July 19 Read online

  July 19

  by Lori Cohen & Lisa Taylor

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Lori Cohen and Lisa Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  A Dedication to Sisters

  Our playmates

  Our punching bags

  Our secret keepers

  Our secret weapons

  Our harshest critics

  Our fiercest protectors

  Our advocates

  Our devil’s advocates

  Our mirrors

  Our lenses

  Our inner voices

  Our alter egos

  Our lifelong partners

  Our kindred souls

  A special thank you

  to Jordyn, Jordan and Shari for editing,

  and to Eden and Julia for cover design.

  Music

  “Music, at its essence, is what gives us memories.

  And the longer a song has existed in our lives,

  the more memories we have of it.”

  ~ Stevie Wonder ~

  Playlist

  Music is an important part of this story.

  For the full experience, use this playlist to listen along.

  Fake Plastic Trees, by Radiohead

  Name, by Goo Goo Dolls

  I’ll Be, by Edwin McCain

  Otherside, by Red Hot Chili Peppers

  Everlong, by Foo Fighters

  I Will Remember You, by Sarah McLachlan

  Fool to Cry, by the Rolling Stones

  Memory Motel, by the Rolling Stones

  Scar Tissue, by Red Hot Chili Peppers

  Brandy, by Looking Glass

  Wild Horses, by the Rolling Stones

  Let’s Stay Together, by Al Green

  My Life Is Right, by Big Star

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  It took every ounce of effort for me to appear calm, nonchalant. My dad had a breakfast meeting and dropped me at school on his way, an extra 30 minutes early. Great not to have to walk the onerous mile, but it meant sitting here on the floor in front of my locker trying to appear busy. With anything. It’s not like I had homework to keep me busy — it was the first day back after a very long and tedious summer. So, I sat organizing, for the sixth time, my pristine binder.

  I had spent about 45 minutes in front of the mirror trying on various new things from my “back to school” shopping wardrobe. I settled on my favorite old pair of perfectly faded jeans and new t-shirt that simply read “touch and go”. I liked it because it invited interpretation and, if effective, flirtation.

  Jake would undoubtedly be late. Last year, I don’t think he ever made it to class before 9:10, a solid ten minutes after classes started. But just in case he had changed his ways, I had to appear unfazed. Last I saw him, we were standing almost nose to nose in the school parking lot saying our goodbyes. I remember being so concerned with my breath and whether or not it was fresh, that I almost missed him telling me that he was going to miss me. Miss me? I guess I was still not used to the idea that the hottest guy in my grade thought I was cute.

  “Have you seen him yet?” asked Dani, as she threw her backpack on the ground in front of me. Dani was nothing if not direct. No formalities. Just cut to the chase.

  “Who?” I ignored her. Before I could change the subject, she had kicked her backpack into my leg.

  “You are such an idiot! You know who I’m talking about!”

  “Oh... Jake? No,” I acquiesced.

  “Who me?” I heard him say as he rounded the corner. I stiffened as he came toward me. Standing up holding my perfectly organized binder, I smiled a smile that was probably far too smiley. Jake lifted his arm and — as if in slow motion — made a fist and extended his arm toward me. Stunned, I stared, and returned the fist pump. He smiled and walked away. Did that really happen? I thought, Did my sort-of, kind-of, almost-boyfriend just fist pump me after not seeing me an entire summer?

  “Aria?” Dani was trying to get my attention. “I’m sure he just didn’t want to be late for class.”

  “Ya,” I mocked, “I’m sure.”

  I never really thought of myself as beautiful. Smart yes. Artistic for sure. But beautiful was left to the other girls who seemed to care way more about that stuff. That’s why I was surprised when Jake Talbot came to the Art Fair last March and told me he really liked my art. He was waiting for me after the show and offered to help me carry my canvases out to my mom’s van. I was a bit dumbfounded by the whole situation, and nearly dropped all my work when he asked if I wanted to go to the movies with him. That was the first of a string of dates, and a lot of hanging out together at school. He confessed to me one night, while we were having lattes at Starbucks, that there was just something about me he really liked. “You have good energy,” he explained, which sounded very deep for a guy who uses hair gel.

  I guess you could say our relationship never really got off the ground, which is why I shouldn’t have been so irritated by the fist pump. It’s not like we ever did anything… and we certainly didn’t profess our undying love for one another. But in my summertime fantasies, I definitely imagined a far more affectionate reunion.

  Over the first few days, reality quickly set in. My friends, including Dani, all seemed possessed with worry about their SAT preparation. Yes, high school suddenly got serious, and grades mattered. This wasn’t exactly an issue for me, however, because grades always mattered. My parents had made sure of that. But now, in my junior year of high school, I found myself starting to want more than hard work and good grades. I really wanted to have a boyfriend. By the end of the first week of school I was optimistic.

  “Good morning North Brookline High. This is Mr. Conley, your Vice Principal. Congratulations on finishing your first week of the school year! I trust we are all off to a good start... Now, I am excited to introduce Owen Tate who will be hosting the morning show followed by our regularly scheduled announcements and National Anthem. Owen comes to us from San Francisco and has joined us in his junior year. He hosted the morning show at his old high school and has offered to bring his format here. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Owen and have a great day.”

