Chapter Fourteen

The morning offered a highlight reel of last night's greatest hits. Such as falling face forward on the concrete, eating Jell-O from Mrs. Davidson's fridge, and singing karaoke in the middle of the street. Other than that, everything was a bit hazy. I could still hear FrontRunner's music and remembered Wren's promise of a road trip.

I wanted to go, but leaving for a trip after starting a job was bad. It wasn't dancing without music wrong; it was just wrong.

Nestling deeper into my bed, the blanket melted into my body. The smell of old chocolate drifted to my nose as paper rumbled under me. I snapped my eyes open and saw a ton of discarded snacks and candy wrappers.

Beside me, someone stirred. The bed shifted at their weight and my heart fell into my butt. Who was sleeping beside me?

I turned, against my better judgment, praying it was Val or Shae or even Mrs. Davidson. But it was Wren. He slept in sweet slumber, and I launched to my feet. I scanned the room. From the posters of Weezer and Foo Fighters, I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Guitars set in the corner by a desk filled with notebooks and crumpled paper. Vacuum lines were on the carpet, and I remembered doing it. This was Wren's place. He brought me here after I begged, but it was a mess. I cleaned it from top to bottom.

"Oh my God," I mumbled.

I looked over his soft features. He looked so innocent. My vision went fuzzy, and I dug for my glasses at the bottom of my bag. I don't even want to know what I did with my contacts. When the world cleared, I noticed the animation equipment he gave me last night. He was still full of surprises. I dove for it, turned on the tablet, and it radiated colors.

I pushed myself to the middle of the bed. The view of Wren was better further away.

His tousled black hair laid haphazardly over his forehead. He squeezed his pillow into his chest. I sketched the outline of his face. Tracing the line of his jaw, I smoothed out his brows and perfected the curve of his lips. I wanted to capture every part of him. I could do this for hours.

After numerous attempts to get his eyes right, I took up another challenge. I looked back at his disheveled mane and cultivated wispy strokes until it took form. When I looked back at him, he was already staring at me.

"Did I wake you?" I whispered.

He didn't answer right away, like his voice hadn't woken up yet. "No. You painting me like one of your French girls?"

His morning voice made my toes curl. "Is it weird?" I asked.

He let out a breathless laugh, and it felt like a daily vitamin. Without it, my day couldn't start. "Not at all. Good morning, Songbird."

"Good morning." I looked away. Sometimes he looked at me like he was reading all my thoughts. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't hide how much I liked him. "So...I spent the night?" I asked.

"More like moved in."

I almost flung myself out of bed and he raised his hands. "Mrs. Davidson kicked you out for now until you got yourself together."

I think I remembered that? I remembered going back to her house. At least this wasn't permanent. I could move back in tonight, but I'm really giving life my best shot. Kicked out of two houses in one summer. Who am I? I don't need to be let out of the house. I could only blame my family for so much.

"Nora, it was so bad." Wren leaned into the headboard and groaned. "I actually got kinda scared. You wouldn't come down. That wasn't weed. I had to keep making sure you were breathing throughout the night."

He laughed, but it made me feel worse. I even had him worried. Bad, Nora. I knew better. "I'm sorry." I hung my head.

"Don't be. You didn't know it was going to do that to you. Let's just never do that again." We nodded in agreement and I let out a small laugh.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked.

"After The Grove, everything's fuzzy."

"Let's save a walk down memory lane for another day, then."

"Was it that bad?"

"You should check your camera roll."

Oh, God. I clutched my phone for dear life and tapped on the gallery. 275 pictures. That meant 250 of them were new. When I caught a glimpse of myself hanging upside down on a playground swing, I practically threw my phone across the room. Yeah, let's never look at these again. If Wren still wanted to hang out with me at this point, he must really like me.

I picked up the tablet again. I hadn't created an alternate world in what felt like years. All my art resources disappeared when I stopped going to summer camp. It was nice to dive back into my first love. I scrolled through the colors.

Wren cleared his throat. "What's the best thing about animation?"

When I asked Wren this question, his answer almost made me cry. I never looked at animation the way he looked at music. "I like creating different worlds, being in control of something."

