“Wow, thanks.” Simon falls into step beside me as we walk back to class. “I can do some cool lighting effects with her. Her eyes are totally amazing. Should we ask Mr. Hawke for his advice?”
“Maybe wait and show him the photos. Then he can critique them.”
After school, the three of us meet and start walking to Dream Bean.
“So do you like Monarch High?” Simon asks Clover amiably.
“It’s okay. Kind of a cliquey school, though.”
“The art program is great,” I say. “Are you into drawing or painting?”
“Not really.” She shrugs, pushing her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans. “Except computer animation and coding, but I don’t know if that counts. I like looking at art and stuff, and obviously I’m into movies and comics. I should be, considering my mom used to read them to me when I was a toddler. I grew up on them.”
“What does your dad do?” Simon takes out a package of gum and extends it to both of us.
“He’s a lawyer.” Her eyes cloud over. “He and my mom got divorced last year. I don’t see him much. He’s kind of a dick.”
A responding ache tugs inside me over the challenges of having a difficult parent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“That’s rough,” Simon says. “But it sounds like it’s good he’s out of your life.”
“That’s why Mom and I moved here.” Clover unwraps the gum and pushes it into her mouth. “My grandparents live over in Traymore, and she wanted to be closer to them. I wish we’d stayed in Seattle, though. I miss my school and my friends. Mom used to work part-time at an animal shelter, and I’d hang out there after school. So I miss the animals, too.”
With her waiflike body, scraggly hair, and big eyes, she looks as if she’d be right at home in a forest, surrounded by squirrels and birds. Like a little wood sprite.
“I have two dogs and a cat, and my little brother has a guinea pig.” Simon scratches his chin. “Uh, you could come over and hang out with them, if you ever want an animal fix or whatever.”
Clover almost smiles. He holds open the café door for us, and we go inside to place orders for overly sweet coffee drinks.
“So what do you do when you’re not working at your mom’s store?” I ask as we wait by the pick-up counter.
Clover casts her eyes to the ground. “I like to knit, actually.”
“Knit?” Simon makes it sound as if she’d said she likes to bungee-jump. I poke him in the side.
“Like sweaters and stuff?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She glances at me, her shoulders straightening. “It’s geeky, I know, but my grandma—not the one here, this was my father’s mother who died a few years ago—she taught me how.”
“Maybe you could make us some ugly Christmas sweaters before the holidays.” Simon grins, then widens his eyes. “Not that your sweaters would be ugly. I meant, you know, those ugly Christmas sweaters that are a thing.”
Clover laughs. The sound is almost a surprise—a rich laugh that seems to have been collecting inside her for a while. “I know what you meant. Maybe I will.”
“Come on, let’s go talk to your mom.” I distribute the prepared drinks, and we walk down the block to Comic Castle.
Fern hugs Clover and greets us warmly. “I’m so happy to see you again, Nell. I’ve been hoping Clover would invite you over again. Simon, it’s wonderful meeting you. Do you all want to stay here or go upstairs? I can make you some popcorn.”
“We’ll just stay here.” Clover points toward the ceiling. “We live in the apartment upstairs.”
“Cool.” Simon shoots her a grin. “Short commute.”
“Exactly.” Fern waves a hand to the seating area beside the windows. “Have a seat. I’ll go up and grab you some cookies.”
A smiling, hugging mother who brings you cookies. If that’s not a fairy tale, I don’t know what is.
We spend an hour there, eating cookies, drinking our coffees, and leafing through various comic books. I tell Fern about Simon’s interest in portrait photography, and she’s delighted about the idea of Clover being his subject.
“I don’t have a lot of recent pictures of her.” Fern looks at her daughter, her eyes both warm and worried. “I’d love copies, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, though I can’t promise they’ll be any good.” Simon almost winces. “I mean, not because of Clover because she’s really pretty, but because I’m still learning and stuff.”
Fern’s laugh sounds much like her daughter’s. “I know what you meant. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
As Simon and I get ready to leave, Fern embraces me.
For a second, I’m so startled I don’t even know what to do. I can’t remember the last time a woman hugged me. Even my own mother. I can’t remember the last time anyone hugged me. I have to suppress the urge not to cling to Fern because that would be weird.
“I’m so glad you came back, Nell.” She steps away.
She sounds like she means it. “Me too.”
Simon and I walk to the end of the block, pausing at the crossroads. He points his thumb toward the west side of town. “I’m down this way.”
“Okay. I’m this way.” I hitch my book bag higher over my shoulder. “If you’re free this weekend, maybe we can schedule the shoot.”
“During the day, yeah.” He scratches his head. “There’s a sneak preview of the new X-Men movie on Friday night, if you’re interested in going.”
“Where?”
“Over at the Cinemax in Traymore.” He glances back toward Comic Castle. “We could ask Clover to go too.”
“Actually, I have some stuff to do Friday.” I take a step back, suddenly unnerved by the idea of a casual evening with a couple of my classmates. “But I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Sure.” He starts to walk away, then pauses and looks back at me. “Uh, you think Clover would want to go? With me, I mean. Alone?”
I almost smile. “Ask her and find out.”
“Maybe I will.” He waves and lopes off down the street.
I watch him leave, noticing him physically for the first time. Like a lot of other teenaged boys, he’s slim and lanky with long legs. His arms, exposed by his T-shirt, are leanly muscled. Though he doesn’t make me tense and hot inside, I can see how he would be appealing to some girls.
I’m not one of them. Once upon a time, I’d wanted to be like the carefree, careless girls with their hair ties and lip gloss. The girls who giggle about boys during sleepovers, doodle flowers in the margins of their papers, and gush about each other’s beauty.
But I learned a long time ago that I’ll never be like them. I’m not sure I even want to be anymore. I still don’t know what I want to be, exactly, but I can’t stop thinking about the girl Darius had captured on Simon’s camera. I’d like to be more like her. Somehow.
Neither Darius nor I have mentioned the photo. Though rationally I know he was showing Simon how to set the controls, there’s no denying the evidence that he focused the lens on me right before snapping the shutter. And everyone knows that a Darius Hawke photo means something.