  Owen might have taken the mic, but Owen didn’t say anything. Instead, Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees” echoed through the school halls and my skin tingled with the sound of one of my favorite bands. Just like that, everything seemed a bit brighter.

  19....9....42... and with the requisite tug on my lock, another day began. At 9:00 a.m. I sat in the chemistry lab waiting for Jake to show. He was my lab partner (his idea!), which afforded me the legitimate opportunity to be close to him. I loved the way I felt being around him. I loved that for that brief hour-long class, I felt special. I felt that somehow by just being next to him, I became better looking — as though this was how all the pretty girls spent their days — around other pretty people. At 9:08 he breezed into class, and as he slid onto the stool next to me, he looked at me with those smiling eyes that melted me.

  “So, I think we should go out after school today. Want to go to Starbucks and then chill at my house?”

  “Sure,” I said, a little too quickly.

  “Great, so I’ll come by your locker after school.”

  “Cool,” which sounded anything but cool when I said it. What’s wrong with me?, I thought to myself. How can one gorgeous, kind, popular human being turn me into some heart-pounding, tongue-tied fool? I needed to get a grip.

  The rest of the day seemed like an eternity. I was so distracted i
n every class fantasizing about being with him after school. He had been so kind and gentle last year. He never tried to kiss me, so I wondered if he even liked me that way. I had spent so much time dreaming about kissing him that I thought I might scream out loud if it actually happened.

  “Hey,” he said casually as he approached my locker, “You ready?”

  “Yeah, totally. Let’s go,” I said as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and somehow managed to catch half of my hair in the strap. My head was actually pulled back by the weight of the bag. I rolled my eyes at my utter failure.

  “Here let me help you,” Jake offered as he untangled my mess of hair, and grabbed the bag, carrying both his and mine, one bag on each shoulder.

  “Thanks, oh, you don’t have to...wow...you’re sweet. Thanks.”

  “Come on, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk about our summers and I feel badly about that,” he said as he started walking. “The day after school ended, my parents sprung a surprise on us. They rented a house on the Jersey shore and we spent the entire summer there with my cousins from Chicago. When we got there, my parents took away everyone’s cell phone, telling us it was good for us all to ‘unplug’ for a couple of months. So, I’m sorry.”

  “Wow, that sounds really nice,” I said, a little surprised that he genuinely seemed to care that we had lost touch. “I had actually heard from Caroline, who skates with your sister, that you guys went to the shore, unplanned. A summer on the beach with your cousins definitely sounds better than spending the summer teaching nine-year-olds to swim.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said chuckling, “How did that go?”

  “Greeeaaat,” I said sarcastically, shaking my head.

  “Well, at least you got to work on your tan.” He smirked.

  Jake did most of the talking after that. He talked about hanging out all day on the beach and finding a great cove where he learned to surf and windsurf, and how the evenings were spent partying with his cousins and some new friends. He didn’t really ask me anything more about me or my summer. So just like that, the conversation lulled. Filling in the dead silence, I suggested we work on chemistry homework just to fill the time with something productive.

  As we were working, I was looking at Jake — really looking at him. He had incredible eyes. Blue, of course, with dark eyelashes that seem to perfectly frame his eyes. His lips were smooth and full. His thick dark brown hair had an almost-too-perfect wave. Jake’s body was what most people noticed first. He had broad strong shoulders and chest and beautifully buff arms. All that rugby playing had paid off. Yes, Jake was hot, but I was starting to wonder if I was attracted to anything more than just the physical.

  We finished our drinks, and I said I needed to get home, instead of going to his house. Something didn’t feel right about pretending we could pick up where we left off. Maybe the time away this summer made me think of him on a different, deeper level. Yes, it was flattering that this guy seemed to want to be with me. But for the first time, I was asking myself if I wanted to be with him.

  At home later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, I thought about the strange dreams I had been having. Well, the dreams themselves were kind of great actually. The strange thing was that for three nights in a row, I slept my way right back into the same dream. The feeling was pervasive — utter joy. Not my usual genre of dream. I was more of a “falling in a bottomless pit” kind of dreamer. Yet, for those three mornings, I woke with an inner calm. Maybe my dreams had something to do with how I was evaluating being with Jake. In my dreams, I felt so connected to the people around me. And by people, I was definitely thinking about the boy who seemed to come out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet, night after night, as I slept. Surely, I thought, by the fourth night, I would not be able to find my way back to that serenity and that love, yet there I was. Again.

  I could feel the sun’s rays heat my skin, and the sweat beading on the backs of my legs. We were lying on beach towels listening to music. My feet moved to the rhythm, pushing the warm sand under them. Suddenly, my friend shook her wet, dark hair all over me. I laughed uncontrollably as the water tickled my skin. As I stood up I felt flushed seeing him walk toward me with his friends. He stopped in front of me. I reached out and touched my fingertips to his, leaned in and kissed him. I felt that kiss in my whole body.

