Page 25 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
“Thanks so much for doing this. I’d better get back.”
“I’m still picking you guys up tonight though, right?”
“Yep. Sorry to make youcome back and forth.” Ava flashes an anxious expression at me as she backs toward the pet store’s back door.
“No big deal.” I wave. “See you in a couple hours.”
I press two short blasts of my horn and wave my hand out the window as I drive away. Though nothing in Oak Grove is really far, I don’t feel like driving all the way home just to come back again in two hours, so I head to the park.
The weather is even more enjoyable as I wander the walking path looking for a bench in the shade. After I sit, I extend my legs straight out in front of me and cross them at the ankles. I consider what Grandma said about Ava being the person she is because of me, my family, and Bek. It’s hard to accept at first, because all I’ve done is be her friend. And we were young, stupid children most of the time. But I think Grandma is right. The three of us have been shaped not only by our family situations—though I have little knowledge of what Bek’s is like because she doesn’t talk about it much—but also by our friendship. I would never be the confident person I am without the security I have in my friends.
I stare out at the oak trees scattered throughout the park and appreciate how each of them is different even though they’ve all grown in the same area receiving the same amount of water, sunshine, and wind. We’re kind of like that too. The biggest difference being that our roots are set in different soils from one another. My soil is rich with love and nourishment. Ava’s has been neglected and dry and depleted of nourishment, which has shaped her into a more cautious person. I think about Bek and wonder what her soil is like. The rare times she mentions her home life, it’s never with disdain or sorrow. She talks about her mom the most, and her nearly vegetative aunt the least. What is it like to live with someone who can do nothing for themselves? Her moody brother is a couple of years behind us in school. I purse my lips, wondering, not for the first time, what Bek’s home life is like.When no answers present themselves, I pull out my phone and start to read.
I’m fully engrossed in my story and snickering to myself when someone calls my name.
I look up to find Bridget coming toward me.
“Hey, sis!” I greet. I hop up to give her a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Just looking for inspiration for my next piece. I want to do a tree, and I’ve always thought the park had the prettiest ones.”
I examine the nearest tree, whose shade I’ve been taking advantage of, and feel dwarfed by it. Scanning the landscape, it’s like I’m seeing the trees for the first time even though I was just admiring them myself. Suddenly, I’m seeing them through Bridget’s eyes. “Wow, they’re really pretty, aren’t they? I’ve never noticed how huge they are.”
Bridget nods and points to a far-off oak. “I think that’s my favorite. I’m pretty sure that’s the one they used on the high school. Unless that’s a typical growth pattern for an oak.” She pulls up photos on her phone and scrolls through them. She stops on one in particular. “Doesn’t that look exactly like the silhouette of the oak tree they have on the front of the school? This branch in particular, the way it bends seems unique. That’s why I think it’s the same tree.”
“How old would the tree have to be to be on the school though?” I ask. I don’t know how old the school is, but I’m sure it’s pretty old.
“All the trees in this park are over two hundred years old. That’s why the park is here. To protect the trees.”
I gawk at my sister. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
I scan the landscape again with new respect. Two hundred years old. Wow. Bridget is still staring at the picture she showed me. “Are you going to do a sculpture?”
She nods. “It’s for a class, but if I like it, I’m thinking of entering it at the fair. The timing would work. Class ends on August 15thand the fair is that next week.”
“Bridget, that’s a great idea.”
She shrugs and shoves her phone into her pocket. “What are you doing here?”
“Killing some time until I have to pick up the girls from work.”
“Were you texting with a boy?” She says it in a sing-song-y voice.
I shake my head. “No, why would you think that?”
“You were giggling.” From her teasing tone, I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
I roll my eyes. “I was reading. The book’s funny.”
All humor drops away and she stares at me.
“What?” I look down at my clothes in case I’m having a wardrobe malfunction of my own.
“You were reading?” she asks. “Like, a book?”
I feel my cheeks flame red like I was caught with a dirty magazine. “I do know how to read, you know.”