"I get that." He slid over until he sat inches from me. "Like, you feel like you don't have control over anything around you, but you have control over this one thing."

"Exactly." Adding color brought the picture to life. I felt powerful to be able to create life on page.

"But are you passionate about it?" he asked.

He might as well have asked me to find the exit in an escape room. Passion sounded like dreaming, and animation wasn't a dream. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it for the rest of my life, but if I had to, I wouldn't mind. I just don't think he'd call that passion.

"What is passion?" It was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway.

Pulling the covers closer to him, he leaned in. "It's almost like an energy drink. It's easy but hard. Frustrating yet satisfying. Like, it feeds your soul, almost."

"Wren, just because you say something confidently, doesn't mean it makes sense," I joked.

He laughed. "Okay. You know how when you would go to school and you really didn't want to be there, but you had to be?"

I nodded.

"You get to class and you're dreading it, but then you realize your teacher called in sick. You've got a sub and get to chill for the entire period? That's kind of what it feels like. Passion. Like, it's almost a reward for going through life. It makes life worth it."

I had no idea what he was talking about, and not because I didn't understand. "I've never felt that way about anything."

"Then animation isn't your passion."

Well, if it wasn't, then what was? Everyone didn't need passion. We could just have things we liked to do and be satisfied. "Well, that's not fair. You brought me all this animation stuff, and I'm not passionate about it? Then it'll be a waste and that makes me feel terrible."

"Who cares?" he shrugged. Did he know how expensive this was? I better be buried with this when I die. "Don't choose to be passionate about something just because it's there. Your passion finds you," he said.

"Well, I guess it got lost."

"It's not the only one."

I squinted. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me? What about you Mr. Dreamer? I know Val pissed you off last night. You might be lost too."

He writhed in the sheets. "So we're both lost. I guess that's why we found each other."

I decided to put him in the spotlight. "What's frustrating about music?"

"It's most frustrating when I'm writing. I haven't found a sure way to do it, but when it's done, I feel like I can breathe again."

"And when you're not writing, do you still find it hard to breathe?"

He wouldn't even look at me. I shouldn't have asked. Clearly, there was more to his story, but he didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to pressure him. I had to wait until he was ready, but before I could awkwardly change the subject, he sighed. "If you asked me a year ago, I would've said yes. Now, it's rare. Music helps."

I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. "I think people who make music are the closest thing to superhuman. It's like you have a direct link to a higher level of being."

God. I need to stop hanging out with him. I was starting to sound like him.

"You play music too," he said.

"Not like you. I could never do what you do. Take the compliment, man."

He chuckled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'm writing a song for you."

He told me he would, but it still surprised me he thought I was good enough for one. All I did was talk about my family and complain. I could only imagine what that song sounded like.

He tilted his head. "You didn't tell me you wore glasses. You look super cute."

My cheeks heated. I pressed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. "I normally wear my contacts. Glasses can be a hassle."

Crawling across the bed, he took the tablet from me. "You should wear them more often."

"Is this your thing?"

"Everything about you is my thing." He pressed his lips into my cheek and planted kisses all over my face.

I was moments away from making fun of him when he pressed his forehead into mine. Slithering his hand up the nape of my neck, he tilted my head back and kissed me.

He asked me to spend the day with him, but I needed to go to work. Val got me the job and could not not show up for my first day. So despite his cute pouting and bets to get me to stay, I had to leave.

The energy of Impurity Nails was nothing like the energy of Campbell's Home. You never knew who was about to walk in. Some people used it as their therapy session, others as a resting point. The manager, Ivy, was like a caring mother, and the workers were like a family. Dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless. It was easy to get absorbed in their conversations, but hard to get a word in.

A room full of personalities. Whether it was the workers or the customers, there was never a dull moment. I understood why Val liked working here.

Even Wren showed up. Ivy painted his nails neon green and he bantered with the ladies on why men were trash. He stood his ground, but when he lingered a little too long and started to distract me, Ivy sent him home.

Noon was the busiest time of the day. When I needed a break, I hid in the bathroom. Sometimes, when I felt adventurous, I scoured social media posts about the restaurant. It was still standing and booming with success. I guess that was good. When I found myself sliding back into old habits, I knew my time was up.