  Getting dressed for school, I realized it wasn’t exactly the same dream I had had for the few nights before, but they were exactly the same people. These were not people I knew, but just people in my dreams. And the boy, was decidedly NOT Jake. The music was crystal clear, and I found myself singing the chorus of the song. Unsure of where I had heard it, or who the artist was, I wrote down the lyrics I remembered so I wouldn’t forget to Google them after school when I had time.

  When Dani and I walked home after school, I confided, “I’m not so sure how I feel about Jake.”

  “Why?” she asked, “What’s changed in such a short time?”

  “I don’t know. At Starbucks yesterday, I was seriously looking at him — everything about him — wondering what I really liked about him... and I kinda realized that I just think he’s hot. I like the way he looks at me, I like looking at him, but I really don’t have much in common, or much to say to him. And, honestly, I don’t think he has much to say to me either.” There it was, my plain truth.

  And then, in true Dani fashion, she said, “So what?!”

  I snapped my head back at her and furrowed my brow.

  She clarified, “You want a boyfriend, right? You want to have the experience of having a boyfriend, right?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “Listen to me. He’s nice. He’s great-looking. He likes you. So what if you can’t debate Plato versus Aristotle? He can still make a very decent first boyfriend. Besides, you have friends like me for all that other important stuff!” She winked.

  She was right, I concluded. He didn’t really need to be the love of my life. He could be my 11th grade boyfriend, and if truth be told, the cynical side of me knew it wouldn’t last long anyway, so why not? Just as we were splitting to walk toward our own homes, Dani said something I couldn’t quite hear. I just pretended I didn’t hear her say anything… I was in too much of a rush to get home and Google the song from my dream, so I could download it and listen to it again and again.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, it’s me,” Dani woke me with her call on the home phone at 9:30 a.m. that Saturday.

  “What’s up?” I said, “Why are you calling the house? and why so early?”

  “I’ve been texting you, but you weren’t answering me! Want to go shopping today?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I yawned, “I need to get out of bed first though.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll come by at 10:15, so get your ass out of bed!”

  With that demand, I hopped out of bed and went to the bathroom. At 10 o’clock I was ready to go, wearing a pair of black leggings, a big white sweater, my favorite boots, and my hair pulled back into a long straight ponytail.

  In the kitchen, my mom was making lemon ricotta pancakes, my absolute favorite thing. Her Italian grandmother passed the family recipe down and every time my mom made them, I could see the pride in her smile. It was a little thing, but my mom was a deeply sentimental person. To her, making the same recipe as her grandmother was like having the whole extended family sitting around the table. She smiled almost oblivious to the fact that it would be just she and I enjoying them that morning.

  People say I look like my mom. I have the same long, light brown hair, the same light brown eyes, olive skin, and petite body. I looked at her standing in her straight-leg faded blue jeans, and long-sleeve plain white shirt, shoeless, and I was thinking that I know exactly what I will look like when I grow up.

  Her simple style is typical of the type of artist she is. Her artwork is modern, abstract, and her artistic sensibility is controlled and deliberate. My work, on the other hand, is much more literal and expressive. Her art conveys m
ood, my art conveys stories in vibrant form and color. My mom always told me that from the time I could hold a pencil, I was coloring. I wanted crayons, not pencils to swirl colors into my own stories. Other kids wanted computers, phones and electronics as gifts. I’d always wanted art books, canvases, and paints. My mom would always get frustrated trying to get the paint off my fingernails and my clothes. She said a child should not go around looking like a starving artist. I didn’t really know what that meant at the time, but now I think that was pretty funny.

  “You’re up early. Going out?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Dani called this morning and she’s dragging me to the mall,” I said, as I stuffed in the first bite of my pancake.

  “Ari,” she started, “Daddy and I are going out tonight. I know you talked about having some friends over, but I feel funny if there are boys coming over when we’re not home.”

  “Mom, you so don’t have to worry about that. Okay?” I said, meaning every word.

  She took a deep breath and said, “I trust you Aria. I just don’t know about the boys.”

  “Really, don’t worry. I think Dani and Caroline will come over. And, I invited Jake and Matt, but I don’t know if they are even coming...”

  “Well I would feel better if you would have everyone over another night when we are here.”

  “Mom, really, get over it. I invited them, and it will be fine. Seriously, don’t worry, I’m 16!”

  Just then Dani knocked on the door and that seemed to distract my mom for the moment. And in the end, she didn’t end up protesting the plans.

  All four of my friends ended up coming over that night. We decided to order in some pizza and watch an old movie, Scarface. Of course, the guys picked the movie. Halfway through the movie, I picked up the paper plates to clean off the coffee table. My parents made me super paranoid about the white rug in the family room. If any of the pizza sauce got on the rug, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. I walked to the kitchen unaware I was followed. Before I could even throw the plates in the garbage, Jake came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his head in my neck. With his mouth at my ear, he whispered, “Drop the plates,” in character from Scarface. I did as I was told. “Now turn around and kiss me,” he whispered.