“What’s at home, El? Why are you freaking out so much?”
I grabbed my phone and turned, facing him. My fingers were cold and numb. So numb, I wasn’t sure if they were still there, or if they’d still work. “Jude.”
And that’s all I said before sprinting out, running down the roads, ignoring the pain in my side as I overexerted myself.
When I turned the corner, my house came into view, and my heart dropped straight into my stomach. Jude’s red truck was parked in the driveway, and up the steps, right on the porch, was Jude.
Chapter Four
Nine Years Ago
“Dude, shut the fuck up.”Crescent nudged me in the shoulder, making me sway and my backpack shuffle. I nudged him back, shaking my head. “Not a chance in hell, Cres. We have no idea what theOne Piececould be. It could be something totally stupid.”
“No, Oda wouldn’t do that to us. He’s been writing this manga for so long, and they’ve gone through so much—there’s no way. It’ll be something epic. I just know it.”
I rolled my eyes, stepping back into rhythm with him. “Alright, alright. I have to stop by my locker real quick, and then we can go.”
Our last class of the day was art, which we took together. It was my favorite subject, something I hoped to do evenafter graduation. Crescent? He just needed a credit, and it was a class we’d be sharing.
The school’s art show was only a week away, and my painting still had a lot left to do. Soft, wispy music floated in the background, coming from speakers Mrs. Summers had set up in each corner of the room. She didn’t make the effort to get up from her desk, greeting us and telling us we knew what to work on.
Crescent helped me pull paper across the table we were occupying, fitting it just right so paint wouldn’t splatter everywhere from my canvas. We didn’t have any fancy easels, so I laid the canvas I’d retrieved from the cabinet on top before raiding Mrs. Summer’s acrylic paint supply.
We sat side by side, Crescent working on a lopsided, lumpy piece of clay he was determined to turn into a moon. A crescent moon, just like his name. He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body, and the idea was more of a joke than anything, but he was committed.
Every basic color I could find adorned the paint palette, a circle of happiness waiting to be mixed. I dipped my fine detail brush into the yellow, hesitating and holding my arm above the canvas for a moment. Only an hour to piece everything together. So little time, so much to do—an overwhelming swarm of images and ideas begging to be released from my mind.
Lately, my paintings have taken a darker turn. Black and dark blue portraits of a life being ripped away, subtle angelic glows in the background dimming until gone. My head was so chaotic and cloudy, and I had nowhere else to pour that energy into. I just needed it gone. Out of my system, and into something productive.
But I refused to let this painting be dark. Just because my head and life were a mess didn’t mean I wanted to showcase it for everyone else to see. Instead, I’d chosen to paintMrs. Miller’s favorite bird—a blue jay, with its gorgeous, sleek blue and white body with black accents striping through its feathers.
The bird in my painting was zoomed in, the sole focus of the canvas. It perched on a branch, the background faded with blurry, blooming flowers. I swiped some yellow into the center of the plastic palette and mixed brown with it, creating the perfect color to blend into the branch I’d painted.
Crescent leaned over, peering beside my shoulder. “Mom’s gonna love that, dude.”
I smiled, not looking at him as I brushed across and dotted the branch. “You think so?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s gonna flip out and demand it be hung up in the living room. I can see it now.” He sighed dreamily, leaning back in his chair. “She’ll probably cry, and then Dad will comfort her, and then you’ll get all uncomfortable and twitchy.”
“I do not get twitchy.”
“You so do.”
Rolling my eyes, I shrugged him away. “Work on your moon, Cres.”
He snorted, just before picking up the vaguely moon-shaped clay. I watched him from the side, cringing at the way he smoothed the sides in the wrong direction. Thick fingerprints cratered the tip of it, smooshing the clay down. I heard him growl under his breath, and I almost took it from him to help, but decided to let him suffer a bit longer. He’d figure it out eventually.
Just as I was about to put down the black accents on the blue jay’s wing, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. I groaned, tipping my head back. “Fuck me, dude. I just want to get this done.”
Crescent looked at me, then the painting. “Is it not already?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “No, dumbass.”
“Take it home, then,” he shrugged. “I’ll help you hide it from Mom.”
Shaking my head, I moved to the sink to clean out the paint palette I’d used. I had everything I needed at the Millers’ house, so it was a viable option, but I had plans tonight. “I have to go see Jude. We’re catching up on Black Mirror.”
Crescent helped me clean off my brushes, ignoring the rush of our classmates running out of the room. “Oh.” He turned to me, waggling his eyebrows. “Gonna Netflix and chill, huh?”
