A Map Of The Known World Part 18

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's already open to whoever wants to show their art. Don't you think we should encourage everyone to submit stuff?" she says.

I stop and think about it. She's right. The whole point of doing this is to give Nate the opportunity to be recognized for what he made. Shouldn't everyone get that chance?

"Cool," Damian says, and I look at him, surprised.

"Yeah, great," I add.

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"Okay, it's a plan. See you guys tomorrow!" Helena slides out of the booth and stands up. She winks at me and, shaking her hips, makes her way out of the diner.

Damian s.h.i.+fts in his seat and stirs his coffee.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, peering at him. His forehead is creased with lines and he looks ill at ease.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers tersely.

"You sure? You look kind of, I don't know, upset."

Damian drops the spoon into his coffee and sinks back against the vinyl seat. He folds his hands together and picks up his head to meet my eyes. "You know, I'm just kind of nervous."

"You mean about showing your stuff?"

"Yes. And the whole thing with Nate -- marking the anniversary, showing his work. People are going to ... I don't know ... look at me; I'm the guy who killed his best friend. What right do I have to be showing his art?"

"Damian, you didn't kill him," I say quietly. I don't know how to make this better. I don't know how to take away the hurt and the guilt, how to soothe it. "He was the one behind the wheel. He was the one being reckless. And, he could have killed you, too. Then what?" I can't seem to catch my breath. "Then what?" I repeat, louder. "I never would have found out about his art. And I..." my voice trails off.

"And you what?" he asks, looking hard at me.

"And I would never have gotten to know you, Damian. And 201.

I don't know how I would have survived this year without you."

"Really?" he asks, his voice heavy with disbelief.

"Yes, really," I reply, feeling embarra.s.sed and, somehow, excited at the same time.

"That's good," Damian says slowly. "Because I don't know how I would have survived without you, either."

"Really?" Now excitement is definitely gaining on my embarra.s.sment.

"Yup." Damian is looking at me intently, his silver eyes glinting. "Hey, want to get out of here?"

"Yes," I say. "Yes, I do."

202.

Chapter Thirteen.

my heart is thumping as fast and hard as a jack-rabbit runs. We pay our bill and get up together. Damian stands back to let me walk ahead of him, and I can't help but think, He's a gentleman, and I can't help but sigh. I'm such a dork. We cross Union Street in silence, cut diagonally across the county road, and begin heading down toward the park, neither of us saying a word.

Damian matches my pace and stays close to me, his arm brus.h.i.+ng my shoulder every so often. With each touch, as light as a breath, waves of electricity swim up my arm, through my chest and my belly. His black trench coat can't be nearly warm enough. Icicles hang from branches, clear and jagged, as though all the boughs of all the trees are weeping. I want to take Damian's hand, but something stops me. Once again, I find we are so close, only a hairbreadth stands between us, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

Finally, we reach the snowy, muddy swath of gra.s.s that surrounds the playground and leads out to the baseball diamond.

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My breath fogs out in front of me in puffs. Damian stares straight ahead, marching forward, ignoring the belching, slippery mud beneath our boots. Unexpectedly, as I take a step, my foot slides in the wet muck and I start to fall down, when something grabs hold of my waist and hauls me back to my feet. I'm pressed against Damian, and he is looking down at me, grinning.

"Careful there," he tells me gently.

"Thanks," I mutter.

His arm is still around my waist, and when I turn away to keep walking, he keeps it there. I want to lean into him, but my whole being feels electrified, and I can't help but keep ramrod straight. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair were standing on end, too. And all I can think is Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh. We continue tramping across the field, Damian's arm warm and heavy around me. Finally, we reach the playground, where the tire swing sways slightly in the frosty breeze.

"I used to come here with Nate," I say quietly.

"I know," Damian answers. "It's in your map. Want to swing?" I nod, and Damian unwraps his arm. In an instant, I miss his warmth. He stretches his long leg over the lip of the tire and hops on. "Come on!" he calls.

