“I don’t know, you might be making out with Bethany all the time when no one is looking.” I know how ridiculous and panicked I sound. And this weird pang of jealousy hits me. I don’t want to think about her kissing other girls, which means I definitely need to seek professional help.
“I’ve never made out with Bethany or Tatum or Glory. Emily is pregnant with my baby right now, but that’s a secret.” She’s looking up at the large opening at the top of the sculpture when she says it. I’m glaring at her when she finally looks back in my direction.
“You’re cute when you’re cranky. Come on.” Saylor pulls me back out of the opening just in time for this old Asian man to slip in behind us. We head out of that room and finish the rest of the bottom floor. There’s a long walk by a mounted light installation and a room filled with a massive city that looks like it is built out of LEGOs and Hot Wheelstracks. The attendant standing by the wall tells us the little cars go all around the city every hour on the hour. I ask Saylor if she wants to wait around for another thirty minutes. She shakes her head.
We step back out into the heat and across the pathway that goes into the other building. We walk around for a little while. There are more paintings and this cool mini exhibit on the history of the motion picture. I take a few more pictures, but soon I’m all museumed out.
“We walked the whole place and didn’t rush. I think we definitely completed our second square,” Saylor says when I tell her. I don’t tell her the part about how looking at some of the pieces is making me doubt my own ability to illustrate something that someone would want on their body. I’ll keep that bit of self-doubt in my back pocket.
We go to the gift shop, and I grab my dad a puzzle that features Warhol’s tomato soup can and a church fan with this funky memorial painting of Chadwick Boseman that looked more like a quilt than a painting. My dad would like it. I grab some colored pencils that I don’t need. Saylor buys a bunch of postcards and a little journal with some of Kehinde Wiley’s signature flowers in it. Somehow, it’s hotter when we step outside. Maybe too hot to hold Saylor’s hand. She’s rummaging through the stuff she bought anyway.
“Here.” Saylor hands me a postcard with a Diego Rivera painting. “For your angsty art girl collection.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. Saylor grabs my elbow and pulls me out of the middle of the path, saying excuse me to two women with strollers. I look at the postcard again. I almosttell her she didn’t have to buy me anything, but I like the postcard and I like that she gave it to me. The part of me that apparently likes hugs and platonic hand-holding is gonna frame this postcard.
“Well, since the square is done, you want me to take you home or do you want to get lunch?” I ask, knowing what I want her answer to be. It’s still early in the day and she did tell me the last place she wanted to be was home, but still, I don’t think Saylor wants to keep holding hands the way I do. I don’t think Saylor’s whole body feels like a live wire or that she’s worried what will happen when we break contact. She’s not going through puberty again just because I brushed her fingers.
“I do not want to go home. Not yet.” I wait as she pulls out her phone. “Since we aren’t in a rush, we can jump around a little. Let’s see. Too hot for a sidewalk chalk mural. We might have to do that at night. We can go pick up the tie-dye stuff and pretend we were gonna do it this afternoon, or we can eat and watchLove Islandinstead?” That devious smile spreads across her face, and I think about making out with her the way friends totally make out with each other.
“We can do that,” I say, my eyes drifting to her lips for a few moments too long. “What do you want to eat?”
“Whatever. What do you want?”
“I mean I just really want a Baja Blast,” I say honestly.
Say grabs my hand then and tugs me toward the car. “Let’s grab the tie-dye stuff then go get Taco Bell, then.”
20
Saylor
We head straight to Michaels and do a little shopping. We grab a party tie-dye kit and a bunch of T-shirts, because what’s the point of just tie-dyeing one shirt? Then we wander around a little more, looking at the Fourth of July decorations before we head to the checkout.
“Did you have fun?” Heaven asks as we join the short line.
“Yeah.” I smile back at her. “I liked how quiet it was in there.”
“Don’t get much quiet at your house?” she teases.
“More like my life. I haven’t been alone with my last two brain cells in the last twenty years,” I reply.
“Things were loud when you were still an egg?”
“Yes! It’s nice having some space away from the twins, especially where they aren’t going through my things and stealing my clothes, but Cristine Ford leads a very exciting life. It’s nonstop noise and excitement. I’m sure she’s plotting the next exciting bit of content right now.”
“Well, you can hide at my house as long as you want,” Heaven says, and I feel my cheeks heat because it sounds like she means it. We move up the line and I bite my tongue again, because I don’t want to blurt out just how much Iwant to know more about her. I watch Heaven as she grabs one of those big-eyed multicolored stuffed animals off the rack, and I grab a pack of gummy bears to add to our pile.
When we get back in the car, she hands me the little rainbow glitter plushie. “Here.”
“This is for me?” I turn the unicorn with its enormous eyes over in my hands.
“Yeah, you got me that cool postcard from the museum.”
“Yeah, but you got me cake,” I remind her.
“Yeah, but that was before we were friends, remember?”
“Right,” I say, feeling the smile fade from my face.