “It doesn’t have to be—”

“It can be,” I said quickly, “I mean, if you want it to be.”

A boyish grin graced his face and he tucked blonde hair behind his ear enthusiastically. “Really?”

“Ask me out, Bash.” The confidence in my voice startled me, but I held his gaze like a blush wasn’t slowly blooming across my cheeks.

“Okay,” he said softly. Then, he cleared his throat and took both of my hands in his. “Jovie Underwood, I would like to formally invite you to go on a date with me because I think you’re stunning and radiant, and completely mesmeric. Would you do me the honor of accepting my request?”

As he spoke, the smile on my face grew wider and the blush more fierce. The words I thought I would say got stuck in my throat, so I did the only thing I knew meant yes. I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his sunburnt cheek.

“Call me,” I whispered in his ear before pulling away.

I was completely amazed with myself, but I didn’t stay long enough to see the look on his face because I was already running late. I grabbed my bike off the rack and jogged down the walkway. At the end of my block, I looked back, wanting to get one final look at him for the day. He stood in the setting sun, glowing so much that I couldn’t make out his features, just shadows.

 It was crazy, stupid summer love—and that was all it was ever supposed to be—or at least how it started.