I quickly scramble up onto the tire and sit across from him, the cold of the chains whistling through my woolen gloves. Damian kicks his legs back and holds us poised, ready, then lifts his feet, and the tire swings crazily, tilting and 204.

spinning in wild circles. Damian is smiling a wide smile that is as unburdened and light as a child's. He throws his head back and laughs a deep belly laugh. The lurching of the swing loosens something inside of me, and I can't help but giggle madly, too.

Finally, as the tire starts to lose its momentum and we begin to slow down, Damian drops his feet and lets them drag us to a halt. We stay in place, knees just brus.h.i.+ng.

"So," he says.

"So," I search for something to say, "I have news." I feel buoyed by the wild freedom of the swing, by his closeness, by the memory of his arm around my waist.

"What's your news?" Damian asks, eyeing me keenly, a small grin playing at his lips.

"I got accepted to the summer art school."

"The one in London?"

As I nod yes, Damian lets out a loud whoop. "That's amazing!" he shouts, and reaches across to grab me in a hug.

Oh my gosh, he smells good, like some exotic but comforting spice, nutmeg or cardamom. Slowly, Damian lowers his head to mine and I think my chest might explode, my heart is tap-dancing so quickly.

He's going to kiss me.

I've imagined this and now that it's really happening, I am like a block of wood. I can't move. I can't breathe. I close my eyes just as the lightest feather of a breath, then lips, brush 205.

over my lips. His breath is sweet and the taste of coffee barely lingers in his mouth. I feel as though my whole body has turned to liquid, into a river of millions of droplets, rus.h.i.+ng apart and then back together.

"You have the softest lips," he whispers as he pulls back to look at me.

"So do you," I murmur. Oh, was that a stupid thing to say? I turn my face into his jacket and breathe in his scent.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, I straighten up and nod. "Fine. Better than fine, actually." I feel shy all of a sudden.

"Good," Damian says, a satisfied grin spreading over his face. "So, how about London? When do you leave?"

"I don't think I'll be going, I'm afraid." I sigh and scuff my boots against the ground, letting the tire rock back and forth.

"Your mom?" Damian prods.

"Yeah. I need to get her to sign a permission form. And as we all know, that's about as likely to happen as Mr. Wyatt's horses growing wings," I say sarcastically, "Well, we need to strategize. There has to be a way to get you to London." Damian's brow wrinkles in concentration.

"Unless I can get my dad to sign it in his zombie-like state, it's never going to happen for me. Unless ..." I have an idea. I'm certain it's a bad one, but it could work.

"Unless what?" Damian asks eagerly.

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"Unless I sign the form myself."

"What do you mean?" Damian's confusion is evident, scrawled all across his face, etched into his eyes.

"I mean, I could forge her signature,"

"But then what? What happens when it's time to go?"

"Then I just go." A c.o.c.ky sureness is growing inside me. I could do this. I could do it and get away with it. Just leave and finally slip out from underneath my mother's controlling thumb.

"Cor, I don't know, I don't think --"

"Damian, I don't really see any other options. Do you?"

He looks at me pleadingly, then drops his gaze.

"Look," he mutters, "just promise me you won't do anything rash just yet, okay?"

"Fine, I promise." It is as though a chilly frost has fallen down upon us, hangs in the air between us. In an instant, this discussion has opened up a chasm between us, like a paper cut. Narrow, almost invisible at first, until the blood begins to pump to the surface, and the cut widens, becoming painful.

"I just don't want you to do something stupid," Damian says warningly.

"How is it stupid? If I don't go --" I take a deep breath and look into Damian's eyes. "If I don't go, I will die." I want him to understand; I need someone to help me know what to do.

"I don't want to fight, Cor," Damian says, reaching for my 207.

hand. "Just promise me you'll wait a while. And that you'll talk to me before doing anything irrevocable, okay?"

