Finding Kyle(14)

“How about… two hundred?” I ask just as I finish the last zero on the price.

“Still too low,” Miranda says.

With a huff, I toss that card into my purse and poise the marker above a fresh one. Turning my head, I look to my best friend in the world and ask her, “What should I ask for it?”

“Three hundred and fifty dollars,” she says earnestly. Firmly. With total belief that I can get that for my work.

It’s one of the many reasons I love her.

Miranda and I went to school together from kindergarten up, but we hadn’t been close from the start. I mean, we knew each other because our school was small, but she had her friends and I had mine. We were acquaintances, I guess.

That all changed in the middle of our eighth grade year when Miranda’s parents went through a very bitter and nasty divorce. Worse yet, it was public fodder because Miranda’s mom had cheated on her father… with another woman. Our town is so small that it wasn’t a subject that would get swept under the rug. People whispered and hypothesized about what could drive her mom to become a lesbian, and sadly… all those whispers hit Miranda’s ears because kids tend to be more vocal than adults.

Miranda got mercilessly teased. She got viciously bullied.

Then the worst thing happened. I found myself in a group of friends who started bullying her. I was quiet at first, usually awkwardly walking away when they started in on her, because as long as I wasn’t saying those nasty things to her face, she’d surely understand I wasn’t a part of it.

It wasn’t until I walked by Miranda in the hall one day—alone and without my friends—that I smiled at her and asked how she was. She glared at me, tucked her head down, and sped past me. It was then I realized I was guilty by association.

The very next day during our lunch break, I spied two of my friends standing behind Miranda in the lunch line. They were clearly harassing her, as they were leaning in toward her and her shoulders were hunched forward almost protectively.

I didn’t even think.

I just walked straight up to my friends and laid into them good. I did it loudly so everyone heard, and I did it with as much derision as I could muster so they would have the unequivocal realization that I was disgusted by this bullying.

That was the day Miranda and I became best friends. I could narrow it down to that exact moment and the way her eyes watched me warily as I told my friends off. It was also the day I lost those other friends and was shunned, but that was fine by me. Miranda was enough. She was a handful, in fact, and to this day… I still have no clue what those other girls were saying. As far as I know, they could have been discussing the weather at the moment I walked up to them, but I don’t regret a moment of my actions.

The funny thing is… Miranda and I are like night and day. She’s a pessimist, and I’m an optimist. She’s wild and crazy, and I’m calm and sedate. My humor is quirky and adorable, hers is biting and sarcastic. She’s got hair the color of midnight, while mine’s the color of the sun. But the one thing we have in common despite all those differences is love and loyalty, and it’s never wavered since eighth grade. Even when I went away to college—which was really only forty miles away so I was home often—Miranda and I never drifted apart. I made new friends at college while she went to cosmetology school, but we never let distance or new interests drive a wedge between us.

So when she looks at me and honestly tells me this painting is worth three hundred and fifty dollars, I totally believe her, because she believes it about me.

“Three fifty it is,” I say as I neatly print out the new price and then rest it against the easel.

When I’m seated again, Miranda says, “This is pretty fucking boring, Janey. We’ve been here for hours and only sold four paintings.”

Chuckling, I lean over and nudge her shoulder with mine. “I know, and I love you for keeping me company.”

“Let’s talk about Kyle then,” she says, and my insides immediately go warm at just hearing his name. Of course, because Miranda is my bestie and I tell her everything, she’s very much aware that I’m crushing on my elusive neighbor who I haven’t seen hide nor hair of since he helped me with my pipe problem earlier in the week.

Obviously, I had to hear every dirty innuendo from Miranda, but my favorite was, “So Janey… did he really plow your pipes?”

Sadly, he did not, and I didn’t learn much about him at all. The next morning, my two baskets were sitting on my front porch, so he effectively removed any reason for me to go over and knock on his door. This was disheartening, and I know it’s foolish to even be thinking on these things. He’s totally out of my league, as completely scary as he is sexy, and would probably hurt me very badly in the long run.

Still, I can’t resist her offer to gossip like silly girls. “So, I told you about his tattoos, right?”

Miranda shakes her head. Clearly, I missed some crucial details. “Are they bad ass?” she asks.

“So bad ass,” I tell her. “He’s got this really scary-looking skull on his chest with the words ‘Fear Me’ written underneath, so I’m thinking that’s probably a valid warning. I should stay away.”

“No way,” Miranda says knowingly. “As you well know, I’ve been with lots of men—”

I roll my eyes at her because she really hasn’t… I mean, not comparatively to some of the looser women in our town.