Returning to the empty hallway, I heard someone come around the corner. They were waiting for me. No one cleaned up anything since I showed up. Even after themselves.

It was Deasia. Her signature pink babydoll shoes and gold hoops were the perfect pair. "That lady brought her badass kids in here again. They got ice cream all over the floor. You on your way back?"

"Yeah. I'll go get the mop," I said.

"Okay, girl, because I don't clean up after anyone's kids but my own."

She laughed like it was a joke, but we both knew she didn't clean up anything. I always got the feeling she felt good about herself when she was around me. And not in a good way. Like when people say "it could be worse." I was worse to her. No degree or license. No home, no money, and no experience. Sure, I could fix any problem at Campbell's Home with my eyes closed, but that didn't matter here.

As I headed back to the front, the mop water splashed around the bucket. I could hear their shrill screams before I saw them.

Chi Chi worked in the back and stayed to herself, but her facial expressions spoke louder than she did. With one look, I felt her annoyance a mile away. Every customer seemed to writhe in displeasure as the three little boys made the shop their playground. And as expected, a big pile of chocolate ice cream matted the tiles.

When the smallest of the rowdy three spotted the mop, he charged for it. My instincts were quicker. Gripping him by the wrist, I stopped him before he kicked it over. My stronghold didn't discourage him from trying. He swung his little foot, kicking everything in sight. His mother carried on as if none of her kids existed. The mop became their new distraction, and soon I struggled to keep them all away.

Finally, Ivy parted from the front counter and came over. "Naomi, if your children can't behave themselves, they'll need to stay home when you come."

With the attention of the entire shop, she had no choice but to interact with her kids. The two eldest straightened up, but the youngest paid her no mind. Losing my temper, I wrapped my hands around his shoulders and forced him still.

"Don't touch him!" The mother lunged from her seat. Digging her nails into my skin, she practically threw me into the counter.

My temper flared at the bottom of my throat, but I held back what I really wanted to say. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I need to clean the floor, and he keeps getting in the way."

Wiping his skin clean, she whirled around. "He's allergic."

"To cleaning?" I asked.

"To latex," she spat. "And you got it everywhere. Why you touching my kids anyway?"

I looked down at my gloves. Shit. With shaky hands, I wiped the dust from his clothes. "Oh, my God, I'm so—"

"Stop!" Her frantic plea bounced through the store and she pushed me into another station. Falling into the ice cream, she knelt down in front of her son. "Um, Ivy, what you gon' do? He breaking out. I need to take him to the hospital. You know you my girl, but this ain't it." She looked back at me. "She new, right?"

Now, everyone looked at me. Somehow, I became the villain. Ivy pressed her hand into my back and pushed me to the door. "I'm gonna send you home, sweetie. I hear you're going on a trip. Why don't we talk after that, huh?"

Oh my God. Can I mess up any more than this? The night's still young. I got time.

As I fumbled back outside, I slumped into a light pole. This is so embarrassing. When I heard Wren's dial tone, I relaxed. I loved that always answered quickly. "You on break?"

"I just got fired," I said.

"What?" he shouted. "On your first day."

"Why am I so bad at this?" The quiet street seemed unnatural to the chaos of the nail shop. Having a job was the only thing I knew how to do. What was I going to do now?

"It's okay. Do you know how many jobs I've been fired from?"

"On your first day?!"

Ambulance sirens wailed into the air, calling customers out of the stores. When the paramedics filed out with a stretcher, I grumbled. "That lady is being so dramatic. He doesn't even need an ambulance. It's just a little rash."

"A little rash? Nora, what the hell?"

When the paramedics came back out with the little boy strapped to the stretcher, I almost threw up. With the mother and her two eldest in tow, she glared at me before getting into the back. "I just want to get out of here already. Can you pick me up?" I asked.

"Already headed your way." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Since you don't have a job anymore, why don't we start our road trip early."

"How early?"

"Like right now."

Fun Fact: In the first draft, part of this chapter was in Wren's perspective. I had to take a lot out of the story, so I changed Wren's chapter a lot. Stay tuned until the end. I'll add that chapter as a bonus because I loved it!

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