"I promise you," I reply, squeezing his hand and smiling into his gray eyes. He leans over to kiss me again, and this time I bring my hand to his cheek, which is cold and rough. "I promise," I repeat.

"I'm freezing here," Damian says, pulling back. "Let's walk?"

"Let's walk," I agree.

We disentangle ourselves from the tire swing and begin to walk, muddy snow squirting and squirching beneath our feet, toward the baseball diamond. Damian holds my hand.

"You know, all of this just makes me wonder, what are we supposed to do?" I tell him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, am I meant to just eat, sleep, go to school, do what my mother says, work, and then, someday, die? Is that all there is to life? To living? Because something tells me there is more to it than that. More to it than just existing like an animal. Might as well be a cat if we're just supposed to eat, work, sleep, and die."

"Well," Damian starts slowly, "no, I don't think that's all we're meant to do. I mean, I think that's probably part of it. But I think we're put here to do more than just exist. We're meant to live. To experience and to create. To sense, to taste, to see things and make new things. To love."

208.

"That's what I think," I tell him. "Life is supposed to be about pa.s.sion, but how am I supposed to know that, to experience it, if I'm stuck here?" Damian looks down at the ground. Oh, I've put my foot in it. "No, Damian, that's not what I meant. I mean beyond this town, beyond high school. What about when we grow up? My family has always lived in Lincoln Grove. My parents were born here, their parents, too. Not one of them has ever lived anywhere else. How can staying in this one tiny town be living and experiencing life to the fullest?" I ask.

"Well, I would guess that it works differently for everybody," Damian explains. "I would guess that for you and me, living has a very different meaning than it does for our parents."

"Maybe. I guess that makes sense. I just think that if I can't get to London, I will shrivel up and then I might as well be dead. You know what I mean?"

"I think I do," Damian says, looking off to the tree line. "Yes, I think I do."

"Damian, could I ask you something?" I am hesitant to go on, but at his questioning nod, I take a breath and continue. "What happened in the car that night?"

Damian sucks in a sharp breath and winces. His eyebrows climb into his forehead and crash down, casting shadows over his eyes.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I say quickly.

209.

"No, it's okay," he says, pulling me down beside him on a snowy-damp bench next to the baseball diamond. "It's all right,"

"Are you sure?" I ask. Damian nods, then begins to talk.

"Nate, you know, was really ticked off because Julie had just broken up with him. Over the phone. And he called me and said, 'Hey man, I just have to drive, but I don't want to be alone.' And he asked if he could pick me up, and I said sure, and then he was driving so fast, and I started to get scared when he pulled out onto the county road and you know, as he drove out of town, he started flying all over the road, and I kept asking him to slow down, telling him 'Man, just take it easy,' but he wasn't listening. It was like some demon just took over, and then he looked at me and said, 'Here's a new trick,' and he switched off the headlights, and I was shouting at him, telling him to stop the car, to just pull over, but he was somewhere else, and then all I can remember was this horrible rending screeching cras.h.i.+ng sound. Like the tree was screaming. Maybe it was me screaming. And then I pa.s.sed out. That's it."

Damian shakes his head, and his eyes are s.h.i.+ning with tears that he wipes away roughly. "I tried to make him stop, and he just... he just wouldn't. I replay that night over and over, trying to figure out how I could have made him pull over. How I could have pulled up the emergency brake or grabbed the wheel. Something. Anything. But I did nothing, and he's dead 210.

because of it." A veil of tears clings to his eyes, and he blinks, trying to shake them loose. I feel my nose and my own eyes leaking.

"Damian, you did everything you could. I know Nate. I know how stubborn and pigheaded he was. I know. There's nothing you could have said to convince him to stop. And I just..." A sob shudders through me. "I am just so grateful that he didn't kill you, too."

I wrap my arms around Damian's neck and pull his head down to me, and we stay like that, huddled together, crying and breathing each other in, until the sun has nearly set.

"You should get back," Damian says. "Or your mom might get upset."