Part 23 (2/2)

”No, that doesn't seem like Damian, and besides, he knew his mom had to work,” I respond.

”Well, maybe he was intimidated by your parents,” Helena guesses. She turns to Cam. ”Don't you think that could be why he's acting so weird, if he thinks Cora's parents still hate him?”

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Cam appears to consider her suggestion, running his fingers through his hair, then shakes his head. ”Why don't you just go talk to him and stop guessing?”

”Huh. That's a good idea,” I say, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. I crane my neck, hoping to spot him in the cafeteria. There's Rachel, perched at the end of the Nasty table, Elizabeth by her side. A sense of regret, of loss rips at me, but I am glad Rachel has Elizabeth. As I look around, I notice that many of the kids who were at the art gallery show last night are here in the cafeteria. Each returned to his or her usual group of friends. Maybe nothing good lasts, I think.

Enough. I'm going to find Damian today and I'm going to figure this out.

After school, I look for him again, but he must have slipped out early. The most obvious place to look for him now is at his house. I haven't ridden my bike there before, and it's quite a ways away, but I take a deep breath and resolve to find him.

I'm coasting down the county road, when I spot the El Camino, unmistakable with its racing stripe, pulled off to the side by the park. I quickly turn my bike into the park grounds parking lot and leave it on the sidewalk. Then I begin trudging through the snowy field, regretting not wearing my waterproof boots, following another pair of footprints toward the playground. There, I find Damian seated on the tire swing, the chain twisting and untwisting in rapid circles.

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”Hey,” I say, out of breath from tramping through the snow.

Damian jumps, visibly startled. ”What are you doing here?” he asks. He doesn't look at me, his eyes are downcast, and his cheek muscle twitches.

”I wanted to talk to you,” I reply. All the hurt I feel is pouring out in my voice, and I hate it. I hate that my emotions are so obvious.

”What about?”

”Damian, come off it. What is going on with you? What is your problem?” I stomp around the tire swing until I am directly in front of him, and he has to look at me. ”One minute you say I'm your girlfriend, and then eight hours later you leave the show and stop talking to me? Come on. I deserve to know what happened,” I snap. This anger feels good, a refres.h.i.+ng change from sadness.

Damian exhales loudly, then motions for me to sit on the swing across from him. Cautiously, I climb onto the tire and keep very still, so my knees won't brush his.

”You're right,” he says softly. ”But I don't know how to tell you.”

”Just say it, Damian. Because I'm hurting so badly right now, I don't know how to breathe.”

His face crumples, and for an instant I think he might cry. But he straightens and grips the chains so tightly, his knuckles turn white. ”I didn't mean to hurt you,” he murmurs. I just. . .

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”Just what?” I prod.

”I just saw you with your parents and didn't want to get in the way. You should be with them. You guys should be talking and working things out. And I know how they feel about me. I can't get in the way of you guys making up.”

”That's it?” I ask, astonished.

”Yeah, I guess so,” he replies bitterly.

”Oh, Damian, you idiot.” I begin to laugh.

”Look,” he starts angrily, and stands, swinging one leg over the rim of the tire.

”No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you an idiot. It's just -- look, I forged my mom's signature on the London form, and they found out. You were totally right. I shouldn't have done it, but in the end, it helped all of us to see that our family was broken. And we need to fix it, and make it better,” I explain.

”Great,” Damian says. ”I'm happy for you. I really am.” He extracts his other leg from the tire and begins to head back in the direction of the parking lot.

”Would you wait a second, please?” I shout at him. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Damian turns around. ”What I was trying to say was that my mom finding out that I forged her signature made her realize that she'd been unfair. Completely psychotic, actually. To me, and to you, too. We want to try to work things out, to make our family right again. And I want you to be a part of this. They want you there, too.”

272.

Damian is staring at me uncertainly now, as if he doesn't know what to believe. ”I don't -- I don't understand. They don't hate me anymore?”

”Well, I don't think they actually ever hated you. I think they are confused and you can't just turn feelings on and off, but they realize they were wrong. And they want to try to make it up to you. And to me. Would you give us a chance?” I ask.

”A chance,” Damian repeats softly.

I nod and feel a flutter of hope in my chest. ”Please?”

He walks toward me, and I rise, trying to step out of the tire, but my legs get tangled and I trip, falling forward over the tire.

Damian runs over and catches me. ”You do this a lot,” he whispers fondly.

”I need you here to catch me,” I say.

”Okay.”

”Okay?” I ask.

”Okay.” And Damian leans down and plants a gentle kiss on my lips.

I wish I could say we all lived happily ever after. I can't. But I can say we lived. Our love for Nate lives, and he's left us this piece of himself in his art; it was his gift to us. We know him now through his art, and I can take comfort in that.

I guess the thing about high school is, it's the moment when 273.

you start to cross from being a kid to being an adult, and this journey to know yourself begins. Nate's journey ended too early, and I thought I had to run away to some far-off land to start mine. But, for now, it seems to me that I have enough to explore right here. There's a whole continent to discover in myself, and I know that it's love -- love for my parents, my friends, my brother, and my art -- that will guide me. Love will be my map.

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Acknowledgments.

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