Page 22 of Safety Net
“Thanks.” Celeste let me bag the books.
“I was thinking maybe…” Celeste started. “You could walk me to my…car?”
“Of course,” I said without a second thought. It’s an unusual request that made me feel like a eleven-year-old getting to hold hands with a girl on the bus for the first time.
I grabbed our bags and opened the door for her. The sun was setting, painting the town a pink and orange hue. The streets were mostly empty, foot traffic down thanks to most people fleeing to beachside cities for the summer.
“I’m just over there.” Celeste pointed to the on-street parking a few yards down.
I inwardly sighed at how close it was. It’d take us a minute, two tops. How pitiful was it to be annoyed at the short length of time it’d take for me to get her to her car?
“Are you a fast reader?” I asked as soon as she said, “I have something to ask you.”
“Go for it,” I said as she said, “No, not really.”
We shared a laugh. It’s such a simple thing I would think about for weeks and months to come because she looked up at me and was comfortable enough to stand mere inches away. And if you knew her, you knew sharing something like this rare.
We were in front of her car now. Celeste didn’t move to retrieve her keys. She picked at the thin, paper handle of her store bag.
“I heard you’re looking for…” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second. “A volunteer project. Something for your community outreach class?”
“Sure.” I ran my hand over the back of my head. I’d put the ticking time bomb that was my academic career in the back of my mind during this entire conversation. Escaping its clutches had been fun.
Compartmentalizing was second nature to me; it was how I got through growing up. My parents spent months out of the country, leaving me behind with my grandmother. They sent back a plethora of shiny postcards and posed photos. Whenever they came home, it was on their own time, without warning. Whenever they left, it was on their time, without warning. The constant ebb and flow of in and out, goodbyes and hellos had me breaking down my expectations and disappointment, dropping them into separate boxes.
“Might settle on highway clean up,” I said. “Jack didn’t seem to hate the idea, so that’d make our sentence together more tolerable.”
“I may have something you guys could do,” she said. “Something…in AC. And maybe with snacks?”
“You had me as soon as you said I,” I joked (but not really). “Is it at the community center? Because I fully planned on still coming to the tutoring sessions outside of school.”
She shook her head, her picking at the paper ramped up. “It’s at the playhouse. I’m…I’m working on a project—something to submit for a mentorship program. And I need…a crew. I have an actor. Well, two. Maybe more if Ellis – he’s my cousin—can convince more of his friends to join in.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Ellis is your cousin?”
She raised a brow. “Do you know him?”
“Yeah, sort of.” Our crowds overlapped. Ellis was a hardcore party guy. Incredibly fun to be around, but I often struggled to keep up with him, and that said a lot. “What’s the project?”
Celeste could say we were going to regrout the tile in the playhouse’s bathrooms, and I’d say yes.
“It’s…” She looked away for a second, pressing her hand to her cheek. “A musical. Mine. My musical. I write music.”
She’d written a musical? Oh, yeah, there was never a world in which I didn’t pine for this woman. “You know, you should always introduce yourself with that. If I wrote musicals, people would never hear the end of it.”
She laughed, looking a little less like she was going to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Thanks…but in most circles it’s kind of considered odd.”
“You’re in the wrong circles,” I promised.
She pressed her lips together, considering for a second. “Maybe.”
“I’m honored you’d invite me,” I said. “I’m a yes, obviously. And Jack will be too since we’re chained together.”
“You don’t have to say yes immediately. I was going to pitch the story to you.” She rummaged through her tote bag for her phone.
“No pitch necessary. If you made it, I know it’s amazing.”
Her laugh was a bit dry this time, unconvinced by my flattery. “Sure.”
